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It doesn’t matter if I like her or not. She’s rich, connected, and she’s my responsibility.
I’m beginning to see the reasoning behind making it look like we’re a couple. There’s an air of oppressed openness. Her path off this yacht is unhindered until she actually steps onto said path. With me next to her, a newly vetted Collector, they’ll just expect me to hand her back when I’m done with her.
That’s the thinking, anyway. And I can see it. But I believe it’s way darker than that. Which is why I’m poking about to understand the nuclear option. If I have to blow it all to fucking hell, I need to know the layout, the weak points, and the quirks of this floating sex trafficking money barge.
If I do my job right, her leaving with me while we’re still close to Miami will have less impact than me dragging her off Sex Island, or whatever the fuck they’re calling it.
“Yeah, I’ll get off this thing. Sure would be good to blow off steam,” I say, downing the drink. He pours some more in the glass.
If we’re being watched, we need to be seen playing the part of the idle fucking rich.
“Not too much,” he mutters.
Bastard knows me too well. I can be subtle, but man, do I want to destroy the fuck out of this place.
He comes in close, grabs the back of my head, and pulls me in, his words barely a whisper, “Get her off here if you can, however you can, within reason. Just don’t blow your cover.”
I step back, clap him on his lean, shaven cheek a little hard. He doesn’t wince.
“I know how to have fun, Martin,” I say, using his alias for the job. “But thanks for the advice.”
“Any time, Jaxson.”
Even though I buried Jaxson a long time ago, the name serves me well for an undercover role. Even though I fucking hate it. “Asshole.”
“There’s a gorgeous girl up on the deck near the pool. Gonna work some magic on her.”
I let him go. I’m not really interested if it’s business, pleasure, or a mix of both for him. Malone was born to grift, lie, and cheat. I don’t think he’s one of the good guys—none of us are—but we have rules, and I’d take his brand of hedonistic, black-hearted soulnessness over any of the actual Collectors.
Sipping my drink, I wander around the room, ready to head down to the lower decks to feel those out. The engine room’s going to be the on lowest deck, down where staff and storage is. There’ll be an engine on one end and then all the other hardware for washing, drying, and air conditioning, plus drinking water and maintenance tools down on the other end. And from the last big boat I was on, there was an escape hatch that led to a hidden area on the main deck for quick getaways. I want to see if this ship’s set up the same way.
As I walk toward the hidden door that’s now all the way open, I pause at a nearby side table. A gossip magazine lies open on it.
I roll my eyes. Jesus. Is this what Dakota sees as reading material?
After a final sweep of my eyes over the room, I step into the hall, immediately cornered by an older blond woman. She’s tall and perfectly groomed, dressed in a white dress that hugs her lithe body.
Bile rises in my throat.
She’s also one of the Collectors.
Her hand makes its way onto my chest. “Felice, and you are?”
“Jaxson.” I force a smile and tuck her hand into my arm. “I’d love a tour…”
And you’ve just become my next target, Felice.
FOUR
dakota
The strange man’s touch follows me, lingering and sinking down into my skin.
I’m back up on the top deck, trying to get my heartbeat back under control. I need to talk to Harley. I miss her, and maybe coming here was a dumb idea. I don’t know most of these people, and a majority of the men make me want to shower.
They don’t do anything, it’s just the way they look at me. Like Brutus does.
And like pretty much most of the guys who see me now. I’m not even that famous, but most of my videos—YouTube, shorts, and TikTok—now get at least a million hits, my posts and online comments the same. The two actors who are now sunning themselves in the late afternoon rays must get the attention way worse than me.
