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Chapter 69 – Constantine
The throttle on thebike choked as I slammed to a hard stop. The scent of the docks, containing brine with rotten undertones, filled my nostrils as I gasped for breath.He took her.He took her on a fucking private boat! There were countless eyes on her, and last night I’d snuck onto her cruise ship without her knowing. It had been nearly impossible not to go straight to her suite, but I’d resisted. All so that I could watch over her as the angel of death. I ground my molars. And now, right under my nose, she’d slipped away.
The GPS line on my digital watch trailed out into the ocean. Our boat—staked with equipment and weapons—was three miles north. It would waste precious time to get to it or have it come and pick us up. I cut a look to the bounty of vessels bobbing on their mooring lines.
The roar of a second bike filled my ears. Daniel came up short beside me, duffle bag over his shoulder. Inside was an array of military grade weapons, including a sniper rifle.
“What now?” he asked, scanning the mostly abandoned wharf.
“We steal a boat,” I ground out, already kicking my bike to stand.
I took my phone out and punched the screen. Ralph picked up, and I cut off his greeting. “Follow her signal. Stay back in case he has a radar. We’ll meet you.” Ralph was my other trusted guard, and I relied on him to relay the orders to the others on our boat.
“Understood,” Ralph said, and I ended the call.
Daniel was already moving toward the private security booth when the gate attendant emerged, pistol holstered at his side. They began an animated conversation. I caught snippets of it as I approached. It was likely that these vessels belonged to some rather seedy individuals. Stealing them would bring the wrath of local players in the criminal underworld.
“Who does that black cigar boat belong to?” I demanded in English as I stopped at Daniel’s side.
The gate attendant slid a look over his shoulder and whipped his head around to stare at me with wide eyes. “No! No, not that one.”
“Yes, that one,” I snapped. Slowly, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a wad of cash.
The attendant shook his head vehemently. He was alone for now, but he couldn’t be the only employee on staff. He needed to be bribed and gotten out of the way quickly before others showed up. “Señor Moreno is a very bad man. I cannot let you takehisboat,” the guard protested. Even though he had a gun, he didn’t reach for it, instead lifting his trembling hands in protest. He was spooked, which confirmed my suspicions about the owners of the boats.
“You take the money. You tell Mr. Moreno that the butcher of Los Angeles needed to borrow his boat. You tell him I will pay three times what it is worth—”
“He will kill me!” The gate attendant went for his gun.
Daniel moved so fast that it was a blur. Blood sprayed from the guard’s nose. Daniel snatched the pistol out of the attendant’s hand and pushed him to the ground. “Let’s go, boss.”
I paused, looking at the bleeding guard. I hated leaving him to certain death. “Do you know the club, Mandala?” I demanded hurriedly.
The guard clutched his blood nose, glaring up at me. He nodded once.
“Go there. I’ll send a man to collect you. He can give you cash and a new identity. You can escape this Moreno’s wrath—”
“America. I want you to take me to America.” The dark eyes flashed. “There is opportunity there.”
“Done.” I held out my hand. I rarely smuggled people, but in this case, I would make an exception.
“And my parents too.” The guard took my hand, pushing off the ground.
“Yes, yes, now where is the key for the boat?” Daniel interrupted.
“The spare keys are locked in the main office, only to be used when moving vessels around...” the guard kept protesting, and Daniel growled a mean response. No, the guard couldn’t just walk in there and collect a key without authorization. Daniel asked how many employees were stationed at the main office.
Tuning them out, I threw a glance around the docks. Another employee with a toolbox was ambling down one boardwalk. We had to leave. Although I didn’t look at it, my smart watch seemed to pulse on my wrist in a ghostly warning that we were losing precious time.
“We’ll hotwire it,” I snapped, ending the back and forth. Throwing one more look at the guard, I added, “Go to the club. Tell no one.”
