“We need to move,” Mateo said.
There was urgency in his voice, and she knew why. A distant rumble rolled through the air. It didn’t fade like thunder. Thewhop-whopgrew louder, moving closer—helicopter blades, far off but unmistakable. Shouts of alarm from outside followed.
“Hear that?” she asked. “That’s the cavalry.”
“Now, Gaby,” Mateo urged.
“Right,” she said, clasping Natalie’s hand. Her sister didn’t resist or ask anything else when she tugged her to her feet and led her to the door.
Chapter 22
The skeet range was carved into the cliffside. Stone shooting platforms hung suspended over the rolling surf far below, warm wind and open sky stretching in every direction. The beauty was undeniable, but so was the corruption beneath it.
Guards lined the perimeter, spaced deliberately, the bulge of sidearms noticeable beneath their jackets. An attendant waited near a small table with pastries and chilled champagne, each glass garnished with fresh fruit. The six other contestants had stepped back, partaking as they watched the field shrink to two.
Álvarez stepped to the line, adjusting his gloves. He held out a hand for his reloaded rifle, irritation flashing when the attendant wasn’t quick enough. The man moved as though the island wasn’t merely his domain but an extension of himself. And why not? Everyone tied themselves in knots to accommodate his will.
A target burst into the sky. Álvarez fired, clean and decisive. The clay shattered in a cloud of dust.
His superior smile brimmed with satisfaction as he lowered the barrel. “Alas, it’s not a real pigeon. There’s something deeply satisfying about breaking anything foolish enough to think it can fly free.” He stepped back, inclining his head. “This is more gentlemanly, but less sporting.Si?”
Rhys didn’t answer as he moved to the rail, his focus already narrowing to the mechanics—stance, grip, sightline—thediscipline that steadied him when everything else, especially the vile man beside him, demanded violence.
Another target soared. Rhys fired, imagining Álvarez’s face on it. A perfect strike.
“You shoot well, Mr. Blackwood,” he said, glancing sideways. “Do you do it often?”
“Sufficient to hit what I aim at,” Rhys replied.
They settled into a steady rhythm, shot answering shot, neither missing. The other contestants murmured approval. A few placed wagers.
They paused again to reload. Álvarez stood back, waiting for his rifle to be reloaded. Rhys handled his own without help. He felt the other man’s gaze on him.
“You surprise me, Blackwood. You’re satisfied with one. Most men who admire beauty want more. Always more.”
Rhys closed the barrel with a snap and looked up at him. “Enough is a concept some men never learn. It’s usually what costs them everything.”
This brutal truth revealed a crack in Blackwood’s mask. But Rhys heard a faintwhirrand distant buzz from over the water. The sound would have been ominous if it were meant for him.
Álvarez paused mid-motion, frowning slightly. The others shifted uneasily, some glancing skyward. Then the sounds resolved into the roar of speedboat motors and rotor blades.
Five helicopters broke over the ridge like thunder. At least a dozen boats, white wakes kicking up behind them, converged on the dock. Conversations died mid-sentence. Champagne flutes froze midair.
Álvarez lowered his rifle slowly. For a heartbeat he simply stared, as though the sky itself had betrayed him. Then his gaze snapped to Rhys.
“You did this.”
“Your empire falls today,” he replied, not denying it.
Something in Álvarez broke. With a sudden, almost clumsy motion, he swung his rifle toward him, a guttural shout ripping from his chest.
Rhys moved instantly, catching the barrel and shoving it skyward as he pulled the trigger.
The blast rent the air. Birds exploded from the cliffside. Men shouted and scrambled for cover.
Álvarez stumbled back, breath ragged, eyes wild. “You think this changes anything?” he snarled. He looked around for his guards, spit flying as he barked, “Do something, you idiots! Seize him!”
They didn’t all obey. Two men sprinted for the stone steps, fleeing from the black shapes dropping from the sky like mechanical predators. But there were still plenty for Rhys to deal with.
