Micah fumbled around, digging into a bin, then said, “Here. What should I do?”
“Start with that bozo’s ankles. Wrap ’em up good.” One step at a time. Nolan kept his gun steady on the motherfucker who’d be much less threat once he was hobbled.
“Gladly.” Micah shuffled forward on his knees, duct tape in hand—
A handgun went off behind them. The bullet hit the canopy nearby. Nolan dodged sideways in two quick steps, controlling both his weapons as he whirled to look back. Fynn knelt on the back platform, soaking wet, wrestling with the first kidnapper, hands locked around the man’s arm. The man’s bloody fingers clutched a weapon.
Shit.Nolan leaped toward them and kicked the bastard’s wrist hard. The kidnapper screamed. The gun flew free, hit the side of the boat, and dropped to the deck.
Fynn raised his head and shouted, “Look out!”
A scuff behind Nolan warned him in time to duck away from a swing from cabin-dude.Bastard!Nolan landed a solid kick to the guy’s midsection. The man grunted and collapsed back on his ass.Fuck him.Nolan kicked him again, mid-chest, as hard as he could. He took an instant to be sure his blow had put the guy flat on the deck, gasping wildly, before turning back to Fynn and motherfucker-one. “Freeze! Fynn, get clear.” He couldn’t see past Fynn well enough to get a shot at the bastard.
At his shout, Fynn scrambled backward on hands and ass. Nolan aimed at the bleeding kidnapper, but the man collapsed onto the deck moaning and shaking, one hand scrabbling randomly, his eyes closed.
Fynn sat on the back platform inches from the edge, propped up on both hands, sucking in air, his chest heaving and eyes huge, his glasses missing.
There’s blood all over him!“Fynn, you okay?”
“Y-yes?”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Thank god. But not safe yet.Nolan backed against the side of the boat, angled so he could hold a weapon on each of the collapsed men. He wouldn’t fire an unfamiliar gun left-handed unless he had to, but he bet they didn’t know that. “Micah, you got that tape?”
A moan answered him.
“He’s hurt!” Fynn pushed to his feet.
“Wait!” Nolan snapped loudly enough to make Fynn hesitate. “Get down, hands and knees, stay below my line of fire. Get that duct tape from your brother.”
“But—”
“Quickly.” The guy he’d kicked wasn’t all the way out.
Fynn scrambled forward past Nolan. “Micah! Are you okay?”
“He hit me.” Micah sounded winded, but “hit” wasn’t “stabbed” or “strangled” and Nolan relaxed a fraction.
Fynn reached for his brother, his hands shaking, touching his arm, his chest, his hair. “Where are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” Micah told him. “You don’t need to pat me.”
Nolan directed, “Fynn! Safety first. Brother second. Get that duct tape.”
“What? But… okay. Got it.” Fynn dropped the roll. “Fuck! Got it now.” He clutched the tape in both hands.
Nolan moved a step closer to the man he’d kicked, who’d pushed up on his elbows, glaring. Shifting his aim from center-of-mass to the guy’s forehead, Nolan ordered, “Lie down flat, arms up high, hands together. Fynn’s gonna duct tape your ankles and your wrists. One wrong move, and I’ll blow your brains out.”
The man snarled.
“Right?” Nolan took a step closer.
“Fuck.” The kidnapper slumped to his back on the deck and put his arms in the air, fingers clasped together.
Nolan told Fynn, “Get his hands secured. Use lots of tape.”
