Page 133 of Princess of Vengeance

There’s a faint light shining down from the upper deck where I guess the wheelhouse is located. Of course. He’s steering the boat, probably heading for some prearranged pickup point upriver.

Hell, we might be heading to Canada for all I know.

I creep toward the stairway that leads to the upper deck with the boat hook gripped tightly in my hands. Each step is slow and deliberate, and I’m careful to avoid making the metal stairs creak beneath my weight.

At the top, I can see him through the glass windows of the wheelhouse. He’s standing at the helm, one hand on the wheel, the other holding what looks like a satellite phone. His back is to me, shoulders tense as he speaks urgently into the phone.

“I don’t care what it costs,” I hear him say as I ease the door open. “Just be there in thirty minutes with the car ready. I’m leaving everything behind.”

I raise the boat hook and hold my breath as I take one silent step forward, then another. I’m close enough now to smell his cologne, that sickening scent that’s been haunting my nightmares.

Something must give me away—a shadow, a reflection in the glass, the slightest sound of my footsteps—because Malcolm suddenly spins around, his eyes widening as he sees me.

I swing the hook with all my strength, aiming for his head. He jerks backward, the hook missing his face by inches and crashing into the control panel instead. Sparks fly as it tears through the electronics, and Malcolm uses the distraction to lunge at me, tackling me to the floor.

My head cracks against the deck, and stars explode behind my eyes. The boat hook clatters away, sliding across the floor out of reach.

“You stupid bitch,” he snarls, pinning me down with his weight. His fist connects with my jaw, snapping my head to the side. “You just couldn’t let it go, could you? When will you learn to just fucking die?”

I buck beneath him, twisting my body and driving my knee up between his legs. He howls in pain and rolls off me just enough for me to scramble away.

I stagger to my feet, tasting blood in my mouth as he pushes himself up across from me. We circle each other in the confined space of the wheelhouse with the control panel sparking and smoking between us.

“You’re just like your mother,” he spits, blood trickling from a cut on his lip where my fist must have caught him as I fought free. “She couldn’t see a good thing when it was right in front of her either.”

“Don’t you dare talk about her,” I grind out through clenched teeth, feinting left before driving my fist into his ribs on the right.

He grunts but doesn’t go down, countering with a blow to my shoulder that makes my entire arm go numb. He fights like someone who is used to having others do his dirty work—no technique but enough strength to still be dangerous.

I duck under his next swing and ram my shoulder into his stomach, shoving him backward. He collides with the wheel, spinning it wildly and sending the yacht lurching to the side. Both of us stagger as the floor tilts beneath us.

The damaged control panel sputters, and suddenly the engines cut out. The yacht begins to drift, carried by the river’s current and its own momentum.

Malcolm recovers first, charging at me like a bull. I sidestep, but he anticipates the move, grabbing a fistful of my hair and using it to slam my face into the wall. Pain explodes through my skull, and my whole world flickers like lights being shut off and back on again.

“I could have given you everything,” he hisses in my ear, spinning me around and grabbing me by the throat. “Power. Protection. All the money you would ever need. The only thing you had to do was submit.”

My lungs are already burning, but he only squeezes tighter as I claw at his hands. I try to knee him again, but I only manage to throw us both off balance, sending us crashing through the wheelhouse door and out onto the open deck. I’m losing strength, and my attempts to break free are getting weaker by the second as my vision starts to go dark around the edges.

He drags me down to the main deck, his sharp features distorted with rage as he forces me to my knees, then down onto my back. I know I only have a few precious seconds left as hestraddles me and clamps down all over again with both hands on my throat.

“You could have been my queen,” he snarls, leaning over me. “Just like your mother could have been. But you both chose to deny me. And look where it got you.”

I try one last desperate move, raking my nails down his face, but he barely flinches. This can’t be how it ends. Not with him winning. Not after everything.

The crack of a gunshot is so unexpected that for a moment, I think I’ve imagined it. But then Malcolm’s grip on my throat suddenly loosens, and his body jerks backward.

He falls sideways, grabbing his shoulder as I roll the other direction, gasping and coughing as precious air floods back into my lungs.

My vision is still spotty as I look back to where the gunshot came from. Three figures rise from the edge of the boat and haul themselves over the railing with water streaming from their bodies.

Killian, Atlas, and Nico. My men.

43

QUINN

I collapse onto my elbows,rubbing my throat as I gulp in desperate breaths of air. The aftermath of adrenaline floods my system, making my arms and legs tremble and my vision blur at the edges.

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