Page 5 of Viper

He almost declined the call. He had nothing to report regarding Paige, but knowing his friend was antsy pushed a sliver of urgency through him. “Hey, dude. Haven’t talked to⁠—”

“She’s in trouble. Fuck, bud. I need help.” Striker’s broken voice transferred worry directly to Troy’s veins.

He shot to his feet. “Paige? What’s happened?”

“She’s on a fucking yacht!” he bellowed, spewing off curses in the next breath.

“Atlas, get your shit together,” he snapped. They rarely addressed each other by their given names, but he also hadn’t seen his friend in this kind of spiral. At least not since his girlfriend, Molly, went missing.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I know. I just hate not being there. I need you to find her. She called me and was really upset. Said she’s with some guy who wouldn’t let her leave his boat.”

“Coordinates?”

“Sent.”

His phone dinged, and he quickly pulled up the location on a map. The boat appeared to be about a mile from shore.

“Tell me anything else you know. Who’s on board?” Damn, this was as snafu as it came. Situation normal all fucked up.

“Far’s I know, only the one creep, Craig Brawn. The name of the boat is the Predator.”

He paused. “Jesus Christ.”

“I said the same thing.”

“Find out everything you can on him. If he’s military, lemme know.”

“Doing that now. He’s an investment banker. That’s all I can find, but after we hang up, I’m going to have Havoc dig, too.”

“Don’t dig too hard. He’ll be dead soon.” He strode into the bedroom and quickly changed into swim shorts and a fitted athletic shirt that would allow him to move without restriction.

Next, he fit his shoulder holster on because no way his shorts would hold up with a weapon tucked inside. He put a silencer on his Glock, then shoved it in its holder and raced to the front door.

“All right. I’m heading out. I’ll call you when I’ve got her.”

“Troy.”

The use of his real name made him freeze at the door, keys in hand.

“Bring my sister back safely, please.”

The thick, shaking words almost undid him. A lump formed in his throat, but he forced it down. No time for that now. “You know I won’t come back without her.”

He hung up before he said anything else.

Something he couldn’t take back.

Not bothering to waste time locking the door of his short-term rental apartment, he ran for the stairs because they’d be faster than the elevator. In minutes he peeled his rental truck out of the parking spot and onto the road. With his phone in hand, he followed the directions to the land point closest to where Craig’s yacht was parked.

He accelerated through an intersection just before the light changed to red. He kept the wheel tight in his grasp, rage threatening to crack the rental’s cheap plastic.

If he’d just approached her earlier, when she’d been with Douchebag, none of this would’ve happened. Hell, maybe he was cocky to think she’d have dropped that guy for him, but it could’ve worked. Could’ve prevented this.

Steering into a parking spot, he plopped his phone in the center consol, then pulled out the binoculars he’d planned on using for dolphin watching. He got out of the vehicle and the hot coastal air swarmed at his cheeks as he lifted the lens to his eyes and scanned the boats bobbing in the sea.

A sleek white one that probably cost more than a house caught his attention. He zeroed in on the boat’s name, scrawled in bold navy lettering, and clenched his back teeth.

That’s the one.