by Cherry Adair
The door opened just wide enough for the prince to slip inside in a wedge of light from the corridor beyond. Crap, that son of a bitch still had a key to the cabin he used to occupy? Had he hidden even more paintings somewhere? In here or somewhere else? Ry wouldn’t put it past the guy to squirrel away paintings all over the ship.
Ry got a glimpse of another man before the prince blocked him from view.
“Wait here,” Darshi stage-whispered to whoever had accompanied him belowdecks. He closed the door quietly, leaving his escort in the hallway.
Ry waited until Darshi was halfway into the room before switching on the light beside his chair. The prince shrieked like a girl and jumped six inches in the air. “You’re alive!”
“Shocker.”
Behind the prince’s back, an armed Oscar stepped in front of the door just as someone slammed a fist on the heavy wood. “Everything all right in there?”
“Answer them.” Ry got to his feet, the Glock pointed between Darshi’s eyes. “Make it convincing.”
“Dear God, this is a nightmare.”
“Of your own choosing,” Ry waved the barrel of the Glock to the door. “Answer.”
“Just tripped,” Darshi said in a shaking voice, suddenly realizing that far from being alone, Ry had his own backup dancers. Jax had risen to his feet, the blood on his white shirt a shocking reminder of the danger they were in. He glanced at Seddeth, who was holding a towel to the gash on his forehead, then back to Ry. Darshi raised his voice to call out, “I-I’ll be right out.”
“We found fifty-six paintings under the flooring in my cabin, Darshi,” Ry said, cutting to the chase. “Do you have any more spirited away somewhere on board? The shit’s already hitting the fan. If there are more, now would be the time to tell us.”
* * *
“Aren’t you the naive one,” Morimoto mocked Addison, his smile not reaching his obsidian eyes. He observed her as an hunter would look at an animal with its legs caught in a steel trap, as though he was deciding whether to let her continue squirming or end her misery. “Dear, avaricious Hollis here, and your very broke, very desperate boyfriend, have been in cahoots for years. Right under your naive little nose.”
“Naveen is neither broke nor desperate, and Hollis has nearly half a dozen husbands’ alimony to keep her for ten lifetimes,” Addison pointed out, keeping her tone conversational and not confrontational. She wanted to buy time, not piss off this guy more than was necessary. Her wrists stung where the zip ties cut her skin, and warm blood slicked the plastic as she worked her wrists behind her back, trying to stretch and slip the plastic so she could liberate her hands.
“No, your mother doesn’t need the funds. She did it for the thrill all those young studs could no longer bring her. Isn’t that so, Hollis? The prince lasted longer than most.”
Addison swiveled her head to stare at her mother. “You slept with Naveen? That’s revolting!”
“Oh, they didn’t ‘sleep.’ They banged their way across Europe and Asia, and fucked in every major city in Australia, and even parts of Africa. Quite the pair these two—Oh, dear. You look more disgusted than shocked.”
“You have no fucking idea.” She looked down at Hollis. The ties seemed a bit looser. She tried to ease a hand free. No go. “Were you sleeping with Naveen when you introduced us?” That was five damn years ago.
“He was a perfect match.” The snotty tone was just that—snotty—as her mother talked around a swollen, hopefully broken nose. Despite her puffy, bloody face, and the dire circumstances, Hollis didn’t sound the least bit repentant. When she wasn’t acting to get what she wanted, like now, her eyes were flat emotionless.
Dear God, the knowledge that her mother had slept—and for all she knew was still sleeping—with the prince repulsed Addison on every level, and she felt even less sympathy for Hollis’s bloody, bruising, and swollen face. Come to think of it, she was sorry she hadn’t done it herself.
“You’re both disgusting. I don’t know which is worse, you screwing my boyfriend, or you allowing him to use me and my home to transport stolen goods undetected.” Would the Indian Coast Guard and Interpol come looking for their escaped prisoner? Would they think for a moment that he’d return to the Tesoro Mio instead of fleeing on a plane or fast ship to parts unknown?
“Addison…” Hollis sounded exasperated.
Addison turned her back. There was nothing more to be said. It was crystal-clear that Naveen and Hollis had conspired to destroy her marriage when she’d been at her most vulnerable. What they’d done to her proved neither had ever cared for her. Not at all.
She angled her back away from Hollis when she turned around to face Morimoto as she twisted her hands. She wasn’t sure what she could possibly do in a small room with three armed men. But when an opportunity presented itself, she’d come up with something.
She looked at the Australian just as he glanced at the ostentatious gold Rolex on his fat wrist. He frowned.
“How long has the prince been stealing for you?” As she torqued her hands against each other the thin plastic tie became slippery. Her blood, Addison knew. That didn’t stop her. Was there a little more give? Were her slippery fingers gradually squeezing free?
“Five years. I now have the most enviable art collection in the world.”
“One you can never show off,” she pointed out. It was harder to manipulate her hands because her movements had torqued the plastic tie impossibly tighter around her wrists as she tried to pull her thumb free. The constantly welling blood made moving the ties harder, not easier. “I presume Hollis introduced him to her wealthy friends so he could steal?” She didn’t give a flying crap how the three of them had pulled off the art heists; all she was doing was trying to give herself more time to liberate her hands. She’d figure things out from there.
Looking so smug Addison wanted to punch him, Morimoto leaned his hip against the console. “Clever Hollis introduced him to her high-muck-a-muck friends. He’d return, help himself to their priceless artwork, and hide it on board Tesoro Mio. Genius really. No one suspected. Your mother brokered the deal, and I sponsored both of them. Since we needed the prince, we couldn’t allow your husband to take possession of this ship.”
“Apparently destroying the lives of people in your way had no effect.” Addison thought her left thumb was free of the restraint; unfortunately, she had to wait while agonizing pricks of sensation flooded through her nerve endings. Tears of pain stung her eyes.
“Collateral damage.” He glanced at the man standing closest to the open door. “Go see where the prince is.”
Crap. Time is running out.
One hand squeezed free of the tight restraints. Owshit! The pain went from stinging to burning like fire. Breathing through it, Addison flexed her fingers and waited for her chance. It better be soon. It shouldn’t be taking this long for Naveen to go to what was now Rydell’s cabin, discover the paintings gone, and skulk back to the bridge with his entourage of gun-wielding thugs.
As Morimoto turned to talk to his men, she scanned the monitors. The aft deck camera was dark. The corridor cameras leading to the cabins on all decks were dark. The camera on the dive platform was now dark.
Rydell.
It had to be. Her adrenaline hit another surge, alleviating some of the pain in her wrists and giving her a small measure of hope.
The shit was about to hit the fan.
Twenty-four
“You fucker!” Ry grabbed the prince by the throat. Darshi’s eyes went wide and white-rimmed. “Where’s Addy?”
The prince clawed at Ry’s hands. “On the bridge with Morimoto.”
Ry squeezed tighter, then let him go. Not because he didn’t want to strangle the fucker, but because killing Darshi would be too damn quick. Ry flung him away, and the prince staggered back. “Did you lay a hand on her? Don’t lie, Darshi.”
“I didn’t. I wouldn’t—He hit her. She’s fine.”
Fine meant alive. For now, fine had to be
acceptable. One thing at a time. “How many people came with you?”
“I don’t know. A dozen? Maybe more.”
“How many on the bridge?”
“Five or six. Maybe seven. God—I don’t know. I’m terrorized!”
“You don’t even fucking know what being terrorized is. Why did you fucking well think bringing this danger to Addy was okay?”
“She wasn’t supposed to know! Morimoto was supposed to get the ship when we reached Sydney. Addison and I were getting married—”
“Jesus—” Ry punched him in the nose, getting some satisfaction at the sound of cartilage and bone breaking, seeing the spurt of blood. “Not your fucking ship. Not your woman!”
“I get it.” Darshi clasped a hand to his face. Blood dripped between his fingers. “Look, let me just get him the paintings and he’ll leave.”
Clearly terror had turned the prince deaf. “Jesus, you don’t believe that. Once he has the paintings he’ll kill us all.”
“Perhaps I can purs—”
“The goddamn paintings aren’t here, Darshi. Addy and I found them this morning. They were on board the chopper with you when you left.”
The color drained from Darshi’s swarthy skin. “No—What—How?” He sank onto the foot of Addy’s bed, shooting Ry a beseeching look over the palm clasped around his nose. “What are we going to do?” His attention didn’t even flicker to the others in the room.
Ry raised a brow. “‘We’? I could kill you now. A least I’d have the personal satisfaction and save everyone the time and aggro.”
“How can you joke at a time like this?”
“Not a joke. But since Interpol is probably on their way here now, I’ll be saved getting any more of your blood on my hands or, in this case, Addy’s bed. Too bad. I’d really enjoy beating the shit out of you right now.” Ry had no damn idea where the hell Interpol might be at this moment, or what they had planned. If anything. He didn’t need to look at the others to know they all had the same thought.
They didn’t have either the Indian Coast Guard or Interpol’s numbers on speed dial. Messages had been left all over the bloody world for people who were mere hours away.
Safe to say, they were on their own.
“Captain Sharma was aware? Interpol already knows? If you want a chance at saving Addison’s life, you’ll help me. If Morimoto finds out that Interpol has the art, you’re right, he’ll kill every last person on board this ship and be long go—”
There were several hard pounds on the door. “Boss don’t like to wait, Prince. Get the lead out!”
Darshi gave Ry a pleading look as he shouted “In a minute!”
“Oscar? Jax?” Ry said without taking his eyes off Darshi. “Go show the prince’s buddies our hospitality.” They’d disabled the cameras out in the corridor when they’d come down. The two men slipped through the door so fast they were a blur. The sound was minimal. Ry snapped his fingers to draw the prince’s attention to him instead of pretending he had fucking X-ray eyes and could see what was happening in the hallway beyond the closed door. “How many painting were on board?”
“This time? Fifty-four—no. Fifty-six.”
Shit. “You’ve used my ship to store your stolen goods before?”
Darshi nodded, then whimpered as his broken nose brushed against the palm he still held over his face. “Twice. Once when Addison and I went to Hong Kong after the divorce, and—Does this really matter?”
“Same buyer?”
“Morimoto, yes.” Darshi inspected the bloody hand he gingerly removed from his face. His eyes were already swelling shut, and his aristocratic nose was now off center. Bloodshot, almost swollen-shut eyes met Ry’s. “Gorou Morimoto is oyabun. You know what that is? Top boss. Head of the Yakuza—the largest crime organization in Australia and New Zealand, with ties directly to Japan. There’s nothing civilized about him. He’s a violent, sick psychopath in a five-thousand-dollar suit! Morimoto considers himself a connoisseur of the arts. He’s a fanatic, and he’s already constructed the building that will house those paintings. It’s taken him six years and cost over eleven million dollars! It’s a place few people will ever enter. Do you understand? He paid me to get those painting for him. He gave Hollis a list! He was specific and precise. Just those particular paintings. God oh God, oh God—if he discovers his artwork was taken by the authorities he’ll rip this ship apart, and everyone on it personally. What will I tell him?”
“I’d dive overboard,” Georgeo suggested, arm around Kevin’s shoulders. “Start swimming for Malé.”
MoMo offered, deadpan, “Sharks. But if you can swim fast…”
It was no laughing matter. “You c—”
The sound of a keycard being inserted in the door had everyone stiffen in anticipation.
Oscar, and a now even bloodier Jax, entered, closing the door behind them. “We put the three guys down in the engine room,” Jax informed him, coming farther into the room, then sliding down the wall to his former position. Fresh blood stained his shirt, and pain made his features stark. “Or rather—three bodies.”
Oscar went to the dresser and laid down several weapons, which Ry presumed they’d stripped off the men they’d disposed of. The security guy, in his element, grinned over his shoulder. “More toys. Two Uzis, a very nice, very sharp Ka-Bar knife, a Sig Sauer semi-auto, and a Ruger. All pretty much fully loaded and ready to go.”
“Enough to add to our arsenal and finish this fucking war,” Ry said grimly. He could practically hear the clock ticking away the seconds they had left to find Abby and get these fuckers off his ship. “Good job.”
“Dear God, Chase.” Darshi sent him a pleading look. “What do I tell Morimoto?”
“Tell him you moved them so often, you forgot where you hid them.”
“Dear Lord! He won’t believe that! He knows I’m not that stupid.”
“Somehow I doubt that.” Ry didn’t give a shit if or what Darshi told Morimoto. If he had his druthers he’d hog-tie him and toss his ass overboard. But having Darshi return to Morimoto—before the guy sent down reinforcements—seemed like a better option. For now. “If you don’t think that’ll work, use your brainpower. Figure out a way to convince him. You could tell him you hid each painting individually all over the ship.”
Ry hated the idea. This Morimoto would more than likely rip his beautiful ship apart looking for them. It would buy them time, but fuck—his ship … “Hell, tell him I gave them over to Interpol. I don’t give a flying fuck what you decide to tell him. Surprise m—Bloody hell! Are you fucking crying?”
Ry shook his head. He thought he’d seen everything. He’d never seen a grown-ass man cry like this. He didn’t have a fucking jot of sympathy. “Oscar, you and Georgeo take and secure him in the engine room.” Ry grabbed a handful of plastic ties, handing them to Georgeo.
“Hey, I wanna go, too.” Kevin grabbed Darshi’s upper arm. She gave him a hard yank as she started marching him to the door. “Back in five. Let’s go, dick.”
Georgeo shot her a proud look over the prince’s head as Darshi whined, “I need medical attention!”
“Then try really, really hard not to die before they arrest your ass. I’m sure they have excellent doctors in pr—” Kevin’s voice cut off with the slamming of the door.
Ry looked around. “No one here has to engage, that’s a given. Anyone want to opt out of what’s about to be a clusterfuck of mammoth proportions? It’ll be bloody. I won’t allow these guys to hurt Addy, nor will I sit back while they steal my ship. But this isn’t your fight. Speak fast, who’s in, who’s out?” The floor vibrated as his ship plowed through the water, picking up speed. Fuck them. Fuck them all. When Sea Dragon had been taken, he wasn’t on board to fight off the hijackers. He was fucking well on board now, and they’d regret ever having boarded his ship.
His priority was making sure Addison wasn’t harmed. After that he’d be out for blood, and his ship would be a fucking bonus. After the bloodshed.
/> “We’re all in,” MoMo assured him, not bothering to see everyone’s nod. “Don’t ask again. We have your back. Always.”
Ry shot him a smile. “Good to know. Thanks, guys. Jax? Tony? How are those injuries?” Ry glanced from one man to the other. Opening a drawer in the dresser, he took out two clean T-shirts and tossed one to each man. The question was rhetorical. Other than his clothing being dirty and bloody, Seddeth looked okay. The gash in his head had clotted over a large purple knot. He probably had a mother of a headache. Jax, on the other hand, had been creased high on his shoulder. There was a lot of blood, and the skirmish with Darshi’s men had opened the wound so some of it was fresh. “What do you need besides clean shirts with no holes in them?”
“A body with no hole in it?” Jax asked drily, pulling the wet, bloody fabric of his shirt over his head.
The wound looked worse than the blood on his clothing had indicated. Ry winced. “That looks like crap.”
“Feels worse.” With a grunt, Jax pushed himself to his feet and headed for the bathroom. “I’ll live.” Water ran.
MoMo went over to their weapons stash, laid out on the dresser. “I’m taking one of these Uzis.” He glanced over at Jax as he came out of the bathroom, pulling on the clean T-shirt, wincing as he did so. He picked up the machine gun, aiming it at the floor. “Give me a quick tutorial.”
“Magazine is in,” Jax instructed. “Two safety switches, one is already off. The other will go off when you hold the gun and depress the lever. Rack the slide back—yeah. Right there. Bring it back and let it slide forward. Stick the stock against your sh—Hell, you’re a natural. Go full auto. Yeah, right there. Since it fires from an open bolt it’ll jump when you fire, so aim lower.”
Looking pleased with himself, MoMo nodded as he lowered the weapon. “Got it.”
The door beeped as a keycard was inserted, and Kevin, Oscar, and Georgeo returned. “He’s not going anywhere,” Oscar told them. “No sign of reinforcements.”
