Page 103 of Boomer

Taylor descended last, precise and deadly.

While she watched their six, the team swept the lower decks fast. Boomer cleaned out the salon with Hazard and GQ, clearing portside cabins while Preacher and Kodiak secured the forward galley. Every room screamed money, marble counters, gold trim, champagne still sweating in crystal.

Up top, Taylor’s voice cut over comms, tight, controlled, laced with urgency.

“Incoming patrol boat! Six boarders—stern rail!”

Boomer’s gut clenched. She was alone topside, covering their exfil path.

“Taylor, hold the line,” Iceman barked. “Help’s on the way.”

“Copy!”

Gunfire cracked above. Then again. Controlled bursts. Hers.

“Boomer, Break, Hazard. Move your asses, take that deck back.”

“On it,” Boomer snapped, already turning, legs burning as he hit the stairwell at a dead run. Break and Hazard on his heels.

The yacht lurched beneath him, the engines still bleeding out. He hit the top deck like a missile, weapon raised. Bodies everywhere. Shell casings glinted across the teak like broken teeth. Blood soaked a towel left on a lounge chair. Two cartel boarders lay sprawled, one with a hole in his forehead, the other still twitching. Boomer finished him off.

Taylor…Taylor was fighting.

“We’ve got this,” Hazard said, moving like a battering ram, pinning down three tangos who had been shooting at Taylor.

He hit the middle deck stairs at a full sprint, saw her above, reloading, too late. The guy was on her. When he reached the top deck, he ran full out. She was now fighting for her life.

She moved like fire, all feral precision. Dodged a punch, landed a brutal elbow. Her blade flashed, scoring the side of her attacker’s thigh. He grunted, big and fast despite the size, and swung again.

Boomer aimed, but there was no shot. Taylor was in the line.

The tango caught her by the vest, swung her like a rag doll, and slammed her into the glass siding of the upper deck.

Crack.

Boomer flinched. The sound hit his bones.

She dropped but landed in a crouch. Alive. Balanced. Ready.

Goddamn wildcat.

Then the bastard charged, slamming her into the bulkhead, drew back, and punched her full force in the temple.

Her head snapped sideways. She stumbled. Boomer shouted.

“Taylor!”

But he was still too far away.

The man grabbed her by the vest straps and threw her overboard.

He watched her body slam the rail, heard the hollow thud, and then she was gone, flipping backward into the sea.

He shot the bastard in the head before the scream finished forming in his throat. The world muffled. Gunfire. Comm chatter. All of it gone. There was just the place she’d been.

“Taylor’s overboard!” he shouted into comms. “I’m going in!”

Hazard’s voice followed, clipped and sharp. “Boomer, wait?—!”