Page 81 of Crimson Fate
“If I had to guess, he’s taking anything he thinks he can easily sell wherever they’re going. He’ll want to give himself a nice chunk of cash to start over,” I whisper.
Marco hands me the binoculars without a word, and I take them, pressing the cold plastic against my eyes. My focus narrows down to the illuminated deck of the yacht, where men scurry like ants under the harsh glare of temporary floodlights. They move with urgency, but their sloppiness speaks of a rushed job, a plan spiraling out of control.
“Can’t see Anthony,” I murmur, shifting the binoculars left and right, “or the girls. They could already be onboard.”
“Then we don’t have much time,” Marco says, the edge in his voice as sharp as the knife I know rests against his calf.
“Quick and quiet,” I reply, handing back the binoculars. “Let’s thin the herd without raising an alarm. I don’t want to think about what Anthony will do if he panics.”
A vibration in my pocket pulls me from the dark waters of strategy. I slip out the phone, keeping the screen dimmed to its lowest setting.
Amelia: Gia’s place is empty. Looks like she left in a hurry.
“Amelia just confirmed they aren’t at Gia’s either. They’ve gotta be on the boat,” I tell Marco and Nico.
Me: Stay put. Do not come to the docks. Too risky.
Amelia: Understood.
I can almost hear her voice and see that determined tilt to her chin that tells me she’s bristling at being told to stand down.
“Let’s go.” I signal to Marco and Nico with a nod, ready to inch closer to the water’s edge.
The water laps quietly at the hulls of the boats moored to the pier, a serene soundtrack to our tense approach. The night is our ally, cloaking our advance, keeping our intentions as hidden as the thoughts racing through my head.
“Almost there,” I breathe. We’re close enough now to hear the muttered curses and the shuffling of feet.
We lie on our stomachs, eyeing our targets. The night air carries a chill that seeps through my clothes, but I barely register the cold. Every sense is homed in on the task at hand.
“Your turn,” Marco whispers, handing over the binoculars with a nod.
I lift the binoculars to my eyes, the lenses cutting through the obscurity of the night. The dock comes into sharp focus. I can see Anthony’s men clearly now.
“Anything?” Marco murmurs, anticipation laced with impatience coloring his hushed tone.
“His men are loading up the boat. Got to be at least a dozen crates already onboard,” I report, adjusting the focus to get a better view.
“See Anthony? Or the girls?” Nico asks from my other side, his voice barely louder than a breath.
I pan across the deck, searching for any sign of them, but there’s nothing. “No sign of them,” I say finally, lowering the binoculars to meet Marco’s gaze. “They might already be on the yacht, stashed below deck.”
“Dammit,” Marco curses under his breath. “We can’t let that boat leave the harbor.”
“Agreed,” I say, a grim resolve settling over me.
“For fuck’s sake, will you all move it! We don’t have all night!” Anthony’s voice sets me on edge. He strides down the dock, fury radiating off him like heat from the pavement in summer.
“It’s him!” I whisper excitedly when I feel the cool metal of a gun pressed against the back of my neck.
“What do we have here?” a man I don’t recognize says. He has a gun on my neck, and from the corner of my eyes, I can see he has a foot on Marco’s back.
Another voice says, “Oh shit, that’s Vincent King.”
“Matthew, is that you?” Marco says, his face still pinned down to the earth.
“Don’t you fucking say a word,” the unfamiliar voice commands before instructing Matthew, a boy from Anthony’s regular crew, to disarm us.
The two men have materialized out of the inky darkness like wraiths, and with our weapons now confiscated, we have no other option but to comply with their wishes.