“Trip at the helm, one of us on Jinx, one on Faith, that leaves the other to keep forty or so assholes in line,”Dax had said.
Logical. Calculated.
And yeah, I get that too.
Mason can captain a boat. Keep us moving. Give Trip time to sleep.
And the bastard? Dead-on shot. Every time.
And no one’s crossing his fucking lines.
I get it.
But I don’t fucking like it.
Because expand? Grow the fucking inner circle?
That’s Faith too.
That’s her.
And that means…
I fling another crate, rattling the deck.
That means Dax is making room.
For Wilkes.
For Trip.
For fucking Irish and Mason?
No.
Nope.
Not fucking happening.
I won’t let it.
Irish and Dax stride across the dock, scanning the crowd side by fucking side.
Never thought I’d see the day.
Last time these two shared air, it was a beautiful bloodbath. Had to replace a few guards. Absolutely brilliant.
This?
This is trouble.
I roll my shoulders, grip tightening around the knife at my belt. A good three seconds and I could slit Irish’s fucking throat before he even knew it was coming.
Wouldn’t be the worst way to end this day.
Before I get the chance to do the world that favor…
Crack.
