Gunplay continued across the ocean from invisible weapons in the dark of night. Sebastian’s voice came through on the comms. “Itook out the other two guards on the speedboat. The captain is left. No sign of Nomar?—”
Another thud shook the sub. Heavy footsteps came closer to the hatch.
“Speak of the fucking devil,” Sebastian screamed through the comms. Shots were fired. “Damn it, I missed. Too far away. Can’t get a clean shot.”
“I’ll take it from here,” Rocco said. He felt the hatch give way beneath a relentless force. An iron grip clamped around his shoulders, pulling him out into the open. His hand banged against the metal opening, dislodging the Beretta M9 from his grip. Rocco fell backward onto the top of the sub from the force, his boots slipping on the narrow, slick unstable vessel.
The waves crested and fell with furious energy around them as the SPSS was tossed between the waters. The white foam caught the moonlight in brief flashes of silver. The sub rocked violently at the mercy of the sea’s whims, its movements unpredictable and sharp. Each wave that crashed against the hull sent spray flying, soaking both men. The salt stung Rocco’s eyes as he fought to free himself from Ortiz’s death grip.
Despite deafening roar of the raging waters around them, the man’s anger-filled words were crystal clear. “You’re a fucking fool for taking Jemma from me. I should have killed you in Samana. I won’t make that mistake again.”
Nomar wasted no time, his first punch like a battering ram to the stomach. Rocco tucked his body absorbing the sickening pain of the blow. He slid perilously close to the edge. Below, the dark abyss of the sea beckoned for a misstep to claim another victim to its bowels.
Rocco shifted to regain his balance. Nomar had sprung to his feet, stalking toward him with surprising balance on the slick hull.
Biding his time, Rocco calculated his next move. Every maneuver, every grapple, every strike, had to be carefully executed amidst the sub’s erratic dance with the waves. Rocco swiftly rolled to a crouch, then stood, stumbling with small steps to maintain his balance on the slippery deck.
Nomar was on him in seconds, executing a litany of punches in succession. Rocco countered each, then landed a few, pushing Nomar further back from the hatch. The fight was surreal, stretching and warping as the sub tilted and jerked through the chaotic waves. His balance adjusted out of necessity, keeping him upright as Nomar landed a hard blow to his chin and a few jabs to his kidney. The pain damn near knocked the wind out of him, but he remained upright, fueled by the ultimate motivation—the sound of Jemma’s voice crying out to him.
His head jerked toward the sound.
“Rocco!” Jemma screamed again, her face lined with fear yet strong. Her eyes locked on his, willing to survive and take down the threat she’d sought to vanquish for years.
It was for Jemma, for their shared hope of ending this long-waged war to embark on a new life with each other, that he found the strength to push back against Nomar.
Rocco forged ahead, slamming his fist in the center of Nomar’s face. The man was stunned but didn’t stumble. The waves crashed against them with impartial cruelty. Rocco pressed faster, executing two more blows to the man’s face. Nomar absorbed the blows and countered by ramming into Rocco. They fell backward onto the hull, Rocco pinned to the sub by Ortiz’s weight. A harsh pain pierced Rocco’s back. As he struggled to get the man off him, he remembered the Browning he’d tucked in his waistband.
With a renewed strategy, Rocco let go of Ortiz and took a blow to the chest. Ortiz reeled backward, gripping Rocco to toss himover the side of the SPSS. When the man made his move, Rocco grabbed his weapon. Sliding overboard, his finger found the trigger.
The force of the bullets slammed into Ortiz. He careened over the opposite side of the sub into the sea.
As the tepid waters of the Caribbean sucked Rocco under, the last sound he heard was the tortured beautiful cry of Jemma, screaming his name.
Chapter 62
“Not until they find Rocco,” Jemma said, clutching the blanket. She’d held onto it only because it was the last thing Rocco had given her, wrapping it around her as he’d carried her from the mansion and onto the SPSS. A reminder of the man she loved. The man who’d sacrificed everything to save her from Nomar Ortiz.
Everett crossed his arms and glared at her. “You know that’s not what he would’ve wanted. He’d want you to be taken care of. Let the EMTs check you out.”
“Stop fucking talking like he’s … gone. He can’t be gone,” Jemma snapped. She didn’t need Everett, the former DEA agent who she’d learned was one of Rocco’s closest friends, or any of the other men who’d been hovering around her from Stingray Security to tell her what she needed to do.
She stared at them as they formed a circle around her. Sebastian Luttrell functioned as the leader, although it was clear the role was one he didn’t appreciate. He also seemed to have a strong connection with the Palmchat Islands Coast Guard that caused them to take it easy on the men as they pulled four bullet-ridden dead enforcers from the waters.
Then there was Lachlan, who she remembered had navigated the SPSS as they escaped the island. Kane was the caretaker, keeping them supplied with food and water as the search droned on.
Jemma had pieced together a few fragmented details about Rocco’s connection to this clandestine, but well equipped, trained team of ex-operatives from various militaries and law enforcement agencies. Everett had given Rocco an open invitation to be part of the team. The others had accepted and rallied around Rocco because he’d come to their aid, using his medical expertise to save another member they seemed to revere. A man named Ike. Because of those two things, Rocco had been able to get their help, no questions asked, to rescue her.
How the Stingray Security team had access to top-quality SPSSs, intelligence and surveillance equipment and military grade weapons was something she’d get more details on later. A security team with this level of technology and skills was rare and suspicious.
All she cared about right now was being here when Rocco was found. Everything else could wait.
“Rocco is a survivor. I haven’t known him for very long, but I know that.” Kane handed her another bottle of water. “And I’m for damn sure that he didn’t fight off Ortiz and all his men to leave you alone without him. They’ll find him. But in the meantime, you need to let the doctors check you out.”
“Not until I know that Rocco is okay,” Jemma said each word with emphasis. She raised a hand toward the EMT descending upon her to motion for him to stop. “Get away from me.”
An involuntarily chill rattled through her body despite the stifling humidity of the afternoon. She’d been rooted to the same spot on the black sand beach of St. Felipe for almost twelve hours, watching the contingent of Palmchat Islands Coast Guard boats crisscrossing the Caribbean in search of survivors.
No one had to remind her what she needed or what Rocco would want for her.
