Page 20 of Black Reign

I provided it.

Everyone surrendered phones before we left the marina.

The models weren't thrilled.

Drew nearly staged a constitutional crisis.

Nobody won.

There will be no photographs of Kane Haverhill's bachelor party unless I permit them.

I won't.

No hashtags. No grainy videos. No leaked footage of an NBA star partying off the French coast weeks before his wedding.

More importantly, no digital evidence of Drew Travers's naked cannonball.

Humanity has suffered enough.

Haverhill sets down his beer.

“Fuck it.”

He dives in wearing his swim trunks.

The women cheer.

I remain where I am.

Watching.

As usual.

We send the women back around three-thirty.

Politely.

Mostly.

Vale's assistant arranged gift bags because apparently bachelor parties now require parting favors.

No phones are returned until they're safely onshore.

No one leaves with photographs.

No video.

No proof.

Exactly how I like it.

Jalen climbs aboard last.

His hair is soaked. There's lipstick along the side of his neck, and he's missing one flip-flop.

Haverhill looks at him.

“Good night?”