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I climbed over the bow, hanging from the railing on the hull and leapt down onto the jet ski. I didn’t wait to hear anyone’s objections, and if they said anything, I ignored them. They’d soon realize they needed to shut up and get to following me.
When I made it to the coastline, I anchored the jet ski a few meters from the beach, securing it behind some rock formations in hopes no one with authority over these waters would see it. It was a ridiculous thing to even have to worry about. No one owned the seas.
I hopped through the rocks the short distance to the edge of the shore where the rest of the crew soon appeared as well. Dragging our dinghy ashore, I studied the shallow beach on which we stood, my mind forming a memory of what once stood here in my past life. The stacked vibrant houses, well-worn by use and sea weather climbed upward, creating a cascade of color down the bluff shore. The last time I walked this coast, it was the start of a shantytown for the unfortunate poor and enslaved. The buildings weren’t much different now than them, albeit much more festive, but the presence of cars and fences around the community was certainly a modern change.
I noticed a pair of men lingering by one of the houses, watching us, a sneer on both of their faces as they laughed at unspeakable profanities about the girls and Grace. “Let’s make it through here quickly. Keep your heads down and walk fast.”
“What? What is it?” Grace said, glancing around.
“Don’t act nervous,” I said, “Just stay behind me.” I took the lead up front and Noah didn’t hesitate to take a place at the back.
“Already on it,” Noah said, walking past the girls, revealing an open pocketknife, down by his hip. “I noticed them too.”
“Just be casual,” I reminded them once more as we made our way to the main street that crossed through the neighborhood and led up to the rest of San Juan.
“Oye mami!” One of the men called to the girls, making kissing sounds and lewd gestures. When they didn’t look at them, they got louder. “Oye, don’t ignore me, bitches!” The men disappeared behind some houses as we moved, and my chest tightened as my pulse sped up. Something gave me the feeling they didn’t just leave. We crossed a few more house fronts, mostly uneventful except for some old men chatting on their porch fronts as salsa music played through a fuzzy radio station. A weathered woman with a tender smile greeted us as she hung some sheets out to dry.
We were almost out of the neighborhood when the sound of something shuffling beside us made me glance, my body tense and ready to engage. The two guys from earlier stepped in our path, one of them reaching out to grab at the girls. Katrina side-stepped his swipe and he grinned. He smacked McKenzie on the ass, making her recoil.
“Mira’ estas gatas,” he hissed, licking his teeth, “Por qué andan con estos cabrones?”
“Porque I don’t give a fuck if I have to put a bullet in your head, claro?” I growled, reaching for the gun I’d hidden tucked beneath my clothing, earning a terrified gasp from Grace and stunned looks from the others, even Noah who was already pointing his blade at the men.
“Dejalas,” Leave them. I ordered, aiming the pistol at them, motioning for them to leave before I lost it. My blood ran hot, fuming under my skin.
As I expected, they were startled by my reaction, and while still hurling insults, they turned and disappeared into the alleyways between the last few houses lining the edge of the neighborhood. I quickly tucked the gun back away.
“How long have you been carrying that on you?” Katrina charged towards me, her voice shaky.
“Since cutlasses and flintlocks went out of fashion.” I wasn’t going to waste time going into detail of how I’d found it in the safe drawer of my stateroom on the yacht. “Come on, let’s quit wasting time.”
As we walked, Noah confirmed the coordinates once more, and we followed them through town, searching for the spot. The city had managed to keep some of its old charm. If I could learn to ignore the cars, cruise ship ports, and throngs of tourists, it would almost still remind me of the old Caribbean town it once was under Spain’s control. Of course, it was never welcoming to pirates, but being Spanish myself made it easy for my father and I to sneak in and out of here easily.
We searched the old city, the sun still just as unforgivably hot as it was three-hundred years ago. The great fort stood mocking me in the distance with the irony of it all. Once a fortress to a lush, flourishing city, it was now a tourist attraction. And I, once the pirate it was built to keep out, now effortlessly walked past in through a sea of people oblivious to the echoes of the past around them.
“The coordinates lead right over there,” Noah said, tracking the map on his phone and pointing to a cobblestone alleyway nestled between a line of two-story buildings. We followed his lead, and though I knew better, I held my breath waiting to see this location, to see if they would have some significance I would recognize from Serena.
We wove through the streets and people only to come to a little entrance of a white building with large, tinted glass doors, and an electric sign above in a seductive font that read “La Fuente.” My hopes were dashed, and I reminded myself once more to stop believing in anything but coincidences.
“This is a night club. And it’s closed till seven.” McKenzie said, surveying the building front. “This doesn’t seem right. This can’t be what we’re looking for.”
I thought for a moment, just as perplexed as they were. But the more I pictured it, the more it made sense. Bastian Drake was exactly the type to hide in plain sight. And he was cocky enough to flaunt it. In fact, using a night club as a hideout didn’t seem all that out of character for him. I was out of ideas to be honest, so I decided not to count it out, strange as it may seem. Breaking in would’ve drawn too much attention, so it’d be much easier to snoop around undetected in a crowd of dancing drunk people.
I clapped my hands together, drawing looks from the group. “Then I hope you’re all in the mood to party, because when this thing opens up, it would seem we’re going clubbing, mates.”
18
Ghost From the Past
Bellamy
With twilight darkening the sky as the sun set, I realized it was much later than I thought. We’d be able to see just what lay within the club in less than an hour, but we scoped the area thoroughly while we waited. It would be a lie to say we didn’t indulge a bit in some of what the streets of San Juan had to offer, filling our growling stomachs with paletas and alcapurrias. We took it as an opportunity to speak with the locals, who were more than welcoming and willing to answer mine and Katrina’s questions about club La Fuente.
One man had told us it had been there as long as he could remember. Another girl told us she didn’t even know it existed and had lived there all her life. Others knew a lot about it, but few people could recall details about what was inside. I asked if anyone knew the owner, but everyone’s answer to that was the same. No one knew his name or what he looked like.
But I did. Who else could it be but Bastian? So the moment the doors were open, Katrina and I were back in front of the building. Noah and McKenzie stayed outside, partially to keep a lookout for anything strange—or so I told them—but mostly to keep an eye on Grace, who wasn’t very happy with the arrangement.
“Be careful in there.” her voice was like steel as she gripped Katrina’s arm. I understood she was her mother, but it felt a bit awkward to hear her sounding so concerned knowing what I knew about her. I couldn’t wait for her to see how capable Katrina really was. She didn’t have the slightest idea what her daughter could do.
