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“Turn us around, head back to the yacht,” Vitari ordered the pilot.
“What?” Francis glanced behind him. “Aren’t we going back to shore?”
“There’s nothing back there but more men with guns.”
The pilot swung the speedboat back toward the yacht. With any luck, the guards left on board wouldn’t have heard the gunfire over the engines.
“What about the money?” Francis asked, still pointing the rifle at the pilot. “Are we going to leave it behind?”
“It’s safe.” Vitari checked the clip. He had enough rounds to finish off the rest, assuming he got the drop on them.
Ten minutes later, they pulled alongside the back of the yacht. A guard appeared from inside. Francis shouldered the rifle. “Don’t move!”
Vitari grinned at his priest getting his sass on, then waved Cisco’s gun at the pilot. “Out.”
The man began to climb toward the yacht.
“Other way, overboard. Now. Go. Yes, swim or fucking die. Choose in the next three seconds.”
He jumped.
Vitari climbed aboard and scooped up his original gun from the table. With Cisco’s gun in his left hand, and his own in his right, he nodded at Francis.
“What?” Francis asked, still aiming the rifle at the guard. Then he caught Vitari’s meaning. “Oh, I…”
“Lean into it, Padre Blanco.”
Francis’s conflicted expression was all kinds of adorable. He eyed the guard. “Sorry. It’s not personal.”
Vitari wasn’t going to make him shoot to kill, not like this.
He raised his own weapon at the guard. “Drop the gun.” After he’d obeyed, he told him to head to the back of the yacht, and like his friend, gave him a choice. He chose to jump.
“I’m going to sweep the rest of the yacht, make sure there aren’t any more,” Vitari told Francis. “Stay out here. If anyone shows up in a boat, shoot them.”
“All right. But uh… Okay.”
In a maddening urge to crush Francis in his arms, Vitari kissed him quickly on the lips instead, then looked him in those beautiful hazel eyes so he knew they’d fuck later, and soon, because it turned out Vitari might have a gun kink too, if Francis was wielding it. But then Francis lunged, slammed a rough-edged kiss on Vitari’s mouth, and thrust his tongue, coming at Vitari like a man possessed. Vitari almost dropped the guns and ravaged him right there on the deck.
Francis’s hand—the one not holding the rifle—plunged into Vitari’s hair and knotted, gripping hard. “Are we safe?”
“Almost.” Vitari’s ragged breath betrayed the raw need to strip him down and lick his every inch, fuck his every hole. “Stay here, and if someone comes, you don’t have to kill them, just wave the gun like you mean it.”
Francis swallowed hard and nodded, and Vitari climbed the steps onto the upper deck.
The pilot in the control room went for his gun and died from a shot between the eyes before he made it.
Francis didn’t ask after the reason for the gunshot, probably because he already knew the answer, and Vitari swept the lower sleeping decks. “All right, we’re alone. You okay?”
“Yes.” Francis set the assault rifle down by the table and wiped his hands on his trousers as though he might wipe the sin off.
“I’m going to disable the yacht’s tracker and get us the fuck out of here. You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, I think so. I’m all right.” He even managed to smile. “Good, actually. I feel pretty good.”
Vitari smiled back. “Let’s get out of here.” He started to climb the stairs, but Francis’s soft, “Vitari?” stopped him halfway up. The strange muddle of relief and fear on his face killed Vitari right there on the steps.
He rushed back down, crossed the floor, and grasped his face. “You fucking came for me, Francis.”
