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“Spit it out.”
“The Eastsiders are coming back.”
What?
Three Outcasts sabotaged Ayana’s western security tower several days back, burning it to the ground as a distraction to help Droga sneak in. I fucking forgave them and sent them back to the Eastside this morning. The guards should’ve been back by now.
“What’s their problem? Marlow just texted me that the boat left the Eastside.” I am confused.
He clears his throat. “Not them, boss. I’m talking about the tattooed guy and his girl.”
Droga…
My world takes a spin on its axel.
6
ARCHER
“What do you mean?”I ask as calmly as I can, though my heart slams in my chest so loudly that I think I’m about to pass out.
“The cargo boat turned around and just came back. That couple is talking to the port security guys, who won’t let them off the docks. They are requesting you.”
I feel like I am ready to jump off the couch, except I am rising slowly, not believing what I hear.
“Tell security to lay off and I’ll be there in twenty. And get two guys on ATVs to follow me to the port. Now!”
I search the villa for the radio, then run outside like I never ran before.
In a minute, my Street Fighter motorcycle is going faster than sound, swishing past the resort entrance security, north toward Port Mrei.
This time, my heart is hammering for a different reason.
I curse Droga with all words imaginable, but I am grinning into the wind as I zoom through the jungle down the road to Port Mrei.
Questions flicker in my mind one after another. Does he need something? Did something happen for the boat to turn around? He made it clear he and Callie didn’t want to stay.
I fly through the trashed streets of Port Mrei, people stopping and turning their heads. Most don’t know who I am, though everyone knows my name.
I slow down as I approach the port and disregard the port gate security guy who flags me down—moron—and is immediately jerked aside by another guard who apparently recognizes me.
My bike slows, pulling up to one of the docks, but my heart slams in my chest with such force that I think I might have a heart attack—the sight of Droga and Callie brings out all the guilt and anger and shame. Yeah, this morning was a disaster. I was at my lowest.
Droga stands with his hand on Callie’s waist, and they both stare at me as I approach. Every step is like walking on ice, but my face is hot under the morning tropical sun.
Five port security guards stand around them like they are prisoners. I hear the ATV engines behind me—my security caught up. Crew members from other boats gawk like it’s a spectacle.
The breeze is too hot.
The sun is too bright.
And suddenly, in the middle of the day, us facing each other with armed guards around feels like…
A manhunt.
Yeah, I get it now.
It’s embarrassing. Semi-sober, I now understand how insane my actions in the previous days were.
