Page 51 of Break Out the Girl

Surely, if they believe we are douche-bag rich kids, the yacht’s security will know actually harming us would cause a bureaucratic nightmare.

“This is your last warning. Leave the area immediately.”

Fuck. The biggest guard, a man with a neck thicker than a bull, is clicking his fingers and pointing. They’re preparing a zodiac to launch. The small rubber boat looks like it’s got a huge outboard engine. I doubt we can outrun it in this choppy water. “How’s your aim, Basil?” I shout back to the kid.

“Ooh, fuck yes! Do I get to shoot at them?" I can hear the glee in his voice.

“I’d rather you tear a hole in the zodiac, rather than the guards themselves.” The next thing I know, Basil is low in the boat, setting up the weapon. I try to keep half an eye on him, while careering across the waves. Looks like he knows what he’s doing. Good. “Wait for my word.”

The yacht’s crane pulley system starts to move, as four armed guards load in the inflatable. Probably a couple of minutes until they hit the water.

Hurry the fuck up, de Vaux.

I desperately want to get on the walkie and see how far they’ve gotten, but that could put them in danger. All I can do is cause a distraction for as long as possible.

The rubber zodiac hits the ocean surface. Ropes retract and I see churning white water as someone starts the engine. I guess we’ll play chase for a while. We need to keep them away from the starboard side. Our wooden sailing dinghy is almost invisible from up on the decks, tucked close up to The Carnivàle, but from the water?

Yeah, we’re fucked.

Zig, zag, circle, reverse circle.

The zodiac gains on us. A round of bullets cuts into the water once more. They’re still not trying to hit us, just scare us away. All well and good but if they get any closer, we won’t pass as Elite kids, that’s for sure.

“On my mark, Basil. And don’t fuck it up.”

“Fuck off, old man.”

Shit. They close the gap, twenty feet, fifteen, then move to our tail. I can’t keep focused on them and the yacht. “If you can see the whites of their eyes, tear that zodiac apart,” I shout.

The next second I hear a crack, a twang and a— “Fuck yeah!”

I broadside and can’t fight the grin when I see the inflatable instantly collapsing in on itself, the men inside panicking and yelling, guns abandoned. With that posse out of commission, I head back closer to The Carnivàle to keep an eye on proceedings.

Up on the deck, the massive lead guard is yelling something. At the same time he strips off his tactical vest, throwing his rifle at a grunt, he climbs onto the railing.

My heart sinks.

Oh fuck.

His chest seems to visibly expand as he glares down at our boat.

No. It definitely expands.

Then, he dives.

Mid-air the man shifts. One moment human, then next some kind of shark-freak. The splash as he hits the water is massive, sending waves that rock the jet boat violently. Through the churning foam, a colossal, scarred gray shark head, its jaws packed with rows of jagged, triangular teeth emerges.

And extending from the sides of its brutal torso are two thick, muscular human arms, tipped with razor-sharp claws that tear through the water with terrifying speed.

“Tally!” Rory screams, pointing at the water.

As the triangular dorsal fin slices through the gray swells leaving a hard, V-shaped wake, I open up the throttle once more.

That beast is heading straight at us like a torpedo.

They’re not playing any more. It’s coming to take us down.

All the way to the bottom of this freezing, dark ocean.