With perfect timing, the last boat worker stilled, a gunshot wound to the chest. When that poor fucker dropped, Paul was standing behind him, gun in hand, and staring at Adam with a look of parental disappointment. “Really?”
“Bitch later. Fight now. No time to talk.” Adam winked. There really was no time to discuss the recklessness of the plan, the fight was still in full swing, and Adam had every intention of taking full advantage of it.
Carlos and Dan were swiftly on the deck of the yacht, hastily picking up the plastic drug satchels and throwing them onto their own powerboat. Chaos ensued. Their movements were erratic and panicked, it was unplanned, and crazy, and it wasso muchfucking fun.
“What the fuck are we doing?” Dan asked, flapping about with the satchels.
“Fucking improvising!” Adam shouted back as he and Paul returned to the yacht. Heavy pattering footsteps arrived on the upper deck, giving the guards a clear height advantage, as they lined up in offense.
The first gunshot sounded—cracking through the satchel that Dan held above his head, splitting it open and throwing cocaine into the air. Raining down right into Dan’s face. He fell to the floor, but somehow managed to inhale the coke like a madman.
Gunfire pooled from the sky like a rain shower.
Ducking behind a wooden crate, Adam returned fire at the deck above. They wouldn’t make ground that way, though. A sharp nod to Paul gave the unspoken order to lay down cover fire.
As his friends did as instructed, raining bullets, too, Adam made a break to the port side, bolting upstairs.
That drew the guard’s attention.
Oh shit, that drew more attention than he anticipated.
Adam dove behind one of the makeshift bars as guests ran wildly around him. He looked down to the lower deck, his friends were utilizing the distraction and ensuing chaos to load up the rest of the shipment.
Standing with a bounce, Adam found renewed energy as he fired, taking out five who attempted to circle him.
“We’re loaded, man. Let’s go!” His radio buzzed in his pocket.
Without warning, Adam’s head banged sharply against the wall. Someone got the jump on him and was smashing his face into the wall. Adam buckled, face bloody. He drew his weapon and fired blindly, obviously hitting his target given the spray of blood splashing his face.
Panting and covered in blood, Adam spoke into the radio. “Drive to the front.” He narrowly avoided the gunfire that chased him as he ducked inside the party. Guests were still lingering about, huddled under tables of champagne and delicious canapés dressed in all their finery.
Though his pursuers were right behind him. He spun, running through revolving doors into the galley. Kitchen staff scrambled as he dove through the fray, dodging him as he took the opportunity to knock pots and pans from the stove, causing little fires to ignite everywhere.
He had to feed the flames.
He began yanking cooking oils and supplies from the wall, throwing anything he could at the fire until it suddenly intensified with a bang, cutting his attackers off from him.
Peeling out from the galley onto the deck, he caught his breath, squinting into the sun before he pulled himself up to the highest level of the yacht. Making sure to keep an eye on his friends, Adam watched as they rounded the starboard side.
He wiped the sweat from his eyes and ran along the upper deck as the fire spread through the lower decks. At full speed he reached the end of the yacht’s gunwale and jumped, hurling himself from the top into the depths of the water below, legs outstretched.
He held his breath, the rush of water blowing past his face as he was taken under by the current. He let the water roll his body underneath the surface until he could finally regain control.
Adam shook the water from his hair as he emerged in a spray from the depths of the sea. At that moment, his crew’s powerboat shuttled past him, and Adam held his hand out in readiness. The powerboat sped past without stopping or slowing, and Paul grabbed Adam’s hand from the water, pulling him from its liquid grasp and into the boat.
Lying wet on the floor, laughing at his success, Adam watched the sky circle until finally they leveled off the speed.
“Fucking scene that is,” said Carlos.
Finally sitting upright, Adam stopped to admire his handiwork. Sure enough, Dorian Blake’s prized party yacht was engulfed in flames. Almost like it had waited until it got his full attention, the yacht then exploded, leaving guests diving into the water below to save themselves.
“There must be at least a hundred thousand worth of shit here,” Dan noted as he rifled through the drug cargo they’d stolen. “What the hell are we gonna do with all this?”
“I can move it,” Carlos said.
“How?” Paul asked.
“I’ll just run it with Blake’s regular drug supply and take the cash for ourselves. Blake will never know, and the dealers will never know they’re selling anything other than Blake shit.”
