Devil and the Deep (The Ceruleans Book 4) - Julie Ann Walker Page 0,47

Bad Knee, kicking his dropped SCAR-L away, and not sparing the dying man a glance. It wasn’t that Mason and Bran were unmoved by death and killing. It’s just that very early in their SEAL careers they’d learned that sometimes there was nothing to do but put rabid dogs down.

“And while you’re listening to him,” Bran said, “you can tell us where you’ve hidden those girls.”

“Well, which is it?” Southern Boy asked. Even though Mason couldn’t see his face because of the balaclava, he was pretty sure by the sound of Southern Boy’s voice that he was sneering. “Do ya want us to do what that jackhole says and shut the fuck up? Or do ya want us to tell you where the girls are? I’m gettin’ mixed signals here.”

Bran glanced over the man’s shoulder at Mason, raised brow saying, Can you believe this bozo? When he turned his attention to Southern Boy, he said, “Wise guy, eh? Well, wise guy, unless you fancy a round in your shoulder, you’ll stop with the lip service and answer my goddamned question.”

“We really didn’t hurt them,” the second half of the duo answered quickly. “We tied them up—”

“I told ya to shut up!” Southern Boy screeched. “Those girls are our only bargainin’—”

His sidekick ignored him and went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “They’re in the far north casemate on the second floor and—”

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Southern Boy was apoplectic.

“Thank you,” Bran said. “Now, both of you get down on your knees and put your hands behind your heads.”

“B-but,” the chatty man stuttered, “earlier you told us we could leave and—”

“Sorry, gavone,” Bran told him. “That ship sailed. And then it sank. Now, on your knees.”

They hesitated and Mason rolled his eyes. He contemplated swinging his M4 like a baseball bat at the backs of their knees. The longer they fought against the inevitable, the longer he had to wait to send up that flare.

And the longer Alex is alone out there.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about her—worrying about her—since the moment he’d chucked himself overboard the catamaran. Then again, she’d pretty much been a plague on his brain since she exploded onto Wayfarer Island like the pint-sized bombshell she was.

Bran proved he was suffering a similar fate—having a woman on the brain—when, instead of insisting the masked assholes do as he told them, he yelled over his shoulder, “Maddy? Y’okay in there?”

For a couple of seconds no sound emerged from the gunpowder magazine house. Then Maddy poked her head around the corner. She held a piece of driftwood aloft like a baseball bat.

“Bran?” She scooted out from behind the building, glanced at the unarmed men, and swallowed. “Can I go find the girls?”

Her firm chin and straight back were a testament to her mettle, but Mason heard the tremor in her voice. And even under the dim light of the moon, he could see that her complexion was so pale she looked like she’d been to the blood drive but hadn’t been given the requisite post-donation cookie and juice.

He wondered if he’d ever met a woman as dauntless and determined as Maddy Powers.

Alex, a voice whispered inside his head. Ya-huh. Sure. Alex was what you would call dauntless and determined…if you were prone to understatement.

And fuckin’ hell! Were all his thoughts going to lead back to her tonight?

“Wait ’til we—” Bran began, and the masked men took advantage of his distraction.

“Run!” Southern Boy shouted, taking off like a shot toward the fort’s arched entryway. His cohort bolted after him.

Mason swung his weapon in their direction and took aim. But he didn’t pull the trigger. Once again he drew the line at shooting unarmed men in the back.

“Let ’em go,” Bran said.

Mason didn’t take his eyes off the targets as his breathing slowed right along with his heart rate. His finger twitched on the trigger. “I could wing them. Or take out a knee.” Apparently, he was having a knee fixation tonight. Odd.

“No need,” Bran said as the duo zigzagged their way across the parade grounds.

“But what if they’re going to the ranger’s station to—” Maddy started, only to be cut off by Bran.

“They’re dumb, but they’re not that dumb,” he said. “They’re outnumbered and weaponless.” He nodded to the SCAR-L rifles lying in the dirt. “Dollars to doughnuts they’re making a beeline straight to their boat. But don’t worry, even then they won’t get far.”

“What do you mean?” Maddy asked, skirting the body of Bad Knee to come stand