Page 50 of Break Out the Girl

Aurora has London’s aviators, and has taken off the yellow raincoat, so her grubby prison bra can look ‘bikini-ish’. I figure I’ll just take off my shirt. Sure, it’s below sixty degrees, but rich kids take enough blow and K to not worry about air temperature, right?

When the timer on the dash finally clicks over, I open up the throttle again. Within a minute The Carnivàle materializes out of the fog. It’s a glossy black beast of a boat, with several armed guards on each deck.

“Basil, hit the stereo,” I grunt, gripping the steering wheel. “Maximum volume.”

The kid smirks, slamming his thumb onto the media console. Instantly, a ridiculous, deafening, heavy-bass electronic dance track blasts from the marine speakers, shattering the morning silence like a brick through a window. I spin the steering wheel so the jet boat cuts a wide, obnoxious circle through the swells, kicking up a massive spray of white wake right against the yacht's hull.

“Woo! Hear that bass drop!” Basil screeches at the top of his lungs, waving his arms in the air like a manic. “Show us your tits!”

I glance at Aurora, who is holding onto the windshield frame. She takes a deep breath, almost like she’s trying to channel the high-society entitlement and arrogance she grew up soaked in. “We want to party!” she yells, flicking her blonde bob. “You guys look like fun!”

She shakes her boobs and blows a kiss.

It’s quite the performance.

Up on The Carnivàle’s main aft deck, I see three heavily armed guards rush to the railing, their heads snapping our way. I’m pretty sure I’m sensing irritation rather than aggression.

One of them pulls a plastic bullhorn to his mouth, his voice booming over the water. “Attention small craft! You are violating a private security perimeter! Leave the area immediately, or there will be severe consequences!”

My two passengers cheer, as I wheel around and do a couple of donuts, weaving in and out of the fog, so sometimes we are visible, and then we disappear again.

“Party! Party! Party!” Rory and Basil yell, jumping up and down and high-fiving.

I cut the wheel hard, drifting the jet boat closer, making sure the engine roar and the obnoxious bassline drown out any possible sound from where London and François are breaking their way in.

The guards are getting visibly antsy, their hands dropping to the grips of their automatic rifles.

Kzzz-cht.

The walkie in Aurora’s hand crackles to life. She quickly drops into her seat as François’s smooth French cuts through the static. “À l'intérieur, en quête.”

Inside and searching.

“Copy that,” Aurora says into the mic, her voice shaking just a fraction before she cuts it. The bond threads between us all quiver as a result of her concern.

Such a weird feeling.

The bullhorn-voice barks again, ordering us to leave. I glance over my shoulder to see Basil pulling down his ragged pants and mooning the boat. Next thing I know, Rory is pulling up her bra and waving her bare tits at them.

That’s going too far.

“Cut that out, Princess.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Bevan. Also, do you see the top deck?”

I do. All three decks now have guards lining the railings, pointing guns in our direction. My wolf senses pick up a change in the atmosphere. Violence and frustration.

RAT-TAT-TAT.

A sudden explosion of gunfire erupts from the deck, chewing up the water barely three feet from our bow. White geysers of spray blast into the air.

Warning shots.

“Hold on!” I roar, throwing the jet boat into a tight, aggressive zigzag, intentionally drawing their fire as more bullets clip the water behind us.

“Whoa!” Basil ducks, slamming his back against the floorplates, though he’s still wearing a manic grin behind his goggles. “They’re fucking pissed! They won’t dare actually shoot us though.”

I think he’s right. I hope he’s right.