Chapter 1
Fury had finally escaped. Maybe it was only a two-week vacation to Pink Sands Beach in the Bahamas, but any time away from Lucifer was heaven. She marveled at the beauty of Harbour Island, where coral sands blushed in shades of pale pink, and crystal-clear waters offered serenity. Whenever Fury got stressed out and closed her eyes to picture her happy place, this was it. And now that she was finally in paradise, she intended to bask in this sun-kissed daydream for as long as possible. The best part was that she’d gotten to the Bahamas on her own—alone. No deal with the Devil. No help from an angel. And for the first time in a long time, no demons in tow.
Her bare feet sank into the sand as she strolled along the shoreline. With her golden curls cascading in the gentle breeze, Fury gazed out at the endless expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. The weight of her worries lifted with each lapping wave as the melody of the sea washed over her.
She took a deep, cleansing breath and exhaled slowly, murmuring, “Pure bliss.”
Pastel-hued cottages and sprawling beachfront villas dotted the coast, stretching toward Dunmore Town. The infectious rhythm of a steel drum band played somewhere in the distance. The scent of frangipani and bougainvillea floated on the breeze, adding a hint of tropical sweetness to the moment.
Everything was perfect.
Fury felt something rare—lightness. Pink Sands Beach wasn’t just a place. It was her quiet escape, the peaceful sanctuary her soul craved.
She wanted to stay forever.
That’s how I knew I was dreaming.
Fury was never this happy. Her fiery spirit could know no peace. She was an avenging bounty hunter from Hell—a true badass. And as much as she may have wanted to embrace that island ideal of a perfect paradise, it wasn’t real. It couldn’t last.
And deep down, she knew it.
Dream on, Fury, I thought. Dream on.
She didn’t realize a pack of angry crypto investors were doggedly pursuing the ever-elusive Alura Banks through tropical vegetation nearby.
There it is—the conflict.
Their chase had been relentless, with a notorious pirate known only as Halfpenny taking the lead. Few had ever seen the woman in real life, but she went by the cryptic handle “1/2¢” online. When authorities failed to arrest Alura after her crypto exchange, CoinBanks, collapsed, Halfpenny sailed from Boston to rally with other enraged degens in the Bahamas.
After a few weeks on Harbour Island, an anon spotted Alura leaving the Diamond Hands Day Spa and tipped off Halfpenny. In no time, her crew arrived to run Alura out of Dunmore Town. Alura escaped into the thicket, but Halfpenny, with her flaming copper hair and gritty determination, set the pace as her posse tore through the undergrowth after her.
Still nursing deep financial wounds, these investors weren’t about to let this slick scammer off the hook. They followed the trail of broken branches and torn leaves Alura left in her wake. And just as Halfpenny got a hand on her, Banks slipped away and collided with Fury on the beach.
Alura and Fury tumbled, kicking up a rosy cloud as they tangled limbs. Not wanting any additional witnesses, Halfpenny decided to hang back. Behind the worn brim of her leather hat, the fierce glint in her green eyes spoke volumes to her gang. It wasn’t finished. But for now, the seven of them backed deeper into the thicket, scattering and scurrying away like startled banana rats.
Alura noticed her pursuers retreating as she got up and dusted herself off. Fortunately for her, she’d tripped over the solution. Her odds of escaping with her perfectly tanned hide intact had just skyrocketed. Still panting from the impromptu run, a sly smirk played on her lips as she greeted Fury, “Hello, gorgeous, you just became my new best friend.”
“And who are you?” Fury asked as she got to her feet and brushed sand from her thighs.
Offering her freshly manicured hand to shake, the woman purred, “Alura Banks.”
Fury clapped to remove more sand and accidentally ignited blue flames. Embarrassed, she hid both hands behind her back and shooed the fire away, hoping Alura didn’t notice. “Call me Fury.”
But Alura did notice. She noticed everything. That’s what made her such a convincing con artist. Yet, she pretended not to notice her new human shield could conjure fire and only smiled, saying, “Nice to meet you, Fury.”
“Likewise and all that.” With the flames gone, Fury tugged at the spandex riding up her buttcrack, straightening her black one-piece bathing suit. “This sand gets everywhere.”
Surprisingly disinterested in Fury’s fiery powers, Alura spun toward the ocean and shook her head, tossing her wavy brown hair on the breeze. She slowly unbuttoned her white linen shirt and seductively slipped out of it, revealing her skimpy pink crocheted bikini top underneath. “I love living here.”
Trying not to gawk at the woman’s ample rack, Fury asked, “You live here?”
“I do.” Stealing an anxious glance at the thicket, Alura pointed up the beach. “I have a small place not far from here.”
“Geld wie Wasser haben,” Fury muttered to herself.
“What does that mean?”
“It’s German—to have money like water.” She wistfully looked out at the ocean. “Must be nice.”
“Oh, it is.”
Fury’s stomach grumbled. Her vessel was hungry.
“Time for lunch.” Alura checked her gold watch and smiled. The woman did have a beautiful smile. “Why don’t you join me? Let me show you some island hospitality.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Fury glanced back at her stuff on a big blue beach towel. Her sandals were back there—her phone, too.
“Cocktails,” Alura announced decidedly.
“What?”
“Cocktails. We’ll have frozen tropical drinks.”
“Booze?” Fury smiled. She didn’t show it often, but she had a beautiful smile, too. “Well, now you’re speaking my language. Just let me get my things.”
Little did Fury know, she was about to become the sidekick in Alura’s international caper.
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