His Little Red: A Possessive Dark Romance (Mayhem Ever After Book 1)

by Vivi Paige

  “Will!” Scarlett shouted over the din of our engines and the splashing waves. I turned my gaze just enough to spot her with my peripheral vision, standing behind my chair. Her hair was torn about in wild disarray by the wind, her dress billowing behind her. “They’re getting closer.”

  “I told you to stay down,” I growled, unable to do much about it at the time. I had to maintain control of the yacht.

  “I can help you,” she said.

  “How?” I sputtered.

  “There’s a tank of propane next to the stove.”

  “And?” I blurted, struggling to keep us steady as we hit another swell.

  “And…” She was jostled about on impact but managed to keep her footing. “And have you ever seen the movie Jaws?”

  I hadn’t, actually—judge me if you will, but I don’t like effects films—but I knew enough about the finale to know what she was getting at.

  “Take the wheel,” I said, indicating the copilot’s chair.

  “But I’ve never…”

  “Take the wheel, Scarlett,” I snapped. There was no time to be polite. “Just keep the nose pointed at the oncoming waves.”

  She dropped into the seat, fearfully tightening her hands around the wheel. I leaped to my feet and dashed down the steps to the bottom deck. We impacted with another wave when I was halfway down, and I went sprawling onto my belly, cutting my lip when I hit the floor.

  But I was back up immediately, rushing over to the secured propane tank and attacking the fastenings with fingers and thumbs. I grunted, struggling to remove the wingnuts, which had corroded stubbornly into place. My skin grew raw, my muscles cramped, but I refused to give in.

  At last, I pried the fastenings free and skidded on my knees to the rear of the yacht. The boat full of hard-eyed men was less than a hundred feet away now. One of the AR-15-wielding men felt confident to aim a short burst in our direction. It harmlessly shot gouts of water up in our wake instead of striking our hull, but it was a clear reminder that soon we’d be sitting ducks for their potent arsenal.

  “Du dunt du dunt du dunt, mother fuckers,” I shouted, mimicking the famous theme song from the film. Then I heaved the propane tank over my head, preparing to launch it at our adversaries.

  My plan was to toss it in their path and then draw my pistol and fire. Unfortunately, we hit the back side of a wave, and Scarlett’s inexperienced hand cost us dearly. The yacht lurched badly to the left, sending me sprawling. I dropped the propane tank instead of a targeted throw, and it fell into our wake and was launched off into the deep harmlessly far away from our foes.

  There was nothing to it. Scarlett couldn’t handle the boat, not in these choppy waters, and we didn’t stand a chance of winning a fire fight. I was going to have to engage the yacht’s secret and hope the waves weren’t too high for it to operate without us capsizing.

  As I scrambled to my feet, more gunfire erupted from the pursuing boat. The white sofa erupted into gouts of stuffing as bullets tore it to shreds. I dashed up the steps as several splintered below me under the might of the assault rifles.

  Running up to the top deck, I plopped heavily into the pilot’s seat and took over the controls.

  “I’m sorry, Will,” Scarlett said, her eyes full of regret and fear.

  “It’s fine.” I flipped open a metal caster on the control console. “We’re about to leave these assholes far behind.”

  “What? Does this boat have hidden wings?” she snapped.

  “In a manner of speaking, yes,” I grinned. I pushed the button behind the caster. “I’m going to engage the hydrofoil mode. There’s no way they’ll be able to keep up with us.”

  I waited. Nothing happened. Gunfire tore into our aft deck as Scarlett turned a baleful eye my way.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” I snapped. “It’s not working…”

  My voice trailed off, and then I started cursing.

  “Damn it, Will, what’s the matter? Talk to me.”

  “The hydrofoils won’t deploy because they’re still locked in place for maintenance,” I said. “They’ll have to be manually released.”

  “Is that something you can do?” she said, fearfully watching the boat grow ever closer on the monitors.

  “No,” I said grimly. “It’s something you have to do.”

  Scarlett’s green eyes widened to the size of the setting sun.

  “Me?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “What in the fuck did you just say?” My mouth gaped open. “I don’t know anything about fixing boats.”

  “Do you know how to change a tire?” Wolf snapped back, his knuckles white on the wheel as gunfire rang out.

  “Well, yes…”

  “Then you can do this. It’s much easier.” Will’s eyes narrowed. “Brace yourself.”

  I obeyed just in time as we hit a higher swell than we’d yet encountered. His expert handling meant we landed in a precisely aligned position and lost little momentum.

  When our pursuers hit the same high swell, however, their pilot wasn’t so skilled or lucky. The speed boat hit at an awkward angle and listed badly in the water. Will laughed triumphantly, though it was a momentary victory.

  “Ha, they stalled out,” he said with glee.

  “Does that mean we’re going to escape?” I asked. “And I don’t have to fix the stupid boat?”

  “Maybe, unless they get it going again quickly,” he said, peering at the rear-mounted camera monitor. His eyes narrowed and he started cursing again. “Fuck. Fuck. They’re already gaining on us again.”

  “Guess I have to fix the hydrofoil,” I murmured with resignation. I ran my fingers over the edges of the control console, looking for a latch or release.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” Will asked incredulously.

  “I’m looking for a way to get this open. You said I had to fix the hydrofoil…” I glared at him hard. “We’re being shot at and your stupid fancy boat is broken. Now is not the time to laugh.”

  “I’m sorry, babe,” he said, gritting his teeth as we hit another wave. “But the console doesn’t open, and that’s not where the fastenings are.”

  “Then where are they?” I blurted, peering anxiously over my shoulder at the rapidly approaching boat. Unfortunately, it looked like their pilot had learned how to hit the swells more skillfully because they were no longer losing ground on impact.

  “On the side of the boat, just above the water line,” Will said.

  “What?” I sputtered. “What am I supposed to do, cling to the side? Of a wet hull? On a moving boat? Who do you think I am, fucking Spider-Man?”

  “I’d do it if I could, but I have to stay at the wheel.” Will’s tone was grim. “You can tie yourself off to the mooring rope and hang off the side.”

  I bit my tongue on an angry retort, thinking back to my teens when I went through a rock-climbing phase. That was before my father and I had a falling out, and he had eagerly paid for all my lessons and gear.

  I thought perhaps Will’s idea might be a valid one. If I tied the rope around my waist, and used it like I was rappelling… Yes, I could pull this off. Maybe.

  “All right, Will.” I tried to still my rapidly beating heart. “All right. I’ll do it. I guess I have no choice. How do I unfasten the moorings?”

  “There’s an extra-large cotter key in that compartment,” Will said, jutting his chin at a nearby console.

  “What’s a cotter key?” I snapped. “God, speak English. I don’t know your nautical bullshit.”

  “It’s not nautical—never mind. It looks like a bent bar as long as your forearm.”

  I stood up unsteadily on my feet and stumbled over to the cabinet in question. Flinging open the door, I spotted a ton of equipment, most of it secured to the cabinet wall with plastic ties. At first I was too frantic, too panicky, to discern any individual items.

  But then another stream of deadly lead rain pattered onto our speeding boat, and
I was pulled out of my fugue. I spotted what must have been the cotter key. It resembled a giant hairpin, with one end longer than the other. Unfortunately, it too was secured by zip ties.

  Zip ties, handcuffs, duct tape—it seemed binding agents were the bane of my existence recently. I spied a sheathed survival knife hanging in the cabinet and yanked the blade free.

  “Brace yourself,” Will shouted, but it was too late for me to react. We impacted on the other side of a wave and I stumbled to the floor, the knife careening out of my grasp and sliding across the floor to tumble down to the lower deck.

  “Goddamn it,” I screamed, scrambling on all fours to the edge of the stairs. I clambered down carefully over the sundered steps while renewed gunfire rang out.

  Wood splintered near my ear, causing me to shout and prostrate myself on the wooden deck. This put my hand within reach of the knife. I grabbed the handle and then raced back up the stairs, using the still-intact side.

  “Where have you been?” Will demanded as I made it back to the cabinet.

  “Ordering breakfast. Where the fuck do you think I’ve been?” I snapped. Either I was aggressive when scared, or Will had dragged a more swaggering side out of me. In either event, he shut up while I cut the cotter key free.

  I almost wanted to laugh looking at it in my hand, because I realized at that moment this was the easy part of the operation. The easy part.

  “Hang on, I’m going to hit this next wave at full speed and try to gain some distance on them,” Will said.

  We hit the surge hard, my teeth rattling together, but our landing was surprisingly smooth. We gained about fifty feet on our pursuers, which was still too close for comfort, but it was better than nothing.

  I headed out onto the lower deck and quickly tied the mooring rope around my waist. By using the water line, I was able to accurately gauge how much slack I would need. Then I stepped up onto the edge of the safety railing and stared down at the green and white water rushing by below.

  In that moment, I nearly lost my nerve. I could see the fastenings, and the rectangular slot where the cotter key was meant to go, but it seemed like suicide to try and engage it in the lock.

  But then I remembered it wasn’t just my life on the line. Will’s was also at stake and he’d already risked so much for my sake. Maybe we didn’t have a storybook beginning to our romance—God, it was the antithesis of a fairy tale, to be honest—but that didn’t mean we couldn’t have our happily ever after.

  I steeled my nerves and then stepped over the railing, clinging to the rope with one hand. Muscle memory took over, and my bare feet adroitly slapped along the smooth hull as I rappel-walked along my tethered line.

  Then I looked forward and growled in alarm. I grabbed the cotter key and hugged it to my body while clinging to the rope with both arms. We hit the swell, and I bounced painfully off the hull, nearly dropping the key.

  But I held onto it, in spite of everything, and crawled out a little further. Straining my muscles and my sinews to the utmost limit, I managed to jam the end of the key inside the rectangular hole.

  “Damn it,” I growled. “Fucking turn. Turn.”

  I felt the skin on my palm protest vehemently against the rough abrasion it suffered—I would wind up with blisters—but then the key gave way before my fear-driven strength. Maybe it was adrenaline, or maybe it just wasn’t that hard to turn to begin with and I was merely panicking, but I managed to turn the key.

  The moorings dropped away, disappearing into the rapidly moving waters below. I shouted in triumph and then climbed swiftly back onto the deck.

  I had to throw myself onto the wooden planks as more gunfire rang out over the sea. Glass broke, and the railing I’d just been standing at splintered into ruin, but I was unharmed by the assault.

  I ran back up to the upper deck and dropped into the copilot’s chair next to Will.

  “It’s good,” I shouted. He stared over at me in disbelief, but then a grin stretched wide over his features.

  “Then it’s time to say goodbye to these stubborn assholes,” he said with glee. He pushed the button, and this time was rewarded with the whirring vibration of the hydrofoils engaging.

  We exchanged delighted smiles as the boat began picking up speed, gradually rising above the choppy waves. The ride was so much smoother, and I couldn’t believe we were only touching the water with a few feet of metal on either side.

  “Ha!” Will pumped his fist in the air as he beheld our pursuers dwindling into the distance behind us. “Fuck you, bunch of Russian assholes.”

  “How do you know they were Russian?” I asked, sinking into my seat as relief robbed me of my adrenaline rush. I was shaky with my recent exertions and the intense pressure and now felt as if I could turn into water and form a puddle under my seat.

  “Just a hunch,” Will said. He turned an admiring gaze upon me, and quickly pecked me on the cheek while keeping his hands on the controls. “You were fantastic, babe. I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

  My cheeks flushed, and I started toying with my hair. Being appreciated for my body was one thing, but sincere praise just rang so much sweeter and truer to me.

  “I only did what I had to,” I replied as casually as I could, though I was delighted with his praise.

  “Yes, but lots of folks don’t do what they ‘have’ to. You stepped up where a lot of experienced soldiers would have faltered. You’re one incredible woman, Scarlett Shaw.”

  I threw my arms around his neck and smothered him with kisses.

  “You’re only saying that because it’s true,” I purred.

  After we finished laughing, I asked what I felt was a pertinent question.

  “Where are we going to go now?” I sighed. “I mean, they obviously know this yacht. It can’t be safe.”

  “Not to mention driving a shot-up boat is going to attract all the wrong kinds of attention,” Will agreed. “I’ve got a place we can hole up for a while.”

  “What place?”

  He turned to me and flashed that brilliant bad-boy smile.

  “My nonna’s place, of course.”

  His grandmother? Now I was truly shocked. But also relieved. We faced death together and came out all right on the other side, a few blisters and splinters notwithstanding.

  I’d call that a victory any day of the week.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  After our confrontation with the Russians, something was different about Scarlett that I couldn’t put my finger on. Not that she looked any different, her crimson tresses catching the rays of the dying sun and revealing other hues hidden within.

  It was more subtle—the way she stood, the way she spoke. I didn’t realize it at the time, but looking back I believe she had begun to think of the two of us as an inseparable unit. A sort of connection that went beyond friendship, beyond mere lovers, and scratched the surface of something sublime.

  At the time, however, I chalked it up to nerves and her being a bit tired after hanging off the side of a speeding yacht over choppy ocean waves.

  “Will?” she said suddenly as I steered us toward the Jersey coastline, aiming for a reed-shrouded private harbor that I hoped only I and one other person knew about.

  “Yeah?” I turned my thoughtful frown on her beautiful freckled face.

  “How…” She swallowed hard, her face drawn up in anxious misery, green eyes swimming with trepidation. “How long does it usually take to get ransom money put together and delivered?”

  “Not long. A day or two at the most, unless someone’s trying to jack you around and pretend like they can’t liquefy their assets…” My voice trailed off as I realized what a dumb ass I was being. I’d just as much as said that Hunter Shaw was playing games with his daughter’s life. “But that’s not always the case,” I backtracked, but the damage had been done. “It doesn’t mean your father’s problems aren’t completely legit.”

  She nodded, but I could tell that it was too late. Scarlett remained quiet for the
rest of the journey to shore. I turned our course parallel to the coast, keeping my eyes peeled for a particular outcropping, which sort of looked like an overweight man sitting on a toilet.

  When I spotted it at last, the stone dark and wet from the pounding sea, I knew we didn’t have far to go. We reached a secluded bay, whose inaccessibility meant it had yet to be developed. Tall reeds formed a barrier to both the wind and prying eyes. I pulled through a narrow passage between them and came upon a long, battered wooden dock.

  Normally, one wouldn’t tie up a million-dollar luxury yacht at such a humble place, but this was far from a normal situation. I jumped over the side and onto the dock, which creaked under my weight, and gestured toward Scarlett.

  “Toss me the mooring rope,” I called.

  She did as I bade and then carefully stepped over once I’d tied the rope off with a double hitch. I gave it one last experimental tug to make sure it would hold and then escorted her to the marshy shore.

  “Whoa,” she said as we reached the end and stood in the outskirts of the woods. “Is that your nonna’s cabin?”

  “Yes,” I said as the building came fully into view. It was pretty simple, one story with no separation between kitchen, living space, and dining area. There was a separate bedroom, but my nonna had slept there on our trips. I had fond memories of curling up in front of the fireplace on a bear skin rug, which my grandfather had allegedly shot many years ago.

  “You got awful quiet, Daddy.” Scarlett hooked her arm around mine.

  “Just lost in a memory.” I shook my head.

  “Tell me,” she prompted, squeezing my arm. “Pretty please?”

  She batted her lashes, and I knew I couldn’t look into that smiling face and deny her anything, even if she told me to drag the moon out of the night sky.