He’d better get his ass down to his cabin before he got in anyone’s way.
Renee was looking at her with a what-am-I-gonna-do guilty expression. Mercedes waited until Den left, then after Renee had filled her in, she said, ‘Take him to our cabin. It’s yours. Stay all night if you like.’
‘What about you?’ Renee questioned, wringing her hands. ‘It wouldn’t be right to throw you out of your own room.’
‘That’s okay,’ Mercedes said, adding a quick, ‘I got my own thing going on.’
‘Wow!’ Renee gulped, quite excited. ‘Who with?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Mercedes said quickly. ‘Just take him to our cabin.’
‘You’re
Mercedes shrugged. ‘Not so much,’ she muttered.
It was time to get back to Kyril. She’d already taken him a full plate of brownies, heavily laced with sedatives. Now came the real deal. A steaming mug of hot chocolate, or as Mercedes referred to it in her head — the Horse Tranquillizer Special.
Soon Kyril should be sleeping like a ninety-year-old grandma.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Cashoo jabbered away in Somali about the boss’s woman and how he’d ejaculated over her. He pantomimed her big breasts with his hands and cackled with ribald laughter.
His cohorts in the second boat licked their lips, chewed on their khat, and wondered if they’d ever get a chance to be as daring as Cashoo. He was their Casanova, with many girls back home. They were in awe of his sexual adventures; he entertained them with his stories, and they always asked for more.
Amiin was in charge of the second boat. He thought to himself how fortunate that Cashoo was not doing his boasting in front of Cruz, because obviously the young fool didn’t realize that the big boss’s woman was also Cruz’s sister. If Cruz found out, he’d probably cut off Cashoo’s dick with a rusty razor-blade.
It wasn’t Amiin’s concern. He was here for the money, that’s all.
Although he had to remember that Cashoo
There were five men crowded into each boat. In Amiin’s boat were Cashoo, two other pirates, Daleel and Hani, and Viktor, the Russian. Amiin wasn’t sure why Cruz had chosen to break the two Russians up, but he supposed the boss had his reasons.
The sea was calm at first, although as the boat headed further out, the water began getting choppy. Amiin and his men were seasoned seafarers. Viktor wasn’t. He started turning green as the choppiness changed into full- on bouncing waves.
Once again the Somalians laughed and jeered at him. One of them offered him a bunch of khat to chew on. When he refused, they laughed even louder. ‘
Viktor wasn’t sure if he was receiving insults or sympathy. He only knew that the rougher the sea became, the more his stomach churned. This was not what he’d signed up for.
Amiin called Cruz on their two-way radio. ‘The Russian’s getting sick,’ he muttered. ‘What should I do?’
‘If he gets too sick, toss him overboard,’ Cruz responded.
Amiin didn’t know if Cruz was joking or not. Somehow he had a hunch — not.
When the rain began to fall, Cruz embraced it. He’d always looked upon rain as a good luck omen, a cleansing.
His men grumbled and began pulling well-worn sweatshirts and old stained jackets over their heads. They huddled together like a team, as Basra steered the fast speedboat through the treacherous rolling seas.
Like his partner, Viktor, Maksim was becoming seriously sick. The waves were now huge, causing the Somalians to pull out their prayer beads and start chanting.
Cruz managed to force a soggy cigarette into his mouth. He couldn’t get it lit, which infuriated him. Goddamm it, nothing was ever easy.
Maksim was leaning over the side of the boat groaning and throwing up.
One solid shove and he would be gone.
Cruz considered the possibilities. No more Sergei’s henchmen looking over him. And if he
Cruz did not have the stomach to do it himself, so he moved next to Basra, took over driving the boat, and pantomimed what he wanted him to do.
Basra — to whom life meant nothing — didn’t hesitate. He took pleasure in violence: it had been that way since, as a child, he’d witnessed his father beat his mother to death.
After manoeuvring himself next to Maksim, Basra waited for the next big wave to hit, then shouldered the Russian man overboard as if he was disposing of a sack of garbage. No emotion crossed his skeletal face.
Maksim was caught unaware, his desperate screams for help obliterated by the noise of the storm.
Cruz glanced back to see if the second boat had noticed. The night was pitch black, it was impossible to see your hand in front of you.
Cruz reached for the two-way radio. ‘Get rid of the other Russian,’ he instructed Amiin. ‘Do it now.’
How fortuitous that he’d thought of separating them.
In their weakened state, neither of the Russians saw it coming, although burly Viktor put up more of a struggle, and almost took one of the pirates with him.
‘Done,’ Amiin advised Cruz.
‘They needed to go,’ Cruz shouted over the howling wind. ‘Change of plan. We won’t be returning to the villa.’
‘Yes, boss,’ Amiin said.
His job in life was not to ask questions, merely to obey.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
And while the pirates were on their way to take over
The headline was accompanied by a photo of Skylar with another girl — both in skimpy tank tops with prominent nipples — both sticking their tongues out at the camera.
Radical had personally chosen the photo from a selection on Skylar’s Facebook page. The fact that the photo was three years old didn’t bother Radical; she was searching for provocative, and that’s exactly what she got.
‘My parents will kill me!’ Skylar had said when Radical had first approached her with the idea of selling her story.
‘Yeah, but you’ll be like a
Radical had inherited the power of convincing people to do things her way from her father. He’d parlayed his gift into becoming a respected Senator, while all Radical wanted to do was make lots of money.
