Page 91 of Heist in Paradise

“Jax!” I let out a strangled giggle. His mouth quirked at the sound, and he opened his eyes fully. For a whole beautiful second, he looked peaceful and sleep-dumb, like we’d just spent the night frolicking on the beach and not taking down an international trafficking ring.

Then I heard the unmistakable sound of chopper blades.

Instantly, his face hardened, and the violence returned to his eyes. He snapped upright and squinted over the ocean. A white helicopter was approaching to land.

“Fuck.”

He was on his feet and moving in the next second. I brushed off the sand and stood, ignoring the dull pang in my spine. The crew moved like trained soldiers, hiding the girls, finding the weapons, preparing for war.

Jax returned to my side just as the chopper landed and the door slid open. Sand whipped around us like a tornado, momentarily obscuring our vision. Jax grabbed my arm and shoved me behind him. My feet moved dumbly, my throat tight with fear.

Someone else put a gun in my hand.

I almost dropped it. Fingers squeezed my wrist, hard enough to bruise. A grinning skull with rose petals stared up at me like an omen.

“I don’t—” I started.

Madoc shushed me and squeezed my wrist again. His touch was searing, even though his hand was ice-cold. There was no time to second-guess myself. The crows stood in a single line in front of me, the first line of defense. Between their bodies, I saw four huge men approach, armed to the teeth. They were bigger and more intimidating than the men from the boat. These were the real enforcers—the clean-up crew.

The gun was heavy and awkward in my hand.

I’d never shot anything before. Never even held a gun. But I was the queen of faking it, so I curled my fingers around it and pretended like I wasn’t shaking like a leaf.

A flash of white caught my attention.

Between the four men walked a fifth man in a blinding white suit. A large silver cross glinted on his chest. I froze, my eyes widening into saucers. There was no mistaking him dressed like that.

A familiar voice floated over... “Olivia? Darling?”

The relief nearly floored me. “Preacher.” I moved forward, trying to wedge myself between Jax and Callum. Neither of them budged, and Jax shot me a warning look.

Preacher was here.

Tears burned my eyes. It wasn’t another wave of traffickers. It wasn’t Salvadore. We weren’t about to be gunned down and tossed into the sea.

Or so I thought.

“Who the fuck are you?” Jax demanded as soon as Preacher stopped. Jax raised his gun and pointed it directly at Preacher. The four huge men on either side of him responded in kind—guns pointed, tensions ran high.

My heart lurched. “Jax, no!”

Jax ignored me.

To his credit, Preacher didn’t look perturbed by the crew of guns. He was a hard man to crack, his kindness and empathy so deep-rooted that I feared for him. I knew Jax could kill him. Just like I knew the men on either side of Preacher would retaliate if he did.

“No need for alarm,” Preacher said, his voice warm and British. It wrapped around me like a blanket. It was the same voice he used to deliver sermons and console grieving widows. “I come in peace.”

Jax didn’t budge. He jerked his chin at the four huge men. “Peace has some pretty big guns.”

Preacher smiled and lifted his hand. At once, the four men lowered their weapons. Jax and his crew didn’t follow suit. Preacher gave him a considering look. “It’s good to finally meet you, Jackson.”

Jax stiffened in front of me. His eyes touched mine briefly.

“I didn’t—” I started, then stopped. The lie felt tacky on my tongue.

Preacher spared me. “Olivia didn’t betray your confidence. I’ve known about you for a while, Jackson—”

“Jax,” he corrected coldly.