Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 20940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
None of us know what he’s saying, but the intention is clear. He wants us off his ship now.
And with no weapons of our own, we’re forced to oblige.
Everyone rushes off the ship and jumps back into our boats. I’m far away now, so Tyler and Crystal jump onto boat two before it zooms away.
I hang back, making sure everyone is safe before I follow the line of boats back to our waiting ship that’s anchored a few miles away.
The poachers’ ship seems to be clear of all our people. The poachers are cursing and hollering at us as everyone speeds away. In addition to breaking all of the lights, our guys have stolen their nets and broken their equipment. They looked pissed. Good. The fuckers.
I give them the finger before I turn the boat and start to head back.
Another blast echoes through the air and I hear something explode behind me. Really close behind me. I turn and gasp when I see smoke coming out of my engine.
No…
My friends are all speeding off into the distance.
The man reloads.
I hit the throttle and the boat moves forward, but it’s slow and it groans with the grinding sound of metal on metal. There’s also a black trail leaking out behind me, which I feel horrible about. I’m trying to make the ocean a better place for the marine life, not pollute it with oil and gas.
My boat putters as it goes much too slowly. I can’t even see the others now.
I look back and the ship has gone on its way, probably headed home as it’s forced to abandon its asshole immoral objective.
At least we won the battle. Although my boat does seem to be one of the casualties.
It makes a sad whining noise and then ceases completely.
“No!” I gasp as a big plume of black smoke billows up from the engine.
I desperately look it over, seeing if there’s anything I can do. It’s hopeless. There’s a fist-sized hole in the engine.
That’s okay, I tell myself. They’ll come back for me when I don’t return.
But it’s then that I realize that Tyler has the GPS for the boat in his pocket. His instructions not to leave the boat no matter what were ignored and now I’m paying the price.
I suck in a tight breath as I look around. It’s just endless horizon. Endless blue. Endless water that I’m now lost in.
Shit.
I’m so screwed.
Chapter Two
Shane
* * *
“Drill number nine is still dry,” Miles says as he pulls up the data on the computer.
I’m standing over his shoulder, looking at the numbers on the screen.
“Increase it by another three hundred feet,” I tell him. “If we don’t hit, we might have to relocate it.”
He nods as he starts typing away, putting my instructions into the program.
I’m just about headed to the cafeteria for lunch when the little radio strapped to my shoulder squawks on.
“Boss, you better get to platform six,” Jamal says, sounding a bit panicked. “Quickly.”
Miles looks up at me. “Charlie and Troy are working on platform six.”
Shit. Those two roughnecks are always at each other’s throats. I told Rachel not to schedule them anywhere near each other. She must have forgotten.
I sigh as I squeeze the button on my microphone. “Coming.”
“Should I call security?” Miles asks.
I flex my arms and roll my shoulders. “I am the security.”
“You know what I mean,” he calls out as I charge for the door. “I can call some of the big boys for help.”
“No,” I whisper as I head out the door, adrenaline already flowing through my jacked veins. This is my rig, this is my situation alone to handle.
I could use some fun.
Heads turn as I rush down the metal walkway and leap over the rail to land on the stairs below. It’s been too long since I’ve blown off some steam.
I’ve been on this oil rig in the middle of the South China Sea for twelve years now. It’s been sixteen long months since I’ve stood on dry land.
I should take a break. I need a break, but this is my baby and I don’t want to trust it to anyone else.
It’s an old-fashioned oil rig. We still do most of the grunt work with our bare hands unlike all the other fancy, corporate-conglomerate-owned oil rigs these days that do everything with robots and computers. You gotta be tough as shit to work on my rig.
But there’s a problem with sticking dozens of tough guys onto one platform in the middle of the ocean for months at a time—they get antsy. And that’s when the fights start.
“Another fight?” Conner laughs as I charge by, my steel-toed boots slamming into the metal platform.
“Bet you it’s Charlie and Troy again,” Roger says with a chuckle.
My heart is pounding with anticipation as I sprint along platform five and then rush up the stairs.