Page 17 of Killer Bones

“Next time don’t try to fuck her without asking.”

“Asking who? You?” he squeezes out, holding his neck. “Fuck you.” He disappears down the corridor, shoulder-crashing it a bit from the noises he’s making.

Already I’m regretting that. I should be killing her, and instead I’m acting as if I own her, or the rights to her cunt. That might alienate Montez. It might make him wonder why I have a knack for punching his bodyguards.

“Fuck.” And I’m swearing too much.

Izzy has gone back to sleep. Being around this woman is making me behave irrationally. I’m standing over her, pondering what I should do that is sensible.

Three of Montez’s men file in.

“Hey. Sorry.” I hold up my hands. “I know that was bad but?—”

The leader walks in and punches at my gut. I see it coming and try not to dodge.

The blow drives me backward, doubled over. The next three hits land near the same place or on my arms as I protect my face. I collapse to the deck and writhe and cough enough to keep them happy.

“Bring him. We’ll come back for her.” He eyes me. “Montez is annoyed. You’re to behave if you don’t want to go overboard. I’m to tell you that the deal with Kasimir Stern is sealed, and you’re almost disposable. Got it?” He leans in to stress his words, while his friends grab my arms.

“Yes.”

“Bring him.”

As they hustle me along then down some steps, I ask a dumb question, “This new cabin has a good view?”

He laughs. “Definitely. A view of shit.”

Figures. They take me through a low door into what might be the bilge area—I’m not into boats—then chain my right hand to the hull wall using a handcuff locked through a link. The walls are white and clean though stark. This isn’t a rusted cargo ship.

“Is this good enough for you?” He grins. “I liked the show you put on with her, but if the boss says to eliminate you both, you’re gone. He’s got other things to attend to. Understand, Mister Smith?” He glowers.

“I understand.”

“You will be expected to perform at the coming party, with her.” His grin widens. “Mister Flores has decided you’re to kill her then, and you’re to make it entertaining.”

I nod.

I’m demoted to porn star. Wait. Make that porn-star assassin.

They leave. Minutes later, Izzy arrives between the two men, mostly being dragged in their grasp, her feet stumbling, and sometimes they twist upside-down. She gets the same treatment as I, with her wrist locked in a manacle and chained to a point on the wall. Above us, a paltry light shines enough to illuminate a room big enough to hide a fair bit of smuggled goods, though it’s probably too easily found for that. No portholes. One door. One light.

Montez probably uses it for captives.

The floor is metal and cold, the engine noise is a constant burr. Within a few hours, I’ve gone from favored business agent to man chained in the underparts of the yacht, due to this woman and my own lack of sense.

She could throw me to the wolves if she speaks to them before I kill her.

I know this, I know this, I know this. I hesitate, still. A quick strangle, and I’d be free of her. Montez might huff, but he’d be happy she was gone.

I watch her slowly rouse. She starts to shiver.

She’s not dead, though, is she? I guess, I think, I’m plain curious? Curious enough to risk exposure.

I can mute her at the party. There is a rather nasty way to accomplish that. Not a gag or a mask, nothing so prone to failure. I’ll suture her mouth shut. The idea gives me the shivers, the good kind. I’m seeing the needle sinking in, her fear, the sutures pulling tight as they’re knotted. Maybe someone will hate me for denying them fucking her there, but it’s a great solution.

If I ask, Montez will supply needle and thread…I think.

Right now, I want to talk to her, to see where this goes. I shift closer. The chain is long enough for us to touch because they don’t expect murder. Montez probably doesn’t care about anything else that happens in here.