“Coke?” My brain stuttered. I latched onto the first thing that made sense. “If this is about the bale, the Coast Guard has it. Haven’t you seen the news?” My voice was steady, but my knees had gone soft. I locked them to keep from buckling.
“Oh, we have.” His eyes darkened as he leaned forward, raising two fingers. “They recovered 10 kilos. Thing is, that drop was 20 kilos. I’m guessing it was two bales packed together, and only one was reported. And since you’re the one who found it, we thought we’d ask you. WHERE IS THE FUCKING COKE?”
His roar shook the room. My ears rang. Jasmine whimpered against the hand over her mouth. The sound was thin, broken—and it hollowed me out worse than the gun pointed our way.
I flinched, but forced my voice out steady. “I have no idea. We didn’t touch it. I called it in, and then answered nine thousand questions when the Coast Guard got there to take it. That’s all I know.”
“You better come up with something better than that,” Couch Guy sneered, hand dropping back to his pistol like he was itching to use it. The weapon twitched in his grip the way a predator’s tail flicks before a strike.
The second goon pressed the barrel harder against Jasmine’s temple. My chest cracked open at the sight of her squeezed-shut eyes. Sweat stung my own, blurring her outline—a mercy, maybe, because seeing her like that felt worse than death itself.
“I told you everything I know,” I said, my throat raw. “I swear on my mother’s grave, I never touched the bale. If something’s missing, I don’t know about it.”
The bald man in the fitted black tee stood slowly, deliberate as death. He wagged his Glock as he closed the distance, each step a countdown. “Are you suggesting someone else found the bale intact, took half, and just…left the rest floating for you to find?”
His bulk herded me backward until the sofa hit the backs of my legs. His accomplice shoved Jasmine forward. We landed hard, side by side, shoved onto the couch like criminals instead of victims. The leather cushions hissed as the air left them, a grotesque sigh at our helplessness.
A sick irony hit me: I’d hoped we’d end up on this couch tonight, making out, maybe more. This was not the scenario I’d envisioned. The thought twisted in my gut, bitter enough to choke on.
Before I could shift, the bigger of the two crouched down, yanked my wrists together, and cinched them tight with a zip tie. The sharp plastic bit into my skin. Jasmine gasped as he did the same to her, binding her hands in front before shoving her back against the sofa. The sound of the plastic locking shut was sickening.
“I’m not suggesting anything,” I said, with a laugh that came out harsh, brittle. “I don’t know if the bale was intact when I spotted it. I never touched it. But are you suggesting I fished it out, opened it, nicked half, threw it back, then called the Coast Guard—all while my paying charter customers were onboard?”
It sounded insane out loud. Which was the point.
“I don’t know how you did it,” he snarled. “Don’t even care. Just give me the fucking coke.”
“There is no fucking coke,” I shot back, desperation scraping my throat. The words tore out like glass, and for the first time I wondered if this was it. If we didn’t give them what they were looking for, why would they leave us to tell the story?
Beside me, Jasmine’s face was pale, her hands trembling.
“Oh, but there is,” he said, voice rising. “Somewhere, there is. And we’re not leaving without it. Drop the act, Rodman. Hand it over.”
Exasperation left me empty of everything but logic. “Listen, I get it. Your ass is on the line. You have a job to do right now. The thing is, I don’t have your coke. But I can probably help you find it.”
The bald man paused mid-step. “How’s that?”
“I know just about everyone from Key Largo to Key West. I’m extremely well connected, especially among the people who’d know if a large quantity of premium product suddenly hit the market. I can put out feelers. But I’m going to need some time.”
His lip curled. “So you can go straight to the police? Fuck off. That’s not how it works.”
I forced a sharp laugh. “Why would I go to the cops? I don’t care about your coke. I would’ve left your goddamn bale in the Atlantic if it were up to me. I don’t feel any civil duty to try to stop you from moving it. I’m a ‘live and let live’ kind of guy.”
“I’m not,” he growled.
“Well, here we are,” I countered, voice steadying on the bluff. “I don’t have your coke. You don’t know where else to look. Let me try to help you. I won’t go to the cops. You have my word.”
My word wasn’t worth shit. I didn’t know a single dealer. I avoided people who I knew messed with that scene. But he didn’t know that. It was my only bargaining chip. My pulse thundered so loud I half-believed he could hear it, and that any second he’d call the bluff.
Thank God, he bit.
“We’ll give you three days.”
Jasmine let out a breath beside me. Relief washed through me like a wave.
“How can I contact you?”
The man’s smile was sharp and humorless. “Don’t worry. I’ll find you, Rodman.” His tone made the promise feel like a curse, and the chill of it hung in the air long after they’d gone.
