Page 95

"Three tangos, pilot house wall," I told Tank, voice steady despite the inferno in my chest. "The one on the boat is mine."

"Copy that." Tank checked his magazine, all business. "On your count."

I studied the approach angles, calculated distances and exposure times. The Serpents were focused on Lena, confident in their numbers and position. They'd forgotten the first rule of combat—the most dangerous enemy is the one you don't see coming.

One of them reached for Lena's arm, saying something into his radio. The words carried faintly over the combat noise: "Package acquired. Returning to—"

The sentence would never be finished. Not while I still drew breath.

"Moving," I told Tank, already in motion. Time to remind everyone why touching what was mine came with a death sentence.

The first Serpent never saw me coming.

My hands found his head before he registered the threat, one palm against his jaw, the other behind his skull. The twist was sharp, economical. His neck snapped with a sound like breaking kindling, body dropping before his brain processed its own ending. His weapon clattered against the deck, alerting his partner.

The second Serpent started to turn, mouth opening to shout warning. My boot caught him in the solar plexus with every pound of force I could generate, lifting him off his feet. He hit the railing back-first, the impact point precisely calculated. The crack of his spine was audible even over the gunfire, his scream cutting off as paralysis took immediate hold.

The third Serpent had his hand on Lena's arm, fingers digging into her skin hard enough to bruise.

That's when my girl proved why she owned my whole heart.

Lena drove her heel through his instep with enough force to crack bone, the ridiculous strappy shoes she'd insisted on wearing becoming weapons. As he howled and loosened his grip, she snapped her head back into his nose. The crunch was satisfying, blood exploding across his face as cartilage gave way.

"That's my girl," I growled, closing the distance in two strides.

The Serpent staggered back, hand going to his ruined nose instead of his weapon—a fatal mistake. My fist connected with his throat, crushing his larynx. He dropped to his knees, hands clawing at his neck as he tried to breathe through a windpipe that would never work again. I helped him along with a knee to the temple that ensured he wouldn't suffer long.

"Tyson!" Lena crashed into me like a guided missile, her body slamming against mine with desperate force. I caught her automatically, hands already checking for injuries even as I held her close.

"I'm here, baby. I've got you." My voice came out rougher than intended, fear and relief fighting for dominance. "Are you hurt? Did they—"

"I'm okay." But she was shaking, adrenaline and terror finally catching up now that immediate danger had passed. "They came for me specifically. Kept saying Cruz wanted his property back. This is all my fault, all this death is because of me—"

"Not now." I cut her off, hands running over her arms, ribs, checking for wounds my eyes might have missed. The blood on her dress wasn't hers—small mercies in a night full of horror. Some bruising on her arm where the Serpent grabbed her, but nothing broken, nothing that wouldn't heal.

"Can you move?" I asked, tilting her chin up to check her pupils. No concussion signs, just shock and guilt that we'd deal with later.

"Yes, but Tyson—" Her eyes went wide, looking past me to where Cruz still watched from his speedboat. "He's just sitting there. Watching. Like this is all some show for his entertainment."

I turned slightly, keeping Lena behind me but letting myself look at the bastard who'd orchestrated this massacre. Cruz hadn't moved, still lounging in his boat like a Roman emperor at the colosseum. The distance was too far for small arms fire to be accurate, and he knew it. Safe in his ringside seat while others bled for his obsession.

"He'll get his," I promised, the words carrying weight beyond simple threat. "But not tonight. Tonight we survive."

Duke's roar cut across the deck before Lena could respond: "INCOMING!"

Two more speedboats knifed through the water, but these weren't attacking. They moved in perfect formation, laying down suppressing fire while the surviving Serpents began their retreat. Smoke grenades popped across the yacht's deck, creating concealment for the withdrawal. Professional. Organized.

"They're leaving?" Lena sounded stunned. "After all this, they're just leaving?"

"They got what they came for," I said grimly. "Made their point, tested our defenses, showed they could hit us anywhere." And tried to take you, I didn't add. That failure would eat at Cruz and the Serpents, maybe make him sloppy next time.

Serpents dragged wounded brothers toward the railings where boats waited. The cartel soldiers maintained their covering fire with disciplined precision, keeping our people's heads down while their employers escaped. No panic, no breakdown incommand structure. These weren't the usual Serpent thugs hopped up on meth and misplaced machismo.

"Thor, let them go!" Duke commanded as Thor started toward the rail, ready to pursue even into the water. "Prospects, sound off! Who's mobile?"

The roll call that followed hit like physical blows. Voices that should have answered stayed silent. Rico, who'd shielded those bridesmaids with his life. Johnnie, who'd died protecting women he'd never met. Others wounded, bleeding, but alive.

Two prospects who'd never see their patches. Two brothers who'd proven their worth in blood.