Page 76 of Heist in Paradise

Callum’s voice crackled deep and startling in my ear. “Two down. One escaped. Comin’ your way, Alpha.”

My lungs seized. The communication signal was poor so far from the mansion, but the odd snippet still got through. I told myself to tune it out, focus only on Madoc. I ignored the needling concern that pressed on my edges—the image of Jax, bloodied and shot, sprawled like those corpses at Madoc’s feet—and shoved them away with the rest of my unwelcome ghosts.

I exhaled when Jax’s voice broke through a few minutes later: “Clear.”

I watched the boat, tracking the disorder of the armed men as they started to suspect something was amiss. They no longer approached the treeline, and I knew that was a bad sign. Madoc crouched low again, his breathing steady in my ears, so I matched it with my own.

It was us against them. Despite my vehement dislike of Madoc, I didn’t want him to die. He needed me, even though he’d hate to admit it, and being needed felt good. I was powerless in so many other ways, in so many things, but not in this.

Clearing my throat, keeping my voice low and soothing, I gave Madoc my eyes. “They’re nervous. Hovering near the boat. One of them is pointing toward the mansion—they’re probably clued in to the ambush.”

Madoc didn’t speak, didn’t give me any acknowledgment. However, when I shot a glance at him, his face was turned down, as if listening intently.

“One of them is turning to the boat. There must be…must be someone else in there, someone I can’t see. They’re talking.” I narrowed my lens, trying to see into the cabin of the yacht. “Ma—Sparrow, what’s the plan? We’re outnumbered.”

I didn’t expect Madoc to reply—I was merely voicing my concerns aloud, just in case he needed to consider them. But Madoc surprised me by answering in a clipped voice: “We need to draw them out.”

“Okay. Sure. Cool. What did you have in mind?”

Madoc paused, then said: “You.”

I blinked down at him blankly. “Me?”

“Pretty girls are distracting.”

I ignored the rush of warmth that gave me. Coming from Madoc, it was probably intended as an insult.

“You can cry and play victim. Or you can scream. Choose one. Draw them out.”

I shifted on the branch and stared at the armed men, the monsters on the shoreline. “And if they shoot me on sight?”

“Bad luck for you.”

I huffed in annoyance. “And what are you going to do while I’m bleeding out on the beach?”

“I’m going to make them pay.”

Not exactly the most comforting plan.

I wondered if Madoc saw value in my life—enough that he would actually regret it if I died—but I decided not to prod too hard at that thought. Carefully, I climbed down the tree, awkward and clunky with all my gear. On the ground, I dumped my backpack and goggles, hesitating for a moment before I removed my tactical vest. I knew Jax would hate what I was about to do.

He’s not here, my mind said, sounding oddly enough like Madoc. Focus on here.

“Okay,” I said, voice dry but steady. “I’m ready. I’ll start screaming.”

I took two steps out from the treeline, sinking into the soft sand. I purposely didn’t look over at Madoc, who was invisible to my straining eyes, and paused, testing my throat. When I was confident I wouldn’t shred my vocal cords, I unleashed a high, ringing scream before stumbling out into plain view.

Immediately, men’s voices pitched over toward me, demanding and full of threats. A light flashed over me, and I winced, raising my hands pitifully. With a gentle squeeze, I unleashed the welling tears that tracked down my cheeks.

Boots pounded across the sand. I allowed my shoulders to slump, despite the tension in my frame, the instinctive urge to clamp up and hide. Run. Madoc is right there, I told myself firmly as they descended on me. He probably won’t let them hurt you.

“Who the fuck are you?” The voice was rough and heavily accented. A hand gripped my arm hard enough to bruise and shook me. “Got away, huh? Thought you’d make a break for it? Das pena.”

Hot rank breath washed over my face. “Please,” I begged softly. “Let me go.”

“Agh, pathetic.” A second hand gripped my ponytail and yanked it back so hard I saw sparks. Multiple faces leered at me from above.

“This one pretty,” another voice piped in, and fingers brushed against my side, probing. My stomach lurched sickeningly. “Bring her to the boat, si? With the others?”