Dare (BLOOD Brothers Book 5), page 23
Nose wrinkling, Grace leaned back in her seat. “So we’re heading to a marina?”
I marked the route on our shared map. “ETA for us, twenty minutes with traffic.”
Grace touched my arm, a soft brush grounding me. “What if he changes his route?”
Blowing out a breath, I headed back to monitor the reports coming in from the bot I’d released. “Tracking his license plate right now, any deviations, including not exiting near the marina and I’ll have the updates.”
Bones navigated over to the fast lane like a Nascar pro. “How do we want to handle him? Bag and tag? Surveillance? Intimidation?”
Amusement speared me at Bones’ list. All were viable.
“Conversation,” Grace said sweetly.
I shot her a look. “Conversation first.”
Her smile widened and while sunglasses hid her eyes, I’d bet they were glowing. “Bullet later.”
Voodoo laughed. “You sweet talker.”
The warmth of that settled in my chest—quick and bright, like a spark in dry tinder. I scanned the traffic feed again. “Okay. Dvorak just parked. Marina District. South pier.”
“Tourist side or private docks?” Bones asked.
“Private.”
Voodoo whistled. “Expensive taste. Means he thinks he’s safe.”
“He’s not.” I shifted screens to look for cameras at the marina. I wanted to know where Dvorak was going. Specifically.
The Marina District glittered like money dipped in sunshine. Private yachts, sleek hulls, polished rails. Everything gleamed with the quiet smugness of the wealthy who thought they were invisible.
Bones pulled into a lot two blocks away, tucked the SUV between a pair of oversized pickup trucks. Voodoo and Lunchbox parked opposite us.
Salt wind hit the second our doors opened, humid and warm enough that even Goblin huffed.
I did a quick scan of the marina feeds from my phone, linking them to my laptop.
And there he was.
“Target visual,” I murmured, angling the screen so Grace could see. “White-and-graphite yacht, private slip F-12. Dvorak’s on deck.”
Bones followed my gaze. “What’s he doing?”
“Pretending he’s on vacation,” I answered as Voodoo and Lunchbox joined us. “Drink in hand. Shirt unbuttoned. Absolute prick energy.”
Grace squinted at the feed. “That yacht is—something else.”
“Understatement,” Lunchbox muttered.
“We need him off the boat. Or isolated on it.” Bones was already tracking angles, exits, and choke points.
Grace tilted her head. “I could distract him.”
Bones gave her a long, slow look. The kind that said absolutely not, what the hell are you thinking without a single word.
She blinked back at him. “What? This is definitely bikini weather. And he’s on a boat. Approaching directly would be a challenge, right?”
I didn’t argue with her. Because she wasn’t wrong. If anyone could convince him it was Gracie, the Bones whisperer.
Gracie strolling down that dock would draw every hetero eye for fifty yards. Probably more, really. Voodoo pressed his lips together like he was trying not to grin. Lunchbox failed at trying not to grin.
Bones closed his eyes briefly like he was negotiating with the universe. Then he exhaled through his nose. “Alphabet, get us access to the private docks.”
“Already on it,” I said, fingers flying. The marina’s security system was a joke. “We’ll be able to slide right through the gate for the next fifteen minutes or so.”
Bones jerked his chin. “Voodoo. Lunchbox.”
Both men straightened.
“Rock, paper, scissors. One of you goes water-side, approaches from the stern.”
Voodoo groaned. “Really?”
Bones didn’t blink. “Really.”
They squared off like five-year-olds.
“Rock, paper, scissors—shoot!”
Lunchbox threw scissors.
Voodoo threw rock.
Lunchbox swore under his breath. “Damn it.”
But Voodoo grinned like a wolf. “Enjoy the swim.”
Bones cut their bickering with a low growl that snapped them both to attention. “Voodoo, get eyes on the starboard walkway. Lunchbox, water approach. Alphabet covers cameras. I’ll monitor movement.”
Then he looked at Grace.
“Dollface,” he said low, warning already woven into his voice, “you’re distraction only. No contact. No approach. No physical closeness.”
She flashed him a grin that was one hundred percent trouble and sunshine. “I know. Just distraction.”
That didn’t reassure any of us. She was already stripping, right there, between the car doors with Voodoo and Bones playing blocks as Lunchbox stripped off his own shirt and down to shorts.
The bikini she put on should be illegal.
“Why is that in her wardrobe?” Bones asked abruptly but Voodoo just grinned.
“Because I knew she’d look fucking fantastic in it.”
He wasn’t wrong, it was damn near the same blue as her eyes and the silky triangles barely covered her anywhere. It was probably good she did laser treatments or wax or whatever it was she’d told us about, because the one at her groin wouldn’t have hidden a single curl.
Now I kind of wondered what the all natural look would be like for her. Maybe I could tempt her into growing it out just to tease me.
Shaking off that distracting thought, I split my attention between Grace sliding on the strappy-heeled sandals and watching as Dvorak put a phone to his ear. Another man had come up on deck, but he was bringing Dvorak another drink and it looked like something to eat.
Maybe a guard. Maybe not. But definitely an employee.
Grace grabbed a beach tote from her bag and shuffled some stuff over. “Okay, good to go and the taser is loaded just in case.”
Lunchbox barked a laugh. “That’s our girl.”
Bones muttered something under his breath that I was almost sure approximated, “I’m going to lose my mind.”
Grace leaned up to kiss his cheek, and whispered, “I’ll be good.”
Bones did not believe her. None of us did. But she would be effective.
I pulled the dock schematics up on the laptop and tossed a waterproof comm to Lunchbox. “Your best angle is the rear swim deck. Cameras loop for the next twelve minutes.”
Lunchbox took the comm, rolling his neck like he was prepping for a prize fight. “Copy that.”
Bones shot us all a look, his expression blanking as he went into “go” mode. “Let’s move.”
The team scattered—Bones to the overlook, Lunchbox toward the back pathway, Voodoo toward the seawall, and Grace heading for the dock gates.
I stayed in the car with the wifi and the air conditioning, monitoring feeds and updating the team. Goblin stuck his head through the seats for a pet and I scratched him between his ears.
“I know buddy, we’re in wait mode again.”
Miami sun glared off the water. Waves lapped the hull of the yacht and Yakov Dvorak lounged like he owned the world. Not for long.
Not when Grace hit the dock like she’d been born to it.
I mean—she kind of had. She walked with confidence, and a kind of sensuous purpose that made people take notice. Her sensuality was so natural, though, none of it feigned. But this? This was a whole different level.
That bikini threatened to end a lot of lives today. I appreciated my various camera angles so I could watch her, watch her back, and on the people around her. She—well, she was always going to be the best damn part of my job.
Her hips rolled with an effortless sway, sun catching on her skin like she’d been brushed in gold, that tiny blue bikini moving like it had signed some kind of legal agreement not to slip even a millimeter.
“Jesus Christ,” Voodoo muttered over comms from his dock vantage. “She looks like trouble wrapped in sunshine.”
“She is trouble wrapped in sunshine,” Lunchbox said, smug as hell, somewhere in the water as he moved toward the stern. “Our trouble.”
Bones’ voice came in low, controlled, already on edge. “Three men approaching from starboard pier. All ogling. If one of them even tries to talk to her—”
“Something-something violence?” I supplied.
“Exactly,” he growled.
Grace kept strolling.
Every yacht crew member in a twenty-yard radius forgot how to do their jobs. A deckhand dropped a coil of rope. A captain almost tripped over his own feet. Two dudes in board shorts actually walked into each other head-first.
Grace didn’t even glance at them. She knew the world watched her and she took it as her due. The funny thing was, our Gracie was not this ethereal dream strolling in the sunshine. She was warm, funny, more than a little sassy, and loving as hell. Nothing remote about her.
Her tote bag swung lightly off her shoulder, the heels she’d slipped on clicking a rhythmic beat along the planks.
“Taser still in the tote?” Voodoo asked.
“Loaded,” she answered, casual as sunshine. “Not planning to use it.”
“Good girl,” Bones said automatically—then choked when one of the board-short idiots tried to wave her over.
Grace didn’t slow. Didn’t even flick her sunglasses their way.
Bones muttered something savage that was too low for me to fully catch, but I was pretty sure had to involve where he would shove that guy’s body parts.
I grinned. “Target’s looking. He sees her.”
On my feed, Yakov Dvorak straightened. He’d been lounging with a drink, trying too hard to be suave, but Grace killed whatever composure he had left. He was up, leaning over the rail, trying to get a better look at her like he expected the universe to hand-deliver her to him.
Grace paused right at his peripheral vision.
Just a half-step.
Just enough to make him think he mattered.
“That’s a damn nice pause,” Voodoo commented.
“Let her work,” Bones growled.
Dvorak’s voice carried faintly over her comm. Accented, confident, sleazy.
“Hey! Beautiful! Come up, have a drink!”
Grace tilted her head, sunglasses glinting, pretending like she might consider it.
That was all the bait he needed.
Dvorak moved to the stern, waving her closer like a man who’d never encountered consequences. “Come, come—don’t be shy!”
Grace’s smile was sweet enough to rot teeth. “Oh, I’m not shy.”
I almost choked on a laugh.
Over comms, Bones muttered, “I’m going to murder him.”
Voodoo: “You say that like it’s new.”
Bones: “He’s inviting her up.”
Me: “He thinks he’s winning.”
Bones: “He’s not.”
Grace drifted closer to the boat, stepping into the perfect sightline Voodoo had plotted. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear, lifted her chin, and looked up at Dvorak in a way that suggested she liked attention—but on her terms.
And the moment he stepped down onto the swim deck to meet her—
Lunchbox struck.
A blur of motion beneath the water.
A flash of arms around Dvorak’s legs.
A muffled yelp.
And then—
Splash.
Dvorak vanished beneath the surface like a stone tossed by an angry god.
Grace didn’t flinch. She just pivoted smoothly and continued her stride, as serene as a model on a runway, letting the men behind her erupt into shouts and whistles like they had nothing to do with her.
I lost it. Straight-up barked a laugh in the SUV.
Bones let out a gust of air that might’ve been relief or amusement or some dangerous mix of both.
Voodoo snorted. “Just like taking candy from a baby.”
“I got him,” Lunchbox said a second later, voice triumphant as he hauled Dvorak under the dockline. “Package secured.”
Grace kept walking—hips swaying, sunglasses on, tote bouncing—never once looking back.
I shook my head, still smiling like a fool.
“Good work, Gracie,” I muttered, heart doing something stupid. “Weapons-grade badass. Pretty sure I just fell in love with you twice while watching.”
Bones exhaled. “Get her back to the SUV.”
“On it,” Voodoo said, already moving.
I leaned back in my seat, pulse steady and satisfied.
Target snatched. Grace flawless. Mission unfolding exactly the way we’d wanted.
Her voice came back warm and smug. “Told you I’d be good.” She was so much better than good it was ridiculous.
“So good,” I said, “you are definitely getting at least two cookies.”
That earned me a throaty laugh and I grinned.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
GRACE
The Miami safe house was cool, dim, and smelled faintly of industrial cleaner and old hardwood. It was not as nice as the last place in New Jersey, but definitely nicer than a couple of the other bolt holes we’d used. They really had mastered the art of functional, quiet, and safe because my dangerous men had decided to make it so.
Dvorak was downstairs in the reinforced laundry room, zip-tied, gagged, and very, very angry. He’d been sputtering in Russian, German, and I was pretty sure Czech or maybe all three before they shut the door. Now it was blessedly muffled.
We weren’t touching him.
Not yet.
Apparently, you didn’t interrogate when you were tired and hungry. Bones said he already wanted to hurt him, but we needed it to employ productive techniques not just pain. I was still learning how this world worked.
Upstairs, in the open kitchen, the guys had torn into takeout cartons. We had a little bit of everything from everywhere. I was actually a fan of the tenders and fries so I stuck with them. Fried food or not, it was damn tasty. Goblin sprawled under the table, tongue lolling, waiting for someone to drop chicken.
Legend finally stopped pacing and leaned against the counter and gesturing with one of his french fries. “He’s going to be a problem.”
Bones grunted. “He’s already a problem.”
“Most problems can be solved with a wrench,” Voodoo said cheerfully. “Or the threat of one.”
I lifted my brows. “You think he’ll respond to tools?”
AB snorted around a mouthful of noodles. “In my experience everyone responds to tools.”
“People are simple creatures,” Voodoo said. “Fear is universal.”
Bones passed him a water bottle. “Fear only works when they believe we’re willing to use it.”
“We are.” Legend looked up then, eyes sliding to me for a second.
I couldn’t argue with that. I’d seen what they were capable of—merciless precision when necessary. It should have scared me. I think it had once… but honestly, now? No, it didn’t frighten me and it never would. Because they were never merciless with me. They let me step out when I needed it and be a part of it when I needed that too.
I leaned forward, elbows on the kitchen island. “What does he want? What does someone like Dvorak care about?”
“Money,” AB said. “Power.”
“Not dying,” Voodoo added.
Bones shook his head. “He’s loyal to someone bigger. He’ll stall. He thinks he can outlast us.”
“That’s adorable,” Legend said with a thin smile. “He doesn’t know us yet.”
Goblin made a huffing noise like he agreed.
I swallowed a piece of spicy rice and watched them—my men—fall into the same easy rhythm they always did. Even in the middle of chaos, they fit together like puzzle pieces. AB was thinking three steps ahead, Voodoo three steps sideways, Legend ready to blow it all to hell, and Bones grounding everyone.
Me? I was… learning where I fit. Lucky for me, it seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once.
“What if he doesn’t break?” I asked.
Bones met my eyes. His were that dark, stormy gray, steady, warm at the bottom in a way that always made my chest go soft. “Everyone breaks.”
“Well, that’s grim,” I said, going for the levity that made the corners of his lips curve upwards.
“Accurate though,” AB added.
Legend set his food down with a sigh. “We just need what he knows about the Madrina connection. Then whether this ties to the Kirov Syndicate or some rogue faction. He’s a step to the next part.”
“He knows a name we don’t,” Voodoo said, wiping his hands. “I can feel it.”
“Well, we can’t exactly wait for him to feel chatty,” I said, leaning back. “How long do you think we have before someone knows he’s missing?”
“Not that long.” AB wrapped more noodles around his fork. “I can scrub some digital traces, but not all. If he has an alert protocol with his organization, a timer’s already running.”
Bones braced both hands on the counter, head down for a moment.
Legend’s gaze flicked to him. “What does your gut say?”
“Still debating that.” But Bones focused on me, not Legend. “What is your impression of him?”
That question startled me. “Really?”
He nodded once, straightening and folding his arms as he regarded me. “You have a fresh point of view. That can be useful.”
I thought for a minute, chewing slowly. “He’s arrogant. You saw it—he walked onto that deck because I smiled at him.”
Bones grunted. “That’s not unique.”
“No,” I agreed. “But the way he carries himself? He isn’t used to being powerless. Or ignored. Or dismissed.” I replayed the way he strode across that deck and then down to the platform to get me to come aboard. He had no doubt at all that I would obey.
“Starve him of attention,” AB said slowly.
“Reverse interrogation?” Voodoo glanced from me to AB. “Think that would work?”
“If he’s as arrogant a prick as he was acting, Gracie is right. We starve him of attention. We don’t threaten him, talk to him, or even look at him. Just leave him in that room in the dark.”
“Until he’s desperate for the interaction, for something…” Legend rubbed a hand along his jaw. “Could take us too long to action anything, especially if he digs in.”
