Page 132 of Princess of Vengeance

I glance at Nico, catching his eye through the chaos, and an understanding passes between us.

“Go,” he calls out to me, nodding toward where Malcolm disappeared. “End it.”

I hesitate for just a second longer, meeting Killian’s eyes, then Atlas’s. They all see what’s happening, and they know what I need to do.

“Don’t die,” Atlas calls to me, a hint of a smile spreading across his bloody lips.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I call back over my shoulder, already turning toward the corridor where Malcolm vanished.

I hold my gun ready as I slip away from the main fight into the smoke-filled passage. My heart is beating faster, but my hands are steady.

This ends now. One way or another.

I stay low, tracking him from a safe distance through the maze of corridors. He moves with the familiarity of someone who has memorized an escape route. He doesn’t hesitate at intersections or check doors—he knows exactly where he’sgoing. Every few seconds, he glances over his shoulder with a look of panic that almost makes me smile.

He doesn’t see me though. My time in the Dark Lotus Syndicate has taught me a thing or two about staying in the shadows, about becoming the predator instead of the prey.

So thanks for that, husband.

The corridor slopes upward, and I can feel fresh air seeping in from somewhere ahead. We’re nearing an exit. Malcolm picks up his pace, nearly running now, and I hurry my steps to match. My body is aching all over, and my face is still throbbing where he hit me, but the pain is just background noise. I’m motivated by the need for vengeance now—justice for my mom, for Imogen and Rafael, for my three men and everyone else who’s ever been hurt by Malcolm.

He pushes through a metal door, and I feel a rush of cold, damp air against my sweat-slicked skin. I pause at the doorway, blinking as my eyes adjust to the darkness. We’re on the edge of what looks like an industrial complex, with the Detroit River stretching out in front of us.

I don’t fully recognize this area, but it doesn’t matter. The only thing I’m focused on is the man racing down a gravel path toward the water.

Staying in the shadows, I follow, keeping enough distance that he won’t spot me if he turns again. My finger itches on the trigger of my gun. I could end it right now—one shot to the back of his head, and it would all be over. But I can’t afford to miss and let him know I’m onto him.

Besides, after everything he’s done, I want to see his face when he realizes I’m the one pulling the trigger.

The path opens up to a private dock where a sleek, gleaming white yacht is anchored. It’s fucking huge—at least sixty feet long, with multiple levels. Because of course he’d have agoddamn floating palace ready and waiting for him to make his big escape.

Malcolm sprints down the dock and makes the small jump onto the deck with surprising agility for a man his age, then immediately disappears below deck.

Seconds later, lights flicker on inside the lower part of the cabin, and the engines rumble to life.

Fuck that. He’s not getting away this fucking easily.

I tuck my gun into the back of my pants and break from my cover, sacrificing caution for speed as I race down the dock. The yacht is already drifting away, the gap widening with each passing second.

It’s now or never.

Without hesitating, I sprint the last few yards and launch myself through the air. For one heart-stopping moment, I’m suspended over the black water before crashing onto the deck of the yacht and dropping into a roll to absorb the impact.

Pain jolts through my shoulder as I collide with a metal railing, but I choke back the cry that threatens to escape my lips. The yacht is still pulling away from the dock, the distance growing as the engines roar louder.

I stay crouched on the deck, catching my breath as I take stock of my surroundings. I don’t hear any footsteps, so it’s a safe bet that Malcolm still doesn’t know I’m here. The element of surprise is the only advantage I have, and I intend to use it.

As I creep toward the cabin, I can see that the yacht is even more luxurious than it appeared from shore—all gleaming chrome and polished wood, with plush seating areas and a glass-enclosed upper deck. It’s fucking sickening to think that blood money bought all of this.

Movement catches my eye, and I duck lower, flattening myself against the deck. Through the windows of the main cabin,I can see Malcolm moving around inside, frantically pulling open drawers and stuffing items into a bag.

Suddenly, the lights inside the cabin go dark. I curse under my breath and reach for my gun, but it’s not tucked in the back of my pants anymore.Fuck. I must have lost it during my frantic leap onto the boat.

I scan the deck, searching for anything I can use as a weapon. My eyes land on a metal boat hook hanging on the railing—a long metal pole with a sharp hook at the end. I grab it, testing its weight in my hand. It’s solid and heavy, and the business end is sharp enough to do some serious damage.

Yeah, this’ll do.

I move silently back across the deck, keeping low as I listen for any sound that might give away Malcolm’s location. The yacht’s engines purr steadily beneath my feet as we cut through the dark water. We’re not going very fast—this thing was clearly made for luxury over speed—but I want to get this hook embedded in Malcolm’s fucking chest before we get too far away from my men.

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