Checking my pockets, I let out a string of silent curses. My cell phone was gone. Fuck!

  It was a good thing we’d inserted the tracker into the flesh beneath my left bicep, or that would have probably been gone too. I had to assume that the tracker still worked and Luis was watching.

  I carefully cracked the cabin door and peered outside.

  The hallway was empty and the air smelled faintly of sea salt, diesel, and something sweet from the galley—orange peel and stale coffee. I spotted a crew member and waited before he disappeared from view to slip through the door.

  Keeping my steps light, I was careful not to step on any loose floorboards. Not that this yacht was poorly built. On the contrary, it was built too well.

  I made three slow circuits of the boat, sticking to the shadows, when another crew member appeared. I pressed my back against the wall and waited for him to disappear. Frustration simmered under my skin, but I knew better than to let it boil over.

  It might be best to hold off on exploring for now since the crew seemed to be out and about. Once the echo of footsteps receded, I turned around and slipped back into my cabin, closing the door behind me.

  I would let them think I was shackled for a bit longer. There was no need to tip my hand too early. If playing the helpless victim bought me time to learn their plans, I’d fill the role for as long as necessary.

  I didn’t smile fully, but something like it twitched at the corner of my mouth as I slid back on the bed and handcuffed myself.

  Now we were on my timeline.

  And that meant trouble for Amara and Elira.

  Amara

  Despite it being late September, it felt slightly chilly due to the breeze coming off the ocean. The low hum of the engines was the only sound in the office while I considered our choices, Jet’s device sitting on the table.

  Gabriel had been our prisoner for twenty-four hours, and I was surprised he wasn’t making this difficult. In fact, he’d been very pleasant, almost behaving as if he were on vacation.

  I didn’t like it. Or maybe it was the whole thing with Jet that made me anxious because we were following the trail he’d laid out.

  Reckless? Definitely. But what other choice did we have?

  If my parents knew what we were doing, they’d lock me in the old Irish estate until Jet either showed up or didn’t. Either way, they’d be too terrified of losing their only child.

  Elira and I following Jet’s lead and whatever chaos he’d run us straight into was the only viable option.

  I stood by the window, my hand trembling slightly as I gripped the frame, the glass cool beneath my fingertips.

  A tight knot of frustration curled beneath my ribs, coiling tighter with every shallow breath. I told myself it was because of Jet, but I wasn’t a good enough liar to believe it.

  It was him. Gabriel Santos. My prisoner.

  The heir to the Santos Cartel I’d spent years trying to ignore.

  My mind replayed and mocked our first kiss, the way his eyes burned into mine. Why couldn’t I let it go? I’d only crossed that line to distract him, to get close enough to drug him. Right?

  It should have meant nothing.

  His mouth had met mine, although he suspected I was up to something. And he kissed me anyway. It was as if he wanted to prove he could make me falter.

  And for a heartbeat, I had.

  I felt it, the jolt of heat that went through me, the way my fingers tingled with the need to touch him. I hated how easy it was to lose myself. For the way my thoughts kept drifting back to the taste of him on my lips. And most of all, for how part of me wanted to do it again.

  I couldn’t keep drowning in this. I wasn’t some romantic who dwelled on affairs of the heart, even if it was likely just lust.

  Turning away from the vast stretch of blue, my gaze settled on my sister who was slouched in the corner, spinning her knife like she was waiting for the world to give her permission to use it.

  “What were you thinking about just now?” she questioned, causing me to tense.

  “Nothing.”

  I answered too quickly, and Elira’s lip curled into a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “Sure. I bet you my entire bank account that you were daydreaming about a certain prisoner.”

  I shot her a narrowed gaze. “Why are you all of a sudden constantly bringing him up? And why are you pushing him toward me?”

  “Maybe because you need to get laid,” she drawled. “And who better than the man you’re attracted to who happens to be shackled to a bed. Mount him and⁠—”

  “Jesus, Elira, what the hell is wrong with you?” I snapped. “I’m not going to fuck a handcuffed man, especially since he probably no longer wants me after…”

  I bit my lip, irritated at myself for slipping, but Elira smiled knowingly. “Oh, sis, I’d bet my money that he wants you. He’d thank all the saints if you were about to climb him and ride him like a goddamn bull rider.” My mouth practically touched the floor. She winked, then continued. “I bet he’s good in bed with that Latin blood running through his veins.”

  “Maybe you’re attracted to him since you keep bringing him up,” I pointed out dryly, trying my best to smother images of me grinding against Gabriel.

  She shrugged. “He’s not exactly my type, but I’d shag him if there was nobody else.”

  “Don’t you fucking dare, Elira,” I hissed, and knew I slipped again when I saw her victorious smile. “You’re so fucking annoying, I swear.”

  “But you love me,” she deadpanned. “You love Jet too.”

  “I do.” There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation. “Although, I can’t help but feel like he’s playing us and leading us into a clusterfuck.”

  “Pfft. What could possibly go wrong?”

  I didn’t look at her.

  “So many things,” I breathed. “But we can’t let anything happen to Gabriel.”

  “He’s Gabriel now, huh?” I turned to face her, her eyebrows raised in challenge as she flicked the knife up and down, the metallic clink echoing ominously. “And how do you think this will end with that well-dressed cartel heir? Wedding bells? No, the moment this is over, Gabriel will demand all our heads on a platter.”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted, my jaw clenching. “If only we knew why Jet instructed us to snatch him.”

  Elira leaned forward, her voice quieter now.

  “We have a man you desire handcuffed to a bed. Do yourself a favor and make your journey to Albania slightly more exciting. Stop being so damn uptight.”

  I could practically hear alarm bells ringing in my skull.

  “Your contradictory actions make no sense.”

  Elira smirked. “You’re a grown woman and you can handle yourself as well as the man you do or don’t fuck.”

  Silence settled between us again and I watched her curiously, but then my phone buzzed.

  I glanced at the screen: Mother Liana.

  I winced. I should’ve known. She and my mom had been tag-teaming their concerned check-ins all month, thinking they were subtle.

  Spoiler alert: they weren’t.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “This is going to be a nightmare.”

  “If we don’t answer, it’ll be worse,” Elira muttered, already lowering her voice into pleasant mode.

  I answered the call and tapped the speaker button. “Hello, Mother Liana.”

  “Hey, Mom,” Elira chimed in, sugar-sweet and suspiciously cheerful. Much like me, she was terrifyingly good at being a trained killer one moment and a normal daughter the next.

  “My darlings,” came her voice—strained, sharp, and wrapped in guilt. “Where in the world are you? I thought you were in southern France, but when I called the hotel, they said you never arrived.”

  I glanced at Elira. She just shrugged and made a face.

  “Southern France? Yeah… we’re staying on my yacht,” I said, like it wasn’t the dumbest thing I’d ever blurted out.

  “Yacht?” Her voice pitched up. My pulse spiked and Elira shook her head, mouthing, Really?

  “Hm. Yeah. We bought a yacht.”

  “Just because?”

  I dropped my chin to my chest. Shit. “Yeah.”

  “Why haven’t you mentioned it before?”

  I grimaced. “I probably forgot.”

  “We’ve been super busy,” Elira chimed in, and I wasn’t sure which excuse was lamer.

  “Don’t lie to me, you two. I expect better from you both,” she snapped. “What is going on? Why are you off the grid? And why is Jet still not answering his phone? Is he with you?”

  I froze. My throat was dry.

  “Yes. Jet’s with us,” Elira cut in brightly, and my head whipped her way with wide eyes. “You know him when he sleeps. It’s like he’s dead.”

  “Ah, good, have him call me when he wakes up.”

  I looked at her pointedly, but she just waved me off.

  “Sure thing,” she chirped happily, ignoring my silent scolding.

  There was a pause and then a sharp inhale from the other end. “Good, good. You know how I worry about you all.”

  “I know. But there’s nothing to worry about,” Elira said, smooth as silk. “We’re just enjoying some quiet time. European waters. No drama. Just seagulls and sunscreen.”

  I stared at her. She smiled at me like I’ve got this, and mouthed, You’re the one who brought up the yacht.

  “Send me the name of the boat so I can track it.”

  Elira lifted her brows in slow horror, folding her arms and mouthing, Your move, genius.

  “Hello? Girls? Can you hear me?” Mother Liana snapped.

  “Yes, we’re here,” I said quickly. “We’ll… we’ll send it. Promise.”

  The line went dead, and for a beat, the room was still.

  Then Elira snorted. “We’re so screwed.”

  I exhaled and slumped into the chair. “Why did you tell her that Jet will call her?”

  “I panicked,” she grumbled, then shrugged, slipping her knife back into its sheath. “Let’s just worry about today and make sure Mom never learns what Jet’s doing.”

  “We don’t even know what he’s doing. And anyway, if we get caught in Albania, she’s definitely going to know.”

  She smiled optimistically. “But the good news is that Albania is in European waters, so technically we won’t be lying.”

  I slapped my palm against my forehead. “Jesus, are we really going for a technicality here?”

  “Unless you have a better idea.”

  “This is reckless and stupid, following these dumb clues and kidnapping the heir of the Santos Cartel.”

  “Probably,” she agreed. “But it’s too late for regrets, so…”

  This would no doubt end in a disaster of epic proportions.

  Gabriel

  Islipped the handcuffs from my wrists again, easing them discreetly onto my pillow.

  I winced, hearing the soft sound carry in the silence, but no footsteps followed. There was just the ever-present creak of the sea pressing in against the yacht’s hull.

  In the past three days, my jailers had developed a routine. They would come in the morning so I could use the bathroom and the shower, then change. They’d keep me company while I ate, engage in small talk, and be back several times throughout the day to repeat.

  Once they went on with their day, I’d go exploring. By now, I’d done it on multiple occasions. I had yet to find anything, although I did get a sense for the girls’ routines outside their hours spent visiting me.

  Elira was probably up on the sun deck, planning something deranged with a mimosa in hand. Amara would be below or pacing along the aft deck.

  Dammit, how that woman tempted me. She called to me like a mermaid’s song.

  Luis was right. I was so goddamned doomed. Maybe I should have bought earplugs too.

  I moved into the bathroom and splashed cold water over my face, chasing off the fog of sleep. Truthfully, I was going stir-crazy after three days of confinement, but there were worse things in life.

  Meeting my expression in the mirror, I noted the exhaustion. Ironic really, considering I’d been more or less resting most of the time.

  I stepped quietly back into the main cabin and made my way to the door that led outside.

  I paused and pressed my ear to the wood.

  Nothing.

  I turned the handle slowly, easing the door open an inch at a time. I winced when it squeaked, then held my breath and peered through the crack.

  Confirming the coast was clear, I slipped out, the door clicking shut behind me.

  As I made my way ahead, my feet were silent and the weight of every step was measured.

  I passed another cabin that seemed to be just a glorified storage closet. Stale air was thick with the scent of old wood polish and forgotten linens.

  Then came the staircase—sleek, chrome-accented—curving upward in a lazy spiral. I crouched low, the soles of my boots making no more than a whisper against the steps.

  Two decks up, I found the main lounge that was luxurious but empty.

  Pale leather couches framed low tables that gleamed like obsidian. A bottle of champagne sat unopened in a bucket of half-melted ice. The lights were dim, diffused, casting faint streaks of amber across polished teak floors.

  Each time the yacht groaned under its own weight, I ducked low and froze, my heart hammering in my throat, breath caught mid-inhale until the silence returned.

  I had a fairly good layout of the boat by now, but what I needed to figure out was where the fuck we were going. I had to find some kind of “war room” or at least an office that would have some information on our destination. One thing I didn’t waste time on was a comms panel. I knew Amara and Elira weren’t that careless. If there was any open line to the outside world, it would be guarded tighter than a vault.

  I moved on, slipping past the galley. It was spotless. Sterile. The faint scent of lemon oil lingered in the air, mixing with the cold metal tang of stainless steel.

  Someone had cleaned recently, which probably meant the crew didn’t have enough to do.

  I made it down another staircase, narrower this time, and steeper. Plush carpeting gave way to steel grated steps. The walls turned industrial. This was no longer the yacht of champagne and chrome. This was the machine that kept it alive. It was an office set up with a map and screens everywhere.

  And then I heard it.

  A voice—low, precise, and familiar—crackled through a nearby speaker. I stopped breathing—stopped moving—as I stood frozen in the dark corridor, ears straining.

  “Just distract her,” said Jet, whose gravelly voice was unmistakable.

  “She’s going to start putting it together. She’s already suspicious,” Elira replied, voice tight with warning. “You know Amara isn’t stupid, and when she figures out why you did this—” She paused. Barely a heartbeat. “She’s going to be furious.”

  “That’s why I have you, sis. Work your magic. I warned Santos, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  Jet’s voice coiled through the space, making my skin crawl.

  A sliver of yellow light spilled into the hallway from a cracked door ahead, cutting through the dark and catching the floating motes of dust.

  I moved closer, just enough to see.

  Elira was sitting in a lounge chair, phone in hand and ankle propped over her thigh, looking the picture of casual, as if she weren’t broadcasting something treacherous into the open air.

  A rookie mistake—stupid, even—for someone like her to have that conversation on speaker.

  “It’s simple math,” Jet said coolly. “They won’t know what hit them until it’s too late.”

  I frowned. They?

  “Are you sure this is the only way?” she replied, unease bleeding into her tone. Not so casual, then. “Maybe Santos⁠—”

  “It’s the only way,” he snapped. “I’ll give her what she wants… and I’ll get what I want. Trust me.”

  Something twisted hard in my gut, like a wire being pulled tight.

  “All this just to get her? Is she really worth it?” Elira asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  Anya.

  The name detonated in my mind. This had to be about my sister. It couldn’t be anyone else.

  I stumbled back from the door, chest heaving. My heart pounded like fists on steel, each beat louder than the last, drowning out Elira’s low murmur.

  My fists clenched. Every tendon in my body coiled with the raw, animalistic urge to burst through the door and slam Elira against the wall. To crush the phone underfoot. To scream down the speaker and demand answers from Jet directly.

  But I didn’t move.

  Don’t jump to conclusions, Gabriel.

  No. Fuck that. This confirmed everything I’d suspected since the night at Revelation. Jet wasn’t circling. He was closing in. And now I knew why.

  He was coming for my sister.

  A rage unlike anything I’d ever felt surged through me, hot and electric. It roared in my ears. It wanted blood. But rage wouldn’t help Anya. Rage wouldn’t unravel Jet’s plan, and it sure as hell wouldn’t stop it.

  I had to be smarter than that.

  Grinding my teeth, I turned from the door and forced myself to walk. Back into the cabin. Back into the cage they thought I’d never escape from. Back into the skin of the obedient prisoner.

  But things had changed.

  The endgame was clearer now.

  Amara.

  She was my opening. She and Anya had been roommates, good friends—practically sisters—during Amara’s final year at D’Arc. If there was any part of that bond still intact, any flicker of loyalty left under her cool exterior, I could use it.

  Even if she still called Jet her brother.

  Because once she realized he was coming for Anya, she’d have to choose a side, and I was going to make damn sure it was mine.

  Amara

  The lantern swung with the ship’s motion, casting golden arcs that sliced across the cabin walls. The air was warm with the faint tang of salt and rusted metal.