The Power Trip

So she’d convinced Skylar that her parents were screwing with her and would not do anything about Hammond’s sexual indiscretions, and surely he would do the same to other girls, which made it Skylar’s duty to get the word out there.

And so Radical — even though she was a few years younger than Skylar — got her way. And the two of them had marched into the offices of the New York tabloid and sold their story for — as Radical put it — ‘a shitload of money’.

Now the headline and the story were out there. No stopping them anytime soon.

* * *

When Eddie started getting calls at five a.m. he flipped out.

WHAT… THE… FUCK?

How could this have happened?

And with a feeling of deep dread, he knew that if anyone was about to get the blame, it would be him.

Chapter Eighty

The storm hit at 1 a.m. It was a tropical summer storm — the worst kind — violent and unpredictable.

Mercedes darted around the yacht taking note of who was still up and about. As the large yacht began to buck and roll, she was sure that some of the guests would get seasick and come staggering to the upper decks.

She wondered if Captain Dickson would surface. Probably not, he wasn’t exactly hands on.

Kyril had finally fallen into a drugged sleep, snoring like a freight train, his big body sliding down in his chair, hefty legs spread wide, mouth gaping open.

The timing was right on. Cruz and his men would be boarding the yacht — if the storm didn’t hold them up too much — in around twenty minutes.

It wasn’t going to be as easy as they’d thought, what with the yacht heaving in the wild sea; getting aboard would be a struggle. Mercedes had no doubt that her poppa could handle it, he always did.

She’d already unloaded Kyril’s guns, rendering them useless. And earlier that day she’d made it into the master suite and commandeered the revolver Kasianenko kept in a locked drawer by his bed. If anyone else on the yacht had weapons, she hadn’t found them, and over the past few days she’d conducted a pretty through search.

It was on, and she was ready. There was nothing else to do now except wait.

* * *

‘You’re not shy, are you?’ Hammond enquired. He was getting impatient with this tall Australian girl who was not giving up her pussy to him as fast as he would’ve liked. He had her top and bra off — nice breasts — and he figured if he played with them long enough she’d be good to go. The annoying problem was that every time he attempted to make it downtown, she shied away from him like a nervous colt.

He had a strong urge to fuck her and get out of the miserable room she’d taken him to. If it didn’t happen soon he was contemplating slapping her into submission.

They were on top of an uncomfortable lower bunk bed, lying side by side. He was fully clothed and hard as a rock.

‘I’m… I’m not shy,’ she whispered, shivering as he twisted one of her nipples a fraction too hard. ‘It’s just that… uh… I know I should have told you before.’

‘Told me what?’

‘It’s uh… embarrassing.’

‘What?’ he thundered, starting to lose it.

‘I’m… a… virgin.’

For some men, those three words would deflate a hard-on quicker than a bucket of cold water. Hammond was not one of those men. Her words made him more excited than ever.

A virgin. Ripe for deflowering. Ah yes, he was just the man for the job.

The yacht began to rock — but Hammond didn’t notice.

Now he had to have her.

No doubt about it.

* * *

‘What’s going on?’ Ashley stuttered, sitting up with a start.

Taye was sleeping soundly. He’d had great sex with his wife for the fourth day in a row and now he was sleeping like a satisfied stallion, dreaming about winning the World Cup, then fucking Angelina Jolie. Didn’t every man dream about fucking Angelina Jolie?

Ashley vigorously shook his shoulder. He groaned and opened one eye. ‘Wassamatter, toots?’ he mumbled.

‘The boat’s shaking,’ she said in a weak voice. ‘I feel sick.’

Taye launched himself into an upright position. He could hear the rain pounding on the porthole and a flash or two of bright lightning, followed by loud rumbles of thunder.

‘It’s nothin’, babe,’ he assured her. ‘A bit of a storm, that’s all.’

‘I feel sick,’ she repeated.

‘Want me t’hold your head over the loo?’ he offered.

‘No, thank you,’ she said crossly. ‘I didn’t say I was going to be sick, I just feel it.’

‘That’s ’cause the boat’s churnin’,’ he advised. ‘It’ll soon stop.’

‘How do you know?’ she said accusingly.

‘’Cause it’s a tropical storm, an’ that’s what they do, babe. Now spoon up against me and go back to Bye Bye Land.’

For once Ashley did as she was told.

* * *

Sleep was impossible for Sierra. Her mind refused to be still.

Was there going to be some big political sex scandal when they got back to New York? Would she be forced to stand by her husband’s side while he made a smarmy televised apology?

The good wife. The obedient wife. The stupid wife who puts up with her husband’s indiscretions and continues to support him.

Or perhaps Hammond would summon people adept at running damage control. He would get the girl’s accusations squashed before they went public. Then he’d pay off Skylar and her parents, and that would be that. No cringe-worthy TV appearances. No fake apology. All quiet on the political front.

Which left Radical to contend with, and what were they supposed to do about her? The girl was difficult to say the least; she hated her father as much as he hated her.

Sierra sighed. There was nothing she could do to intervene. It was what it was.

Her thoughts drifted to Flynn. The man she’d always wanted, the man she could never have — not while Hammond was still around.

It was all too much.

The storm roared outside, and the yacht was in constant motion. She barely noticed.

Where was Hammond anyway?

She didn’t know and she didn’t care. Perhaps he’d slipped and fallen overboard — what a relief that would be.

* * *

Jeromy’s stomach flipped and flopped. He felt light-headed and quite ill. To his fury Luca didn’t care. Luca was in a deep sleep.

Jeromy staggered towards the bathroom and collapsed onto the floor by the toilet. The boat swayed back and forth. He could hear the storm outside and it unnerved him. Once, in the South of France, he and some