The Devil's Daughter

by Ophelia Bell

  “I heard shots. I couldn’t let you two deal with it alone. She has a gun and insists she knows how to use it.”

  “Don’t be a goddamn hero, Drake. It’s my job to protect you, not the other way around.”

  His jaw clenches. “I don’t give a fuck. We’re all in danger now. I may not be as highly trained as you two, but I can hold my own.”

  Just as he says it, a loud crash reaches us from the direction of his room, followed by a gunshot. We both break into a run, skidding to a halt and ducking into my room when a man fires at us. Behind him, another man has an arm locked around Elle’s neck, her back plastered to his chest and a gun to her head as he backs toward the stairwell. She’s fighting him with her entire being, scratching and screaming, every sound making my gut clench with terror. The man also has blood running down his cheek from what looks like the graze of a bullet that passed through the top of one ear. Too bad she didn’t aim a couple inches to the left.

  Unfortunately we can’t shoot, or we’ll risk getting our heads blown off by his friend—or even worse, hitting Elle.

  “They won’t hurt her if they want you,” I say, sharing a desperate look with Drake when they disappear up the stairs. He studies me, then nods, making a move to give chase. I grab his arm and pull him back. “But I don’t intend to give you up easily, either. I’m not crazy enough to think you’ll stay put if I tell you to go hide somewhere, so just stay behind me, okay? Let’s see if we can get to the bridge. Hopefully Baz made it and the three of us can regroup.”

  Drake nods again and falls into step behind me. I move slow and steady so I can listen to whatever’s going on above. Elle’s angry screams and curses echo down to us, getting fainter as they take her farther away. I’m able to follow the sound up to the main deck, and it keeps rising until eventually, it stops. Chances are they gagged her—at least I hope that’s all they did.

  But the only thing above us is the bridge deck, which includes the captain’s quarters, as well as the actual bridge. I glance behind me to warn Drake to stay close and quiet just in time to see another intruder grab him.

  “Drop your fucking gun,” the man says, holding a knife to Drake’s throat.

  “No problem. Don’t hurt him, okay?” I carefully squat to set my gun on the ground and lift both hands as I rise.

  “Now go,” the man says, gesturing to the steps leading up to the bridge.

  Gritting my teeth, I obey.

  When I step through the open door onto the bridge, I’m greeted by two kneeling figures—Elle and Theo, gagged with their hands bound behind their backs and zip ties around their ankles.

  Miles Sitnik sits in the captain’s chair, a phone to one ear, and swivels to face me as two sets of hands grab me and force me to my knees. I’m similarly bound and gagged, then lifted beneath my armpits and hauled to kneel beside Elle while they shove Drake to his knees in front of his brother.

  “We have him,” Sitnik says into a phone he holds to his ear. “I can kill him now and snap a picture for you.” He glances at us and frowns. “Three witnesses. His girlfriend and his captain, and one other man I think is his bodyguard. We subdued the crew in their quarters, but it’s only the chef and his wife.”

  He listens for a moment, his jaw clenching. “If you insist. Yes, there’s a helipad on both yachts. You’d better not be wasting my fucking time.”

  “Your boss thinks you’ll fuck it up again, huh?” Drake says. “Sometimes if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

  “Don’t get me started on what you fucked up,” Miles snaps. “Our father was building an empire before you came along and murdered him and burned all his hard work to the ground. I’m here to rebuild as soon as I get you out of the way.”

  “If killing me is the answer, why wait? Why put surveillance all over my penthouse?”

  “To make a fucking point. You’re no better than any of the men who paid to partake of the Kennel’s offerings. You’re not the only one with surveillance software on other people’s computers. Not the only one who likes to watch. I’ve been watching you for more than a year now, biding my time. Your old security chief nearly fucked up my plans when he found the cameras.”

  “So you killed Curt Hagler,” Drake says. “Or did you even bother getting your hands dirty with that?”

  Miles waves his hand. “Like you, I can pay other people to do my dirty work. Outsource everything, Dad used to say. But they still couldn’t figure out where you ran to after you found the cameras. Your new live-in girlfriend was the weak spot I needed. If it weren’t for her big mouth, I’d have never found out where you were.”

  I clench my jaw around the rag they stuffed into my mouth. Elle was the weak spot? How? It had to be something he overheard at the party.

  I glance at her, and she gives me an apologetic shrug. I turn back to glare at Miles, hoping my expression conveys enough warning to leave her out of this. But a moment later, it sinks in that he has no clue who she is, or who we are. He’s so singularly focused on Drake he seems to have entirely missed the connection to Flores.

  Not that that will save us here. Whoever’s en route to observe Drake’s execution is the real devil, and unless Papá Flores himself materializes out of thin air to face off against him, we’re fucked. And I’m pretty sure we can’t count on Elle’s Navy SEAL brother and his friend to leap out of the water, knives clenched in their teeth, to wreak havoc on these fuckers.

  The rhythmic thwap of a helicopter grows louder as it approaches us, and I brace myself. Miles gestures, and the man guarding Drake shoves a gag into his mouth and slaps duct tape over it. Drake shoots a panicked glance our way, eyes wide as he scans the three of us. His gaze brightens minutely, and I give a sharp shake of my head to warn him not to give away what might be our only advantage. My twin is still out there somewhere; with any luck, he’s still alive and figuring out how to come rescue us.

  The helicopter lands, and a moment later, slow, heavy footsteps sound on the stairs. I’m expecting some old Serbian asshole to appear, but the man remains in shadows until he reaches the doorway and steps inside.

  And then my eyes lock on the last fucker I ever wanted to see: Gustavo fucking Delgado.

  44

  Elle

  Ben makes a muffled exclamation into his gag that I interpret as, “Fuck me,” when the new arrival enters. He looks familiar, but it takes a moment for me to place his scarred face as one from the flash drive Mason gave me. My stomach drops when I put a name to him. My father wasn’t wrong after all—Gustavo Delgado really is working with Corluka.

  He doesn’t seem happy to see us, though.

  “What the fuck have you done, Sitnik? Didn’t you think to ID Stavros’ guests? Do you have any idea who the fuck they are?”

  “What do I care? The man has no friends. Whoever they are, they’re here because he paid them to be.”

  Gustavo’s gaze rests on Ben’s face first, and he mutters a curse. “Where’s the other one? There are two of them. You two, go search the boat for his brother.” He jabs his finger at the men nearest the door, one of whom is still standing guard over Drake. He gives Miles a questioning glance.

  Miles shakes his head. “I don’t remember another one. I saw that one at the party talking to Drake.”

  “He has a fucking twin, you idiot.”

  Miles blanches, then nods to the pair of guards, who exit to go find Baz.

  I’m vaguely relieved by the order. I’ve been quelling panic all this time over the possibility that Baz is lying dead somewhere below us, but they haven’t admitted to killing him, so that must mean he’s still alive.

  Gustavo’s nostrils flare when he looks at me again. He closes the distance and grabs my jaw in one hand, tilting my head back uncomfortably far. “Maybe this one’s all about the money. She grew up poor, but the Santos family are a bunch of fucking do-gooders, even if they’re under Arturo Flores’ protection.”

  He grabs the corner of the tape covering my mouth and
rips it off. I hiss when sharp pain lances through my chin and cheeks, then quickly fades by the time he pulls the wad of cloth from my mouth. Both Drake and Ben make incoherent sounds of protest, their eyes wild.

  Gustavo glances between them, then back to me, chuckling wickedly. “Tell me, Baby Santos, do your brothers know you’re fucking both these guys?”

  “Fuck you, Delgado. You know you can’t touch me.”

  This is the first opportunity I’ve had to dredge up information from the flash drive I spent days studying without really knowing what it was or why I needed to know it. But I can’t for the life of me figure out which piece will do the most good, now that I’m actually faced with this monster.

  “Really? I’m guessing your brother told you that I made some deal with him to protect all of you. Did he ever tell you why?”

  When I don’t answer, he laughs. “Didn’t think he’d actually give that detail up. He’s still the only one who knows. Well, I’ll clue you in, Baby Santos—I’m not afraid of him, or the secrets he keeps anymore.”

  He releases me and slips a hand into the pocket of his suit jacket. When he draws it out, light glints off the shiny chrome of the fist weapon he’s threaded his fingers through. Grinning skulls adorn the rises of each knuckle, dried blood caked in their crevices.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Delgado?” Miles says. “I thought you wanted to kill Stavros.”

  “I’m getting to him,” Gustavo says in an almost off-handed tone. “This one reminds me of someone, though—a pretty little thing named Lola Prieto, who believed she was hot shit and that the sun shined out of her pussy. She had two men wrapped around her little finger, two men who would’ve been kings, if they hadn’t let a whore like her dictate their business. I’ll tell you a secret: there’s no sharing power in our line of work. She had to go, or neither of them would’ve become who they are today. But I had a taste before I put her out of her misery. She wasn’t as sweet as they’d have you believe. She bit. Do you bite, Baby Santos?”

  My eyes widen. This is the secret Mason was holding over him all this time? “You’re the one who killed Celeste’s mother?” I’m too shocked to say more, to even articulate how messed up it is that he seems to think he did Arturo and Amador a favor by murdering the woman they loved.

  “I had to. They had a falling out over her. Business suffered. She was close to bringing them back together, but it would only make things worse if they fought over her again. She had to go.”

  Beside me, Ben whimpers and shakes his head. At first I don’t understand why; we’re just talking. Then a prickly chill runs down my spine.

  “You’re going to kill us, aren’t you? All of us. That’s the only reason you told me. You know if my father finds out, you’re a dead man. I bet if Amador learns the truth, it’ll be just as bad. Maybe worse. You can’t let this get out, so you’re going to kill us.”

  I glance at Miles, who just sits there, looking impatient. “What about him? You can’t trust him to keep the secret, either. Do you think just because you’re partners, he’ll keep his mouth shut? What happens when he changes his mind and needs you out of the picture?”

  Gustavo narrows his eyes and turns to Miles, who sneers at me. When he turns back, he shakes his head. “I’m not scared of your father anymore, little girl. Now that I’ve taken over the Zavala Cartel, he can’t touch me. Neither of them can. If I kill you, it’ll just be for fun. And this asshole and I aren’t partners. He’s just facilitating the exchange of goods for money.”

  “You mean human beings! You need Drake’s business to sell innocent women for sex!”

  “Doesn’t matter why we need it,” Gustavo says. “And I wouldn’t need this asshole if your boyfriend would just open his mind and be willing to work with me. His father started something a long time ago with Zavala. Now that I’m in control and have seen the missing profits from that abandoned venture, I’m ready to get it going again. It’s worth too much not to.”

  I rack my brain for an argument to force him to let us live, but come up blank. Drake’s making loud noises of protest from behind his gag, and Gustavo turns to him.

  “What’s this? Do you want to bargain? I’m happy to negotiate.”

  “The fuck you are,” Miles says. “We have a deal. I kill him and take his place as CEO of Typhon, and we’re golden. You don’t need him.”

  Gustavo removes Drake’s gag with a swift rip of tape.

  “You do need me,” Drake says, glaring daggers at Miles. “You must be fucking dense if you think it’s that easy to take over Typhon. The Board has to unanimously approve a new CEO. It’s in the bylaws. And trust me, none of them will approve you.”

  “Is this true?” Gustavo asks, turning back to Miles. “You told me it was a done deal.”

  “He’s full of shit,” Miles says. “I’ve personally met with each member and ensured all their votes. Not to mention there is no deal without me. You’re forgetting who your supplier is.”

  “Did he tell you that Typhon’s already been under investigation for human trafficking?” Drake says. “Why do you think my father had to go? I wasn’t about to let him destroy the entire company over his fucking side gig. You’re better off keeping your distance. Find another way, and leave my company the fuck out of your scheme.”

  Gustavo rounds on Miles again and points in his face. “What the fuck? When I came to you with this, you claimed there was no way it could fail. Now not only are you full of shit about the power you have, but the entire corporation is fucking tainted? Remind me why I agreed to enter into this partnership with Corluka.”

  “We have other business besides the girls,” Miles says. “Other products that are easier to transport. Meth… heroin … guns…”

  Gustavo laughs, his voice getting louder. “You think I don’t already have enough drugs? And no doubt better shit too. I’d be interested in the guns if I thought I could fucking trust you!”

  He raises his fist and brings it down against Miles’ temple before the other man has time to lift his hands in defense. The impact makes a sickening crunch, and Miles crumples to the ground.

  45

  Elle

  Gustavo doesn’t seem to register what just happened. All I see is rage in his eyes as he stares at the bleeding body on the floor below him. Miles’ eyes are wide open and staring, but devoid of life.

  Gustavo turns on Drake, teeth bared, knuckles white where he clenches his metal-adorned fist.

  Ben surges to his feet with a loud, inarticulate protest and topples over immediately.

  I yell “No!” as Gustavo raises his fist, aiming for Drake’s face.

  A shot echoes through the door, and a bullet hits the windshield just past Gustavo’s head. A web of tiny cracks spreads through the glass. He jerks back, and at first I think—no I hope—he’s been hit, but he doesn’t cry out or stumble. Instead he mutters, “You fuckers aren’t worth it,” then turns and darts to the narrow door on the other side of the instrument panel leading to a weather deck just beyond the windows.

  Another shot pings off the door, and he ducks as he leaps over the handrail and disappears.

  A moment later, his helicopter’s rotors start up, then hit a whining crescendo. Baz lurches onto the bridge, holding his blood-soaked side as he stumbles past us and out the door, firing his gun at the retreating man. But none of the bullets hit their target, and soon Gustavo’s helicopter rises into the air.

  Baz returns to us, panting, his eyes wild. “Are you guys okay?” He comes to me first, pulling out his knife and slicing easily through the zip ties around my wrists and ankles. I throw my arms around him.

  “Baz. Thank god you’re okay. I thought they killed you!”

  “I’m made of tough stuff,” he says, kissing me before turning to Ben who has managed to return to a seated position after tumbling over.

  Once the captain, Drake, and Ben are all free, I push Baz down into the chair beside the captain’s chair and lift his shirt. “Jesus, what happened?�
�� I gingerly dab gauze from a First Aid kit at the deep gash in his side.

  “Got cornered in the galley. I disarmed the fucker, but he went for the cooking knives.”

  “We have suture kits down in the med bay,” Theo says. “Take him down and we’ll get started cleaning up here.”

  Ben kneels beside Miles’ body, placing his fingers to his neck to check his pulse.

  “What are you going to do with him?” I ask.

  He grimaces. “Bury him. He’s dead.”

  “Fuck,” Drake mutters, swiping his hands over his face. “This could be really fucking bad for us.”

  “Does the Corluka gang know who he was in business with?” I ask. “Because if they do, they probably won’t spend much time wondering if anyone but Gustavo could’ve done this.”

  “I know what we need to do,” Ben says. “Drake, help me get the body downstairs to the swim deck. This is going to be bloody, and we don’t want to have to do much cleanup. Elle, you get Baz to the med bay and stitch him up. Captain, can you find us some sharks? His isn’t the only body we need to dispose of.”

  Theo nods sagely, then tilts his head toward the window and the other yacht moored alongside us. “What about the other boat? We leave it anchored out here, someone’s bound to find it and start asking questions.”

  I usher Baz out before I can hear the gritty details of their plans for the corpses littering the boat. But not everyone is dead; we pass at least one unconscious man on the way to the med bay who still looks like he’s breathing.

  My nerves are shot when we enter the med bay and shut the door behind us, wishing I could shut out the knowledge of what the guys are about to do. Rifling through the cabinets to find the suture kits, I realize my hands are shaking. Soon my vision goes blurry too. When Baz wraps his big hands around mine, I nearly lose it.

  “Hey. Come here,” he says, pulling me close. “It’s okay now. We’re all okay.”