Page 91 of Then We Shatter

“Drop the anchor!” I reply by way of an answer. I’m smiling as I watch the helicopter correct its course again. “He’s coming.”

There’s the crash of the anchor dropping fast, and pounding footfalls that match my racing heart. Killian slams into me and pins me to the deck.

He’s panting as he looks down at me. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Mad. Psycho. Bitch.”

I shove him off and roll my eyes. “We have a missile launcher. I can hit them long before they can hit us.”

“Assuming they don’t have missiles.”

It’s a fair point.

As we assume our positions, the helicopter closes some of the distance between us then hovers just out of range of our bullets. It turns ninety degrees to reveal an open door at the rear. A man I recognize as one of Vasili’s guards is crouching with an eye pressed to the scope of his rifle. I give him the middle finger.

“Jesus, Kitty. Keep your fucking head down,” Killian says through gritted teeth. “With the wind in the right direction, he could get lucky and–”

There’s the distant crack of a shot, but no noticeable impact. If the bullet hit the ocean, it was too far away to hear a splash.

“Hit launch, Kitty. Let’s erase the fuckers,” Killian says impatiently.

“I want to see my uncle first. I need to know he’s onboard.”

“You know he is. Sasha confirmed it.”

“Even so… I want to look him in the eye when I send him to hell.”

Killian must know what I’m planning because he presses a hand to my shoulder to stop me. “No more breaking cover. Please. My heart can’t take it.”

I purse my lips and I’m shocked to find them trembling. Killian’s right. I don’t need to see Vasili. I just need my uncle dead if I’m ever going to be free. I settle my shoulder against the missile launcher and line up the scope with the center of the helicopter. My trigger finger tenses.

One.

Two.

My breath catches as Vasili Barkov appears behind the guy taking shots at me. He’s carrying something long and cylindrical and as he aims it in my direction, there’s a wide grin on his face. He’s scaled up his protection since my escape. My uncle’s missile launcher isn’t quite as big as Killian’s, but the damage it could do to our little fishing boat would be catastrophic.

He won’t waste time taunting me, so neither can I. When I launch the missile, I’m shoved back by the force, but I straighten up so I can follow the trail it leaves as it speeds towards the helicopter.

I’m not looking through the scope so I’m denied whatever will be Vasili’s last expression. Shock perhaps. More likely anger. Or maybe he’s still grinning because, at the same time Killian curses, I spot a second missile heading our way.

When my uncle’s helicopter explodes, the boom is deafening, the ball of fire spectacular and the sight of shrapnel and smoke scattering that bastard’s ashes to the four winds is glorious. I take in every beautiful detail for all of a millisecond before I’m forced to acknowledge the incoming counter strike.

I hold my breath, hoping its trajectory will be thrown off by the shockwave from the first explosion, but no, it’s heading straight for the midsection of the boat. My uncle had to be such a good fucking shot.

Killian and I jump up at the same time and he grabs my arm. “Get to the stern!” he shouts, pointing past the wheelhouse to the furthest part of the aft.

We make it to the narrow gangway running alongside the wheelhouse and Killian keeps to my back, protecting me. I grab the handrail to propel myself forward just as the boat takes the hit. The handrail shakes, the boat lurches and my ears throb with the pressure of the explosion.

And then… nothing.

I let out a shaky breath. The boat is listing and will probably go down, but we made it.

“I’ll send Ash an SOS,” Killian shouts above the whoosh of flames engulfing the hole in the deck. “Keep to the stern. There’s an inflatable life raft we can use.”

While he disappears inside the wheelhouse, I grab the inflatable and pull the cord to inflate it as I throw it into the water. When I turn back to Killian, his frame is silhouetted against the thick, black smoke coming from the midsection. The inferno behind him is being fueled by timber that’s tinder dry from the intense morning sun. The fishing nets around our cache of weapons will be catching too. Firearms. Bullets. Grenades.

Oh, fuck.

“Killian!” I scream and his head snaps up.