Page 5 of Heist in Paradise

I straightened with another wince. “Old man still happy?”

“He hasn’t killed Scooby Doo yet.”

“There’s still time.”

Madoc’s gaze slid over to Ryle and Callum. It felt like a blessing, a momentary reprieve from his needling attention. I took a breath. Forced my ribs to open and expand.

When I was confident I wasn’t going to blow chunks, I called for a debrief. It was probably overkill—we’d already discussed the plan at length on the plane, and again over breakfast—but I couldn’t shake my dread. Madoc went to fetch Nate while Ryle took measured breaths under Callum’s heavy-handed swats. Zola munched on whatever other snacks she’d thrifted from the plane. Few people could maintain an appetite while standing ankle-deep in fish guts and seasickness, but Zola was special. She was nearly my height, with warm brown skin and thick black hair, braided in a way that made her striking and intimidating. She was iron-willed and cunningly clever, even if she was prone to bouts of self-sabotage, notably her on-again, off-again relationship with Nate, our resident narcissist.

Speaking of the devil…

“Why so glum, chums?” Nate hollered as he pranced across the deck. His ability to read a room was, as always, spectacularly terrible.

Zola straightened, her hackles rising like a scorned black cat. “Are you high?”

“High on life, baby.”

A headache tugged at my temples. Nate and his fickle sobriety were an issue I’d set aside for another day. That day kept jumping away from me. Interventions were always a disaster—none of us had any leg to stand on when it came to healthy coping mechanisms—but I knew something had to be done soon. Nate was naturally hyper, sliding into mania when doped up.

“You’re such an idiot,” Zola snapped. “How could you think—wait, you never think. You are so selfish—”

“Not this again,” Nate groaned, raising his hand to shield against the sun. It was a futile effort. He was already burnt, his face red and shiny where he’d tucked his chestnut hair behind his ears. He was classically good-looking, an All-American boy from a fine pedigree. His longer-than-usual hair was adorably rebellious, like a frat boy going through a punk phase and falling short.

His eyes were dilated and bloodshot. His grin was downright sharky.

I grabbed his collar and dragged him toward me like an errant puppy. “You better not be.”

His lip dropped in a playful pout. “Naw, don’t be mad, Dad. I promise I won’t get caught.”

Don’t strangle him. Don’t strangle him.

“How the fuck did you smuggle drugs through airport security?”

Nate shrugged awkwardly, still pinned by my fist. “I didn’t shelf them if that’s what you’re asking. I found a guy at the motel.”

My fist tightened, and for a sweet moment, I allowed my imagination to run wild. Seeing murder on my face, Nate started to wilt and shuffle nervously. “I was antsy, alright? The last job nearly killed me. It’s just to take the edge off, nothing else.”

I released him with a shove. “I’ll deal with you when we get back.”

Nate nodded, but already his mood was surging, his preppy grin returning.

Zola looked as murderous as I felt. “Let me drown him, Jax. No one will miss him.”

“Aw, babe.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“You liked it last night.”

“Well, I hoped you liked it too. Because it’s never happening again—"

Ryle retched so loudly, it was a wonder he didn’t pop an organ. “Please,” he begged them. “Please, god, just stop. I can’t listen to you anymore.”

Both Zola and Nate opened their mouths, but I cut them off before they could devolve into another pointless argument. “Enough. One more word and I’ll throw you both overboard.”

Zola scoffed in outrage but remained blissfully silent.

“The plan,” I said firmly, rubbing my eyes where they burned and burned. “Let’s go through it again. Scooby, you start.”