Part 25
The impact hit my legs like a physical blow, sending me rolling across the wet teak wood of the aft deck.
The fire axe clattered away, sliding toward the edge, but I scrambled forward and caught it just before it went overboard.
I stood up, my muscles screaming in protest, my clothes soaked through with freezing sea spray.
The helicopter roared above me, Marcus positioning it to block the yacht's radar array, blinding their navigation.
I didn't waste a second. I marched toward the heavy glass sliding doors that led into the main salon.
They were locked from the inside.
I raised the fire axe and brought it down with the full weight of my anger against the reinforced glass.
Sparks flew, and cracks spiderwebbed across the surface, but it didn't shatter.
I swung again. And again.
On the fourth strike, the glass exploded inward in a shower of glittering shards.
I stepped through the ruined frame, stepping into the warmth of the luxury interior.
Two private security guards came rushing down the corridor, their weapons drawn, but they weren't prepared for the absolute fury that met them.
Before they could bring their rifles to bear, I threw the heavy metal axe straight at the glass table between them.
The table shattered, showering them in debris and causing them to stumble back.
In that split second of distraction, Marcus—having lowered the helicopter to a hover just inches from the deck—burst through the door behind me, his sidearm raised.
Two double-taps echoed through the salon, and both guards dropped to the floor, groaning from non-lethal wounds to their shoulders.
"Secure the bridge," I told Marcus, my voice dead and empty of all humanity.
May you like
"I'm going to the master stateroom."
"I have a husband to divorce."
