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Al-Shuaibi came with a loud cry and a mouthful of Arabic, telling him he was a slutty whore. Charming. Jack clung tight, hoping he didn’t try to kiss him. When Al-Shuaibi moved back, the man had a broad smile on his face. He lifted his hand to Jack’s cheek and stroked it.

“You’re cute, Sebastian.”

A cute slutty whore? “Can I fuck you? I really want to.”

“And I fuck you after?”

Jack shrugged. “If you recover from the fuck of your life.”

Al-Shuaibi chuckled.

Back in the bedroom, Jack managed to hide the syringe of succinylcholine on the right side of the bed before Al-Shuaibi emerged carrying lube and a condom.

He handed them to Jack and crawled onto the bed. “Be gentle.”

“Are you going to be gentle with me?”

“If you ask nicely.”

Jack had to get the guy completely relaxed.

He wasn’t as big as the Turk he’d killed in the hamam.

No rolls of fat at the neck. He’d feel the needle more.

Jack started at Al-Shuaibi’s calves and worked his way up, kissing and nipping and pressing his flesh, sliding his hand up and down the guy’s sides, then trailing his fingers down the seam of his arse.

Caress and pinch. Pleasure and discomfort.

He wanted to try and lull him into not overreacting to a bite of pain at his neck.

By the time Jack was fully lying on his body, Al-Shuaibi was limp beneath him and facing away from where Jack had hidden the syringe.

“You’re so hot,” Jack whispered as he reached for it.

He couldn’t afford to cock this up. If Al-Shuaibi saw what he was doing and managed to stop him, there was no back up plan.

Well, maybe hitting him over the head with the bedside lamp, but it might be fastened down.

I should have checked. Jack nipped the guy’s ear and he gave a loud moan.

At the same time, Jack rubbed his cock along the seam of his arse and breathed more heavily.

“Lube,” Al-Shuaibi groaned.

“In a moment.”

As he kissed, then bit into Al-Shuaibi’s shoulder, he pressed the plunger into his neck and emptied the syringe into the guy’s body.

“Ow!”

“Sorry.”

Jack kept biting and kissing close to the injection site, and while part of him wished Al-Shuaibi to understand what was happening, he needed to be sensible.

He shifted off the bed, and when Al-Shuaibi made no move to reach for him and said nothing, Jack hurried to the balcony and tossed the syringe in the sea.

As he walked back, he could see Al-Shuaibi staring at him, his eyes wide, mouth open, already paralysed, dying.

Jack watched until the man’s breathing finally stopped.

There was a spot of blood on his neck, and Jack wiped it off.

So…run to the door, yell that Al-Shuaibi had suffered a heart attack and hope no one decided to blame him?

Or slip overboard, swim to shore and let them wonder what the hell had happened?

He chose option one. He burst naked out of the room and yelled, “Help! Help! Au secours!”

It was Yusuf who appeared first. Jack ran up and grabbed him. “Saad! I think he’s had a heart attack.”

He shoved Jack aside. When he hit the wall, he let himself slide down onto the floor.

He could hear people shouting, but no one else came down the corridor.

Odd. He pushed to his feet and returned to the bedroom.

Yusuf had rolled Al-Shuaibi onto his back and was doing CPR. Jack pulled on his boxers.

“Where is everyone?” Yusuf yelled. “Get help.”

Jack ran out. He’d only taken a couple of steps before he heard shots being fired.

What the hell? He slipped into the next bedroom along.

Something was going down. He ran to the balcony and saw two tenders heading away from the ship, manned by crew members in their white uniforms. As Jack climbed up the outside of the yacht to the next level, he heard more shots being fired.

He came up to the rail around the lounge and froze. Someone dressed in black with a black balaclava was messing around behind the bar. There was a body near to him, blood pooling on the deck. One of Al-Shuaibi’s minders. Jack stayed motionless.

When the guy hurried down the stairs, Jack went to see what he’d been doing.

Fuck! A bomb. It was ticking down from five minutes.

Jack heard the sound of another tender pulling away and bolted back to the state room.

Yusef was dead. Jack grabbed his backpack, pulled it on and dived overboard from the balcony.

There was no time to do anything but get as far away from the yacht as he could. He swam towards Cannes.

Then the sea exploded and his world along with it.

For a few seconds, Jack couldn’t understand what was happening.

Nothing looked right. His body wasn’t doing what he expected it to.

He hurt. Colours didn’t make sense. Everything was shimmering.

He took a breath, inhaled water and panicked.

Shit! He was under the water. He had no idea how deep he was, which way was up and which down.

He forced air out of his mouth and kicked after the bubbles.

Oh fuck. That hurts. As he fought to get to the surface, he realised he was in serious trouble.

He had to get air but he was struggling.

If you don’t keep trying, you won’t see Zeph again.

Jack kicked and kicked with the one leg that worked, then gasped as his head came out the water. He dragged air into his lungs and it hurt. The yacht was ablaze and he was too close. Jack turned towards the lights of Cannes, tried to swim and couldn’t. Staying afloat was as much as he could manage.

Something hit his face. Jack registered it was a deck cushion and grabbed it.

He was still wearing his backpack. He needed to get rid of the insulin.

It was important enough to be worth the struggle.

He let the kit sink, then his passport and the hotel key.

The longer it took to identify him, the better.

It gave him the chance to get away. Jack kicked with one leg for the shore.

He suspected his other leg was broken. Don’t go round in a circle.

When the lights didn’t seem to get any nearer, he accepted he might not make it. He thought of Zeph. If he was going to die, Zeph would be in his mind.