The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(84)

Farther from safety and watching eyes.

Journey ducked into the first door she found—a bedroom—and typed out a quick text to both Anderson and Ethan. I’m on the yacht. Send backup.

Anderson responded immediately. Get off that fucking boat right now, Jo. RIGHT NOW.

Too late.

She made sure her phone was on silent and vibrate was off and slipped it back into her purse. No telling how long she’d have cell reception on the water. Journey didn’t make a habit of taking boats out of the sight of land, and so she had absolutely no frame of reference.

She had to believe that the men would get her text. That they’d continue with the rescue plan.

That they’d be able to track the Queen Bitch.

Don’t think too hard about everything that could go wrong. It’s outside your control right now. Frank is the priority.

With that in mind, she stowed her purse in the closet. Her phone would be useless before too long, and hauling around the bag would just slow her down. She loaded her gun, ensuring there was a bullet in the chamber, and paused. Am I really going to shoot someone?

The first thing her mother taught her upon putting a gun in her hands was not to even bother carrying it if she wasn’t prepared to use it. It was part of the reason Journey usually kept it locked in her closet instead of on her person, despite having a current permit to carry concealed. With the biggest threat supposedly out of her life, she had never thought she’d actually be in a position where she might have to shoot to kill.

She tightened her grip. This wasn’t about her. This was about Frank.

I’ll do what I have to do.

Journey padded back into the passageway. She. She took a second to orient herself and then headed for where the ladder should be. Most yachts were arranged in a vaguely similar pattern, so she should be able to make her way to the upper decks—and the navigation system—through the center of it. She strained to listen with every step, sure that someone would jump out and attack, but the thing was deserted.

In some ways, that was worse.

Elliott didn’t want any potential witnesses for what he planned for Frank.

She found the ladder with little difficulty and started her ascent, her gun held carefully in front of her and her gaze trying to take everything in at once. The faint sound of voices reached her as she hit the second level, and Journey plastered herself to the bulkhead. Several seconds passed and the conversation didn’t get any louder. A few steps further and she recognized Frank’s deep voice and her father’s amused tone.

That bastard won’t be amused for long.

She edged up the last few steps in a crouch. The men were both to the left of the ladder opening, but a half wall blocked her view. It was possible they weren’t alone, and that the third person was some highly trained professional who would shoot her the second she came into view…but it was a chance she’d have to take.

She straightened, her gun held steady in two hands. The tiny flicker of relief at the realization that there was no one else died as she took in the scene. Elliott stood at the navigation system, a gun a few inches from his hand. Frank knelt on the floor at his feet, blood seeping from where it appeared he’d been pistol-whipped in the face, his hands fastened behind his back with a zip tie.

Her father shifted to face her fully, and she focused on him. “Do. Not. Move.”

Elliott lifted his hands slowly, a grin pulling at the edges of his mouth. “Or what, sweetheart? We both know you’re not going to pull that trigger. The killer instinct missed you on both sides of the family. You don’t have it in you.”

She adjusted her grip on the gun. Even knowing it was only a few pounds, her arms shook with the effort of keeping it steady. It wasn’t a position she could hold indefinitely, and Elliott was probably betting on that. “Move away from the gun. Slowly.”

Instead of obeying, he slouched a little, looking for all the world like he was settling in for some good gossip over an expensive drink. “I’m surprised you made it past my men. I’ll have to have a chat with them.”

She tensed, and then cursed herself for showing even that much reaction. Journey knew all too well what his chats entailed. She shifted a step to the side so that she wasn’t at risk of tumbling back down the stairs if the yacht made an unexpected movement. “Get away from the gun. I won’t tell you again.”

“You know what I don’t understand?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why him?” Elliott nodded at Frank, who watched the whole thing with cold, dark eyes.

Waiting for his moment.

Journey gave her head a small shake when Frank looked at her. If he tried to jump her father, Elliott would grab the gun and shoot him. At that range, there was no way he’d miss, and a couple of rounds to the chest might not be fatal, but she wouldn’t risk it. She refused to let him risk it.

Elliott snorted. “He’s not going to listen to you, sweetheart. The fool loves you. He’ll jump in front of an entire clip’s worth of bullets if he thinks it’ll save you. Honestly, it’s sickening. Love makes you weak.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Without love, she wouldn’t be here. Even if it ended in disaster, Journey was here. She wasn’t waiting for someone else to save her. She was facing her own goddamn monsters. “On your knees, Elliott.”

“If you insist, I—” He moved. Her father lunged for the gun, just like she’d known he was waiting to do. His hand closed around the weapon.