The next wave is a big one, slamming the boat hard against the rocks. The sound echoes—a sickening crunch of wood and fiberglass. I swear under my breath and jog down to the shore. The spray from the crashing waves dampens my face as I pick my way over the debris-strewn ground.
By the time I reach the wreck, it’s clear there’s no saving the boat. It’s wedged against the rocks, half-sunken, water sloshing over the edge. The smell of gasoline hangs in the air, mixing with the briny scent of the ocean.
My stomach twists as I take in the damage.
I call out, “Anyone there?” But I already know something’s wrong. There’s no movement, no response. Just the sound of the waves and the groan of the boat’s broken hull.
Climbing onto the rocks, I peer into the boat. Two people—a man and a woman—lie motionless inside, their bodies contorted.
The man is slumped over the controls, his head lolling at an unnatural angle, his skin washed out and lifeless. The woman is crumpled against the side, her face eerily pale, her body still as the storm-drenched air around us. Their clothes are soaked through, their limbs stiff, the unmistakable signs of death written all over them.
Blood pools at the bottom of the boat, diluted by the seawater that’s sloshed in from the storm.
“Shit,” I mutter, my stomach tightening. The wind howls around me, tugging at my clothes as if trying to pull me away from the grim scene.
The storm did this. The sea tossed them around like rag dolls, smashed them against the boat, and left them like this, drifting and forgotten.
For a second, I just stare, trying to piece together what happened. Maybe they got caught too far from shore, their engine failing when they needed it most. Maybe they thought they could ride it out and underestimated the force of it. Maybe they fought to the last second, struggling against the waves before they lost.
It doesn’t matter now. They’re gone.
And the real problem isn’t just the fact that they’re dead—it’s that their presence here means something. No one comes so close to this island by accident.
My foot nudges something loose near the back of the boat, and when I glance down, my breath catches.
Bags—small, tightly packed, and unmistakable—filled with what I can only assume is drugs.
A lot of them.
The sight sends a jolt of adrenaline through me, my mind racing with possibilities.
I crouch, pulling one open just to confirm. White powder spills out onto my fingers.
This complicates everything. My mind races, weighing my options.
The Assembly uses this island for off-the-books dealings—smuggling, laundering, backdoor negotiations far from prying eyes. It’s a place where things happen quietly, away from the mainland, away from any real consequences. But these two? They don’t belong here.
Wrong place, wrong time.
They’re not Assembly. Just some unlucky drug runners who must’ve veered off course during the storm, forced to go out into the weather despite the danger by whoever it is they were working for. But their presence here throws everything off balance. If someone comes looking for them, and I have no doubt they will with the amount of drugs on this boat… Well, that’s the last thing we need.
And if they were being tracked? Even worse.
Whoever sent them out in this mess wouldn’t just leave them to their fate. There’s a good chance the boat has a GPS tracker onboard, something their boss can ping if they don’t check in. Maybe it’s hidden in the console, rigged to send automatic updates on their location. Or maybe it’s something more subtle—an air tag slipped into a duffel bag, a satellite phone with a live connection, a failsafe in case shit went sideways.
I scan the deck, my pulse ticking up. If their people can track this thing, then it won’t be long before someone else shows up. And considering the kind of business they were in, I doubt it’ll be anyone friendly.
This isn’t just about cleaning up the wreckage now. Someone will come looking for this shipment—if they aren’t already.
People who run drugs don’t leave loose ends.
I would know.
I stand and stare out at the horizon, half-expecting another boat to appear at any moment.
I’m not just worried about protecting Kruz from the Assembly anymore. Now I have to deal with this mess too.
The thought of what could happen if they find the drugs—and us—on this island makes my stomach churn.
