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The guys were thugs, really, more than pirates, with faded jeans, T-shirts, and grimy ball hats, and built like men who threw their weight around.
Maybe miners?
And then it clicked.The Petrov Bratva.They’d figured out his shell game.
Aw.These weren’t just any thugs.They wereRussian Mafia.
Declan met eyes with Hunter and then Ivek.
Someone had to get free and get to the weapons locker.
The one with the handgun, who’d threatened Austen—Declan would call him Sergei—came up to him, grabbed his shirt, and hauled him to his feet.Pushed him against the hot tub.“Where is she?”
He swallowed.“Where iswho?”
The man hit him, and he jerked, off-balance, rounded back.Declan might have kicked him, but the man pointed his gun at Austen.Blood burned Declan’s mouth.“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sergei motioned to one of his comrades, the big one—Declan mentally dubbed him Igor—who walked over to Declan and grabbed him by the throat, his meaty hand squeezing off Declan’s air.
He grabbed the man’s wrists, fighting him despite his tethered hands.
“Stop!Stop!”Austen, who’d gotten to her feet, kicked at the man.“Stop!”
Declan finally tore the man’s grip from his neck.“I.Don’t.Know!”
Sergei gestured to another man—equally as big (Boris)—who came over and grabbed Declan’s arms.Turned him to face the hot tub.
Oh boy.Declan took a deep breath.
A hand viced his neck and plunged him face-first into the tub.
Don’t struggle.
He’d learned a few things about controlling his fear during Marine boot camp.And after, in Afghanistan.Panic set in when fear took hold, kept a man from thinking clearly.Struggling would only sap his breath.
He waited, refused to struggle.
The man yanked him out long before his lungs begged for air.Declan shook off the water, screams from Austen and Elise rising around him.
“Tell us where she is!”
Water trekked down his face into his shirt.“I don’t know.”
“Fine,” Sergei said, walked over and hauled young Tyrone up.
“What are you doing?”This from Elise.She’d jumped up, which made Hunter rise beside her.He stepped in front of his wife when Boris came at her.
“Leave me alone!”Tyrone struggled in Sergei’s grip as Sergei hauled him to the side of the boat.
Igor joined them.
“Stop!Stop!” Austen, and Elise, and even Camille.
Sergei looked at Declan, held a gun to Tyrone’s spine.
Cold flushed through him.“I don’t know—but I can find out!Let me call?—”
Igor picked up Tyrone’s feet and, as if he weighed nothing, pitched the boy out over the edge of the boat.