Flynn moaned from the cruel pleasure.
Licking his bottom lip, she asked, “When can we finish?”
“Not soon enough.” His voice was huskier. Desperate. “Go, before I lose it right here.”
With a nip on his chin, she escaped to the kitchen. Flynn cursed the entire way to the main deck.
Alanna wanted to stand on the bow of the ship and take the storm head-on. With how confident and alive Flynn made her feel, not even the strongest typhoon could blow her over.
She taped the kitchen cupboards shut, listening to Marie and Alfred dictate orders. Something about locking the liquor cabinet, and entertaining the guests through the storm, so they wouldn’t be scared.
But much of her focus was on the memory of that kiss. That orgasm.
And more recently, Flynn’s muscles above deck.
He really was a sea god. Those broad shoulders and wind-tossed hair, combined with his forceful movements on deck, kept her captivated. Then the rain started. His shirt sculpted to his abs, the water sluicing over his toned body.
In the sky lounge, something had accentuated the amber flecks in his eyes, and his green irises were brighter. More hypnotizing. Whether it was the color of the ocean reflected in his gaze, or the invigorating work at sea, he was more alive. Raw. It had stopped her ability to function.
Then in the stairwell, his cologne and natural scent in that close proximity, she couldn’t control her desires. Only he’d beaten her to it. Before she had the chance to plunge into him, he pushed her against the wall and smothered himself all over her. Whether fate, or just lust in a fog of adrenaline and pheromones, she had never felt more alive.
“Stop messing with my kitchen, woman!” Alfred barked at Marie. “I put those away for a reason!”
“I’m going to use those!” she shouted, snatching the glasses from Alfred’s hands. “Someone has to keep these guests calm during all this bloomin’ chaos. No better way than liquor.”
Alfred threw a ladle against the counter. “If you wanted glasses, you could have told me before these were taped. I won’t have you come in here and mess up my work, just because you can’t plan ahead.”
“Plan ahead? Sure, let me check with Mother Nature before she decides to create a storm. To work around your schedule.”
Alfred took the glasses back, and pointed them at her. “Hear this, Marie. This is my kitchen. You do things my way, when I say, how I say. If you have a problem with it, then clear off.”
Alanna held her breath.
Marie threw her hands in the air. “So bleedin’ stubborn, like you’re the only person on this damn ship. Never mind about the clients, the ones who pay your bloody salary. It’s all about you!”
“In this kitchen, it is all about me!” His voice grew louder with every word, his eyes widening. “Out there is your world.” He pointed the glass to the door leading to the dining room. “Do whatever the hell you want. I don’t mess with it or tell you how to do your thing. But in here, this is my world. My rules. I’m the king.”
As he finished speaking, he winced. Glancing at Alanna, he looked as if he’d just slapped himself. “Sorry, love.”
“There’s only one world, you buffoon!” Marie yanked the glasses out of his hands again. “Get out of your head!”
Alanna stopped mid-tape. Her mind froze hearing those words.
Get out of your head.
The exact phrase Tulio had yelled to André the night of the car accident eight years ago. The night before their father exiled him, after the last straw of a year of wild antics and reckless behavior. After a night of drinking and gambling. André drove the coastline with a new naked woman in the passenger seat of his Lamborghini, and had crashed it.
Alanna knew it was a cry for help. Him hiding behind his anger and grief from their mother’s death. Followed by their father’s avoidance. They all still grieved in their own way, only André’s had been more destructive. Her father and Tulio saw him as a rebellious, spoiled prince who refused to learn his lesson. But Alanna knew better.
She’d begged her father not to exile him. To help him, spend time with him. But once the king gave a decree, there was no chance of reversal. So stubborn, an inherited trait.
Alfred and Marie’s ranting had brought her back to that very night where everything had changed.
“Lanna!”
She raised her head.
Marie stared with her hand out, waiting for something. “The Triple Sec. Under the counter.”
Triple Sec?
Marie sighed, annoyed. “The clear bottle, with the orange label. Quick.”
Alfred continued to rant behind them about something. “The last thing those girls need is alcohol,” he complained, slamming more cabinets. “Total prissy wankers, the lot of them. Throw them all overboard, I say.”
Marie grabbed the bottle from Alanna and continued making drinks, shaking her head all the while. “There he goes, throwing one of his wobblers. He’ll be cursing the world next, then tossing in the towel for the afternoon and downing a bottle of wine. All because he can’t have his way. Such a prima donna. Just like when we were children.”
Regret weighed on Alanna’s soul, wishing she could fight with her brothers again. These two didn’t know how lucky they were to still have each other. She continued to tape up more cabinets.
“Alfred, knock it off! You’re scaring our little princess here!”
The whole kitchen stopped. Alfred stared at Alanna, mouth agape, then shifted to his sister. “How did you know?”
“Just look at her. She’s petrified, you tosser!” Marie placed the drinks on an empty tray. “Royalty like her probably aren’t used to tantrums and throwing utensils. So, watch your bloody language!”
Alanna and Alfred continued to stare at Marie as she balanced the tray with her hand.
“When did you know?” Alanna finally whispered.
Marie scoffed. “Please, my dear. There is no such thing as a secret on a yacht. Plus, I also have half a brain.”
Alanna looked at Alfred, dumbfounded. To which he shook his head. “I swear, I didn’t tell her. I haven’t said a word.”
“He didn’t have to,” Marie interjected. “My dear, your gorgeous face was all over the news in Puerto Princesa when we went ashore for dinner. A tiara like that was impossible to miss. The whole crew knows.” She reached across the counter for drink napkins.
The whole crew?
Alanna’s mouth went dry. But Marie completed the last garnish and continued. “Well, not the captain or first officer. The rest of us agreed not to bring it up, since you clearly wanted to remain unknown.” She managed her way to the door with the finesse of a practiced steward, but then turned. “Especially since the Philippine authorities are looking so hard for your boyfriend.”
“What?” Alanna yelped.
Marie shrugged and left.
RAIN SLAPPED AGAINST THE BRIDGE’S windows, limiting Flynn’s view to fifty yards, if that. They’d finally dropped anchor in the cove, shielding the yacht from the largest waves. His shorts still dripped from deluge while securing the lines. Yet his next task would be more dreadful than being soaked to the bone.
This phone call was going to be ugly. His father had to have known by now that his only son hadn’t returned to Brisbane with Dean. He could guess how pissed off Magnus was.
How can I minimize the blow?
He grabbed the satellite phone and dialed Dean’s cell.
“This is Dean,” a gruff voice answered.
“Hey, it’s me.” Flynn kept his voice low not to draw attention that he was using the phone without permission.
“Where the hell are you? Do you have any idea how raving mental Magnus is?”
“Look, we’re okay. It’s a long story, but I didn’t want you to worry.”
“We?”
Flynn cringed.
“You went back for her, didn’t you?” Dean’s voice deepened.
“Do you have any idea who she is?”
“I don’t care. I told you she isn’t our responsibility.”
“Turn on CNN.”
“Where the hell are you?” Dean snapped.
“We’re on a yacht south of Palawan, posing as stews. We couldn’t risk the airport.”
“What have you gotten yourself into? I can’t help you with this. Your father is going to cut you off now for sure. Why couldn’t you have just made the damn flight?”
“Dean, I don’t have long. Tell him we’ll be in Singapore in three days. Watch CNN, you’ll know exactly who she is and what we’re doing. If there’s anything Dad can do, call the U.S. or Australian Consulate or something, we’ll need it.”
“Flynn, you don’t get it, do you?”
“What?”
“The second you didn’t make the flight, I called your dad. He contacted his friend in Manila. You’ve been all over the news there. The police are looking for you, saying you shot and killed an officer at the customs building, and then destroyed the yacht we just fucking delivered.”
“I didn’t kill anyone!”
“Did you ram the yacht?”
Flynn grimaced, swallowing back a denial.
Dean didn’t wait for him to answer. “They have you on security cameras running down the docks.”
“Yes, I did. But to save her. They were going to kill her!”
“Who’s they?”
“Some drug cartel boss.”
“Jesus, Flynn. Whatever you do, don’t return to Manila. In fact, get the hell out of Palawan.”
Flynn turned at the sound of Captain Chen’s muffled voice around the corner.
“Flynn?” Dean repeated into the phone.
He lowered his voice. “Singapore, three days. Watch the news, Dean. Please.” He hung up just as the captain walked in.
Chen stopped and surveyed the bridge. “This isn’t your shift on anchor watch. What are you doing?”
“I called my family. I didn’t want them to worry.”
Chen’s expression darkened. “It’s just a small storm. The next time you want to use the phone for non-client purposes, ask first.”
“Yes, sir.” Flynn moved out of Chen’s way to the exit.
“Flynn?” He turned to see the captain checking the gauges. “Next time the answer is no.”
Flynn nodded and left. As he descended the stairs for the engine room, he noticed his heart still racing.
There won’t be a next time. Things just got a lot more complicated.
The rain battered the shutters of Lozano’s hill estate, but didn’t drown out the noise in the garage. Julius lost count of how many times the man had screamed, but he’d been waiting for this call for several hours.
Just as he put down the phone in the living room, Lozano entered, wiping blood from his hands with a silk handkerchief. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, and splatters of red marred the front of his shirt. Julius’s stomach turned at the gleam in the man’s eyes.
Lozano arched a brow.
Julius swallowed, keeping his cool façade in place. “The Security Council vote has been delayed again. Should allow us enough time to find both the remaining Peraltas.”
“Excellent.” The cartel boss pressed the handkerchief to his nose and inhaled. Julius’ gut roiled, but he refused to let his discomfort show. “What of Bendetto?”
“Raul says the man’s ego has grown, and he’s pushing back more. Your son is ready to put him in a drawer whenever you give the word.”
“As expected.” Paternal pride glowed on the Lozano’s face. “Any word from our bulldog?”
Vasco. Julius smiled. “Yes.”
Lozano folded the bloodied handkerchief and tucked it in his pocket, the twinkle in his eyes brightening. Every light in the room had been switched on, though there was still plenty of light pouring in from outside, despite the rain. Julius realized the man’s screams from the garage had stopped. Through the open door, he heard the crinkling of thick, plastic and the unrolling of duct tape.
The tedious task of cleanup.
“I trust the information from the faithful custom’s officer was fruitful.” Lozano wiped the sweat from his brow. Either from the humidity or the carnality from his one true pleasure: torture.
“It was,” Julius answered. “Vasco traced the intel to the man’s father. He owns a luxury yacht brokerage in Australia. The prize will be in Singapore in three days.”
Lozano frowned and looked out the window. “Singapore. Not the ideal location to pick up our runaways. I’d rather not wait three days for this prize.”
Julius straightened, waiting for his boss to process his thoughts. Singapore authorities were brutal. It was a lot harder to smuggle in weapons, guns or otherwise. Not that it had ever stopped Lozano or his sons in the past, but it was more cumbersome and time consuming. And risky.
“Where are they now?”
“On a yacht somewhere in the Sulu Sea south of Palawan. A storm made the call difficult to hear, but we’ll track the satellite phone and get their coordinates shortly.”
Lozano nodded. “Find a way to intercept them sooner. They can’t be too far out of Palawan territory. Call my son and tell him we’re extending our trip. I expect his presence, along with his fiancée.”
Julius nodded, knowing full well that Lozano’s request for Ricardo’s fiancée’s presence meant nothing good. Ricardo was the closest thing he had to a friend, though he wasn’t disillusioned into believing the feeling was mutual. Not when it came to the Lozano family. With the mob boss’ earlier threat, this time there would be more cleanup.
“What should I do about pirate?”
“Yes, very interesting.” Lozano moved to the rattan chair, the joints creaking as it absorbed his weight. He gazed out the open patio door, the rain flowing over the colored stones to the rear of the property, overlooking a cliff. In the distance, the ocean churned in a swirl of pewter, and an endless mist hovered over the surface.
“A yacht broker. Not special forces or CIA.” The senior man rubbed his eyebrow.
“Not that we’ve confirmed.”
“So how was he able to overtake us so easily?” Lozano ran his hand across the top of his head.
“He was in the Navy. An engineer.”
Lozano snorted. “Even worse. Not even a real sailor. A tinkerer.”
Julius adjusted his tie. “What do you want to do?”
Lozano kept his gaze on the sea as Tiburón dragged the covered carcass to the back porch. The burly henchman barely broke a sweat as he tossed the bagged bundle into the newly dug hole.
“Our former customs officer underestimated him. Then we did it again at the marina. Repeating that mistake would make me a fool. Do you think I’m a fool, Julius?”
Julius’s heart thundered. “Never, sir.” Sweat trickled down his neck. Lozano’s loaded questions always had real bullets behind them.
“This tinkerer has me intrigued. If possible, we should ask him a few questions as well. Perhaps Vasco could use some assistance to secure the princess and her bodyguard.”
Julius turned, just as Tiburón shoveled dirt on top of the body. How many holes had been filled in this yard with pieces of former employees? Lozano’s other estate in Manila always looked so pristine, whereas this one appeared wilder, overgrown—hidden from the outside world.
The world with rules.
Lozano reached into his other pocket and pulled out something. The small items rolled around in his palm. “Tiburón, my friend,” Lozano called from his chair.
The man stopped shoveling and looked up, his face eerily blank. Streaked with blood.
“Are you up for a little holiday in Palawan?”
Tiburón grinned.
Lozano rubbed the items between his fingers. “Might as well call your brother to join you and spread the fun. Bring a bottle of Louis Tres for him with my thanks.”
Julius could almost taste the expensive bourbon. He stepped closer. Shivers raced down his spine as he identified what lay in his boss
’s hand.
Human teeth.
“THAT GIRL HAS SOME VICIOUS teeth,” Marie murmured.
Alanna stood in the back of the main lounge with a sympathetic smile. But kept her mouth shut. For the last eight hours, the storm had raged, the seas far too rough to continue, so they stayed in this cove.
The four ladies ate their meals in the sky lounge, drank, snacked on cold finger foods, drank some more, and watched romantic comedies on the large flat screen.
And relentlessly tortured the crew.
“Maybe we should spike their next round of drinks with sleeping pills,” the chief stew whispered to Alanna. Another large wave swayed the yacht, and she braced herself on the wall.
“I’m sure that one is on something already.” Alanna kept her back against the wall, and her eyes glued on Becca, who wobbled through the room. Drunk clients and choppy waves—horrible combo.
Liang Wen had come down to announce the storm was almost over. In another hour, they’d be on their way to Singapore. The clients should be in bed by then.
“More chocolate!” Becca slurred.
Maybe not.
Alanna reached for a plate behind her, but Marie stopped her. “Let me.”
Alanna pulled the plate away. “You’ve been yelled at enough today. My turn.”
Marie’s eyes widened. “After what happened yesterday with Stacia, no ma’am. Plus, you’re…”
“I’m more than capable.” Alanna smiled and moved away. She didn’t miss Stacia’s eyes following her through the room. But she’d stopped caring, too.
Sporting an ugly scowl, the bleached-blonde wore a black lace corset with the tops of her breasts propped up so much they were about to spill over. A matching cotton skirt barely covered her backside. She refused the chocolate with a shake of her head.
The silence from her was eerie. Alanna knew it was only a matter of time before the scorpion reared its tail. But whenever it came, she was ready for it.
“I wanna dance,” Becca whined with a mouth full of chocolate. Followed by a long sip on her Fuzzy Navel. She wobbled over the pillows on the floor, kicked one of them out of the way, and switched on the stereo system.
Jewel of Solana Page 19
