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“Shade?”
Jet’s voice. He closed his eyes. “The Albanians are firing, and they’re about to get the chip.”
Shit. He couldn’t let that happen. He reloaded his gun.
“Get ready, Shade.” Boone’s deep voice.
A second later, there was a hail of gunfire from the mezzanine.
Cain glanced up and spotted Boone firing on the Albanians. They scattered.
Cain darted out and raced to the chip. His fingers brushed it.
Bullets ripped past him. Cursing, he dove and rolled. He’d missed grabbing the chip.
He came up in a crouch and looked up.
Dobroshi had grabbed the chip and was glaring at Cain. The man turned and ran for the boat. He leaped over the dead bodies of his colleagues.
The hail of gunfire ceased. Cain glanced up and saw Boone wrestling with another guard who’d appeared from somewhere. Cain sprinted after Dobroshi.
The man leaped onto the speedboat, setting it rocking.
Cain didn’t slow down. He took several more steps and leaped.
He sailed through the air and crashed into the Albanian.
They fell to the floor of the boat, grappling in the tight confines.
Fuck, he was strong. His body was all slabs of muscle. Cain elbowed the guy, and with a grunt, wrestled to get on top and pin him down. Dobroshi rammed an elbow to Cain’s gut. The air rushed out of him, and he gritted his teeth.
He didn’t let go.
He got the man in a headlock, holding tight.
“Drop it,” Cain gritted out.
The man jerked, desperately trying to get air.
Cain tightened his hold. “Drop it, asshole.”
“Fuck you,” the man said in Albanian.
“No, thanks,” Cain responded in the same language.
He pulled tighter. Then finally he felt the man sag, and the chip fell from his meaty fingers.
Then he slumped, unconscious.
Cain heaved and shoved him overboard. He hit the water with a splash and sank down.
Swiveling, Cain scooped up the chip. His fingers curled around it.
He touched his ear. “I have the chip.”
“Thank God,” Jet said. “Now get out of there!”
He scanned the boathouse. Where was Weber? There was no sign of him. Was he dead? Had he run?
