Prologue
Marie Daniels
“Come with us! Please?” Brenda tries her best to convince me while Karen dances and beckons, waving her hands.
“Go. Have a good time! I’ll be fine. I have to finish this paper by midnight, or I’m going to flunk the class.” I assure my best friends that I’m sitting this one out only because I have to, not because I want to.
“Okay then. We’re going without you, but we’re going to bombard your phone with pics of us having the time of our lives!”
I laugh. “Then I’m turning it off because I won’t get a damn thing done living vicariously through my phone.”
They laugh as they dance out the door together. Karen asks Brenda, “What does that even mean?”
Brenda laughs as she throws her arm over Karen’s shoulder and says, “Come on. Let’s go.”
I walk to the doorway to watch them get into the car and throw one more parting comment to them. “Be safe!”
They back out of the driveway, and I wave until they are out of sight.
Walking back inside, I turn my phone off. If I don’t, I won’t get this paper finished before midnight.
Walking into the kitchen, I grab a Red Bull from the refrigerator, pop the top, chug a few mouthfuls, then carry it back upstairs to my room.
This is all going to be worth it. I remind myself. You have to sacrifice to have more. Brenda and Karen are going to be teachers, while I’m going to be an airline pilot. They will marry men, settle down, and raise children content with living their lives with one man, possibly two, maybe three, in one place. While I will fly around the world, raking in four times the amount of money, enjoying different cultures and as many men as I want.
Settling in at my desk, I open my laptop to begin, but before I do, I let my imagination embrace the screen saver and visualize running into the aqua-colored waves from the sandy beach with the palm trees in the Virgin Islands. The three of us have planned a month-long yachting vacation to celebrate the conclusion of this phase of our lives.
I take a deep breath and imagine the smell of the salt air. “In one month, I will be swimming in those waters. Now, get to work.”
* * *
Gabriel Managus
“There’s a party tonight,” I tell Pete, my DEA handler, as I throw back a shot of whiskey and scan the girls clad in skimpy bikinis playing volleyball on the beach.
“Did you get an invitation?” He asks as he lifts his beer to block his lips and watches the girls too.
“Yeah, I’m in. I’m actually the star performer tonight.” I confirm as I stand, leave my money on the bar, and turn to go. “Tuesday at eight?”
“I’ll be here.” He drinks the brew without looking at me.
As I walk down the street on St. Thomas Island, I plan for the mission tonight. I’ve been undercover as Alejandro Barbados for five months now, working my way up the ranks of the King’s Crew. My initial assignment was to learn about the drug trade, but I sniffed out a more significant issue, and the top brass in DC gave me the green light to shift gears. Running drugs is a much smaller piece of the King’s Crew pie. They are pirating in human trafficking.
Tonight’s raid is to snatch and grab some girls from a superyacht anchored offshore. This is my third boarding party.
So far, I’ve been able to avoid killing anyone. There are a hundred and one ways to fuck a person up and incapacitate them without taking their life. But if I have to snuff someone for mission success, I’m sanctioned to do so.
This has been the most challenging assignment I have ever been on, including my Navy SEAL tours. Not physically, but emotionally. Going deep undercover means becoming the kind of person you are hunting, committing the crimes of the hunted. Thus, the more heinous the crime, the harder it is to handle, and this assignment is especially heinous because the victims are human beings. Young women my age or younger are treated worse than animals. They are drugged, tortured, humiliated, branded, and gang raped all before being enslaved to a life that offers no hope of freedom ever again. It is incomprehensible to the average person the degree to which these innocent girls suffer. Their lives are snatched from them and shattered forever.
In the DEA briefing, I learned that our agency has attempted to infiltrate this crew of pirates three times before, but those agents failed. Two were killed in the line of duty, and one withdrew. I was approached because I’m a former Navy SEAL and Special Warfare Operators are a breed above. Our training gives us an edge. With SEALs, failure is not an option, and neither is freedom. I said yes without hesitation.
Chapter One
One month later
2 AM
US Virgin Islands
Gabriel
Standing on the beach, looking out at the yacht bathed in soft blue LED lights of tonight's target, I strip down to my speedo.
"Alejandro, are you sure?" Roberto asks me as he picks my clothes up and tucks them under his arm.
"Yeah, man. I got this." I strap my knife to my thigh, then sling the plastic bag with the grappling hook launcher and rope over my shoulder. "Just give me twenty minutes before you crank the outboard."
"Twenty. Good luck."
"I don't need luck, compadre."
He salutes me. "Barbados, the Brutal Barbarian."
I smirk, shaking my head. "Twenty, Roberto. Not nineteen." Then I wade out into the water and dive into the darkness.
Enjoying the solitude of submersion, I swim under the surface until my breath is gone. Then I slowly break the plane between water and air, inhale a massive lung-bursting breath, then slip down out of sight, repeating the sequence until I'm treading water next to the yacht.
When we met up for tonight's raid, the buzz this afternoon was that an entire crew was taken down last night. If that is true, then there will be a shift in the organization's structure and an opportunity for me to advance higher up their chain of command.
I'm growing impatient with the length of time it's taking me to discover where the girls are being taken to be sold, so I crippled the trolling motor we use on the dinghy. Roberto wanted to call off the raid, but I insisted we proceed, ensuring my name is circulated among the pirates.
Typically, our crew of six to ten men takes the dinghy to the vessel and board as an overwhelming force, but I will board the yacht alone to disable the vessel's radios, taking out any crew members along the way.
Once the pirates are on board, they will drug everyone, then extract those they can sell. Once we are back at the hideout, the victims are isolated and kept until being sold into the human sex trafficking business. The less compliant, the more drugs are used to control them. The faster they adapt, the better their chance of survival.
I remove the grappling gun, then launch the steel hook covered with fabric over the railing. The soft thud and the slack in the line confirm it has landed. I pull the rope tight, and it grabs the railing. Returning the launcher to the bag, I seal it with air to keep it afloat, then set it free. The crew will retrieve it when they arrive.
The clouds slide over the moon, and darkness descends.
Time to get to work. I hoist myself up the rope.
* * *
Meanwhile, on board the yacht …
Marie
Ugh! Another sleepless night.
I sigh, giving up the effort to drift into dreamland, staring up at the cabin ceiling as the nagging weight of depression that refuses to go away settles on my chest and pools in my eyes.
Losing my best friends in a car accident has jarred me to my core, and two months later, I'm still dealing daily with the emotional fallout.
I had hoped that going ahead with our plans to sail around the Virgin Islands, carrying on for Brenda and Karen, living my best life to honor their memory, would help clear away this nagging depression. But, so far, the peaceful silence has only amplified my loss.
I sit on the bed and grab a ponytail tie. Twisting my long hair up into a loose who-cares-if-half-is-sprouting-out-in-all-directions bun, I take a deep breath, then stretch, owning my insomnia. Then I slip into my bikini and head out of the cabin for some fresh air and moonlight.
Walking out onto the deck, I stop and inhale a deep, cleansing breath of the salty air. Then stroll to the handrail and peer down at the black water. The small waves, too insignificant to rock the yacht, softly slap against the side.
The sight lulls my tired mind into a peaceful trance-like state. But the clouds covering the moonlight slide away. Lifting my face to look out over the vast body of water, I enjoy the moonlight dancing on the surface of the water as the tears of loss slip down my cheeks.
I should have realized it was too soon to be alone and flown to San Diego to hang out with my stepbrother instead. Cash wouldn't have minded. He is always down for spending time with me, and he gives the best hugs.
I sigh and wipe away the tears. His "Be brave, beautiful" always makes me feel like I can handle anything.
I'll call him when we go ashore again. Hopefully, hearing his voice will help clear out this clusterfuck of emotion doing a number on my psyche.
I stare up at the sky. Without the interference of ground lights, the billions of twinkling stars are beautiful.
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