The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(83)

“Agreed.”

Thank God. She took a steadying breath. “I don’t suppose you two have experience with hostage extraction?” It came out as a lame joke, but neither Ethan nor José jumped in to tell her no. She turned to look at Ethan. “You do, don’t you?”

“We have experience in a lot of things.” He held the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip, which belied his calm tone. “It’s part of the reason Frank has us on your security detail.”

She filed that piece of information away to ask Frank about later. Because, damn it, there would be a later. Journey nodded at the road. “Drive faster.”

Minutes later, Ethan pulled into the parking lot and turned to her without shutting off the engine. “We do this by the book, Journey. Our men are on the way, and we’re not rushing in there like idiots and getting anyone killed.”

Frustration sank jagged claws into her. “You don’t honestly expect me to sit here and wait for backup.” Even now, Elliott could be leaving the marina. He could have already left. She pulled her purse closer to her. Drawing a gun on men whose only job was to protect her put Journey in a really shitty category of people, but she didn’t give a fuck. Frank needed her, and she wasn’t going to let these men stand in her way. No matter if they were allies or not.

José leaned forward to shoot her a look from between the front seats. “No need to pull that gun. We’re going in. But you will follow orders and you will stay between us the entire time.”

“Done.” In that moment, she would have said anything to get them to turn off the damn car and go save Frank, and they must have known it.

Ethan shook his head and climbed out. “Frank’s going to kill us for this, you know.”

“Nah.” José gave a tight grin that didn’t come anywhere near his eyes. “He’ll just give us a dressing-down for the ages and then suspend us with pay until he’s cooled off.”

She didn’t know if this was some kind of ritual of theirs or if they were trying to make her feel more at ease, but Journey slipped her purse over her shoulder and followed them down to the massive docks where the boats were kept. She let their words wash over her, let the ease of their conversation about what Frank would do to punish them wrap around her like an air bubble. There was no if they got Frank back. It was when.

Journey appreciated their confidence, even if she wanted them to hurry the fuck up.

“Company,” José murmured.

“I see them.”

Journey followed their gazes to the pair of men headed toward them. The two guys couldn’t have screamed paid muscle more if they had the words painted across their foreheads. Black fatigues, too-tight black shirts, intense expressions on their faces.

Not to mention the guns they had nestled into shoulder holsters.

“We’ll take care of this, Journey.”

She nodded and then cleared her throat. “Yeah. Sure.” She looked beyond the approaching men and missed a step. There it was—the Queen Bitch. Elliott’s yacht.

It was starting to pull away from the dock.

“Ethan!” She pointed.

He stepped forward, but the man closest to him swung. Ethan cursed and ducked beneath the punch. “Don’t you dare, Journey!”

If she didn’t move now, it would be too late. Finding and commandeering a boat would take too long, if they could even do it at all. Once Elliott hit the Gulf, he could go anywhere—do anything.

Fuck no, he won’t.

She bolted, slipping between the two fights that began as the second man engaged José, having obviously decided that Journey was the lesser threat. He wasn’t wrong, and she used it to her advantage. Journey sprinted down the dock, her low heels drawing dull thuds from the slatted wood beneath her feet. The gap between the yacht and the dock grew, but this was her only chance. She wouldn’t miss it.

She leaped from the edge of the dock.

Journey hit the side of the yacht with a bone-crushing force that drove the air from her lungs, but she managed to get her arm around one of the railing posts. She hung there for several long seconds, waiting for someone to come investigate or for her strength to give out and dump her into the water.

Nothing happened.

She risked a glance over her shoulder to where the fight was still going on in earnest. It was obvious Elliott’s two men were outmatched, but it was equally obvious that by some unspoken agreement, Ethan and José were dragging it out.

To give me time.

She took a deep breath and, on the exhale, hauled herself up and through the gap in the railing to the deck. No time to rest. The space was too open. All it would take was someone up above to look down and they’d see her sprawled there.

Journey kicked off her shoes and grabbed them in one hand. She stood and hurried to the door leading inside. A quick pause to pull her gun out of her purse and shove her shoes in and she was ready.

Liar. You aren’t ready. You don’t have special training. You’re not a fucking marine who knows how to handle extractions without someone getting killed.

Shut up. I’m here. I will save Frank.

She slid soundlessly through the door, forcing her breathing to slow and even out no matter how thin the air seemed or how strong the urge was to gasp her inhales. No sounds but the faint hum of the motor as Elliott guided the yacht farther from the marina.