Chapter 14 - Sins of the High Seas
The suppressed crack of my rifle was swallowed by the roar of the river, but its impact was instantaneous and devastating.
The .308 armor-piercing round shattered Lucian’s right collarbone, spinning the older man around like a broken ragdoll. The nickel-plated revolver flew from his grasp, clattering over the edge of the pier and disappearing into the black water below. Lucian collapsed onto the asphalt, screaming in agony, his wolf-fur collar instantly staining crimson.
Before the three mercenaries could even register where the shot had originated, Rhys moved.
He drew his twin Glock 19s from his coat in a blur of lethal motion. Two double-taps rang out in rapid succession, dropping the two nearest gunmen before their fingers could touch their triggers. The third mercenary lunged for Clara, attempting to use her as a human shield, but Clara—bloodied, chained, yet carrying the same feral Calder blood—drove her heel down onto the man's instep and threw her entire body weight backward into his knees.
The mercenary stumbled. Rhys closed the distance in two strides, grabbed the man by his tactical harness, and drove his knee into his sternum with a sickening crunch, hurling him headfirst off the pier into the churning concrete pilings fifteen feet below.
"Clear the lane!" Miller roared through the comms as three Calder security SUVs barreled through the rusted gates of the pier, their high beams pinning Lucian to the ground.
I scrambled down the rusted ladder of the silo, my boots hitting the slushy ground at a run. By the time I reached the pier, Rhys was already on his knees in the sleet, using a heavy bolt cutter from the SUV to sever the chains around his sister's wrists.
Clara collapsed into his arms, sobbing hysterically, burying her face into his chest. "Rhys... oh God, Rhys... I thought you were dead... they told me you died three years ago..."
"I'm here, Clara," Rhys whispered, his broad shoulders trembling as he wrapped his heavy coat around her shivering body, holding her with a desperate, protective ferocity. "I'm here. You're home. Nobody will ever touch you again."
I slowed my pace, stopping a few feet away, tears stinging my cold cheeks. Seeing this ruthless, terrifying titan of a man reduced to tears of raw devotion was the most beautiful, devastating sight I had ever witnessed.
Rhys looked up, his slate-gray eyes locking onto mine through the falling sleet. He reached out an arm, pulling me down beside them into his embrace. For a long moment, the three of us knelt in the freezing slush, bound together by blood, survival, and a love that had defied an entire empire of cruelty.
"Is this her?" Clara croaked, looking at me with swollen, tear-filled eyes. Her trembling fingers reached out, touching the diamond band on my left ring finger, then brushing my cold cheek. "The girl from the papers? The one who fought back?"
"She is my wife, Clara," Rhys said softly, his voice thick with pride. "She just saved our lives."
A faint, brilliant smile broke through Clara's battered face. "Good shot, sister."
Before I could answer, a wet, choking cough sounded from the asphalt behind us. Lucian Vane was crawling toward the silver case, leaving a thick smear of dark blood across the wet concrete.
Rhys's face hardened back into stone. He rose smoothly to his feet, stepping over the puddle of water, and planted the heavy sole of his leather boot squarely onto Lucian’s wounded shoulder, pinning him to the earth.
Lucian gasped in agony, spitting blood onto Rhys’s trousers. "You... you think you won, Calder? Look at the transponder... that ship isn't carrying drugs... it isn't carrying gold..."
May you like
Rhys leaned down, pressing the muzzle of his cold firearm directly between Lucian's eyes. "What is on that ship, Lucian?"
Lucian let out a wet, gurgling laugh that sent a wave of nausea through my stomach. "Two hundred women and children from the Balkan transit camps... sold to the private markets of South America. And the ship's scuttling charges are set on a forty-minute timer. If I don't enter my personal biometrics every half hour... the valves open. They drown at the bottom of Lake Michigan, and their blood is on your hands!"
