Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 157140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
“Captain says we’ll be there in another fifteen minutes or so.” There’s an eagerness to his voice I don’t like.
I hope he’s not so glory hungry he plans on coming with me. Sure, he’s a military man like me, but this is my problem alone. My life to risk.
The last thing I need is to worry about keeping him alive too.
“Is this little marina even equipped for a ship like this?” I ask, already knowing the answer before he shakes his head. “Let’s get a lifeboat ready. I saw they’re motorized. I’ll disembark and go straight for Eliza.”
“Are you going to lead or am I?” he asks coldly.
Fuck. If I have my way, he’s not coming at all.
“I need you to stay behind, Brock. Backup, in case anything goes sour in the scuffle. I’ll grab a radio and you can listen in.” I hold his gaze and decide he deserves the full story, considering the giant favor he’s doing me. “Troy and I were in the Navy together. I have some idea what makes him tick, even if he’s gone goddamned crazy. There’s no chance anyone else is going to talk him down from what he’s up to. My best chance of doing that is if I show up alone. I don’t want anyone getting hurt tonight—not even that asshole, if I can avoid it.”
After a heavy second, Brock nods. “I’ll man the ship. Just watch your ass, Lancaster. Good luck.”
“Thanks. I’ll need it.”
We shake hands and share a quiet, calm moment as the ship churns closer to land, anchoring safely offshore.
Soon, I throw on a heavy raincoat and a couple of his crew help me into the lifeboat they already have waiting in the water. I power up the engine and plow over lashing waves toward a hazy row of docked fishing boats.
I can’t guess which one I should aim for—if it’s any of them at all. They could easily be in the boathouse or bar or whatever it is I faintly make out in the distance.
Then I see a light moving in the cabin of one of those small boats. It’s almost like a flashlight or lantern, sputtering into the water as it sways back and forth.
The ship isn’t docked, I realize, though it’s barely pulled away from the marina. It looks more like whatever reckless idiot is at the helm is trying to bring it home and failing miserably.
Odds are I know exactly who that idiot is.
Several tense breaths later after climbing over furious waves, I’m as close as I’m going to get.
It’s now or never.
I push the lifeboat right up against the hull of the other vessel and jump.
My hands barely catch the rusted metal edge. I haul myself over the top, landing on the wet, hard deck with a bone-rattling thud!
But the second loud thud exploding in my ears isn’t me.
I turn and find an axe stuck in the deck just a few inches away from my neck—and two big, angry arms fighting to pull it out again.
Troy leers down at me as he growls, “Asshole, do you always have to be the big goddamned hero? You just can’t let anything go!”
Anything?
I shudder. It’s all too easy to hear the word Aster instead.
“Badger bitch isn’t dead yet, my dude,” he says. He’s wearing his usual grin—only in the wet, cold darkness, it looks downright psychotic. Especially as he tumbles backwards with the axe free.
“Troy, stop. Consider this fair warning. You don’t have to—”
“I don’t, do I?” he asks absently, looking at the axe in his hands before he slowly raises it above his head. “I don’t, but I will. You fucking killed her, Cole. You and your pride and your neverending expectations—and now you made me do this again!”
Shit.
I twist out of his way as he charges and sweeps the weapon down again. This time, it bounces off the deck and doesn’t get stuck before he rocks back.
“You ruin everything!” He’s swinging wildly, blind with rage.
I’m moving from side to side, dodging the axe each time, grateful I haven’t skidded onto my ass while I try to keep my footing on this tilting, slick deck.
The whole world keeps shifting around us as the rain picks up again, dumping a bucket of water on our heads every five seconds.
Goddamn.
I’ve got to get that thing away from him. I’ve got to—
Troy stumbles as another sharp wave tips the ship, holding the wooden handle with both hands. He spins, working with the inertia, still swinging as close as he can to my throat.
A second later, I see my chance.
I go in for a low snap kick, trying to stay under the damn axe without the rocking ship tossing me on my back.
I’ve stayed in lean shape, but I’m not the man I was in my Navy days.
My foot lands square in the center of his chest and he fumbles, but the asshole doesn’t fall over.