Luck of the Devil

By: Meghan March


“You’re sure she was drunk? Not unconscious?” I demand answers from the blond twenty-something kid who works the marina where Bastien’s sleek red Donzi is docked.

“I don’t know. People are always carrying other people off boats after they’ve had too much. It’s not my job to ask questions.”

I curl my hands into fists and fight the urge to pick this guy up and toss him off the dock, because it’s not going to do me any good.

“He didn’t say where he was going?” Donnigan asks.

“No. He just put her in the car and left. I didn’t see which way he went. We had another boat coming in—”

Useless fuck. I turn away and head back to the chopper where a crowd has gathered around it on the quay.

“Let’s go. This is a waste of time.”

Donnigan matches my stride by the time we reach the helicopter. “Where to next?”

“His villa. He just might be stupid enough to go there.”

Once we climb in the chopper and put on the headsets, Donnigan radios the tower again, but they refuse to clear our takeoff after our unsanctioned landing. Donnigan looks to me.

I reach out and flip the channel on the radio so the tower can’t hear us. “Go. I’ll pay their fines. Just avoid the goddamned planes.”

With a nod, he takes off, and within minutes, we reach a large white house situated in the hills. It’s Bastien’s party pad, although not for much longer, if his parents really cut him off.

A red Lamborghini winds its way down the curved driveway.

“Set it down right in front of him. Don’t let that fucker get away.”

Donnigan doesn’t question my orders. The car speeds up as we approach, and I motion to the ground.

“Now!”

The driver slams on the brakes as the helicopter touches down on the pavement. I whip my harness off and jump out.

“What the hell,” the driver yells from the window, but he goes quiet when he sees me charging at him. His hands flutter in the car, and the window slides up.

I yank open the door before he can lock it. “Where the fuck is de Vere? He inside?”

The driver, a dark-haired Spaniard with a thick gold chain hanging around his neck and a goatee throws his hands in the air. “I don’t know shit, man. I made a wrong turn. Bad address.”

“Lying sack of shit. You’re going to fucking tell me where de Vere is right now.” I grab the chain and twist it around my hand.

“I’m just the help. I don’t know anything. I swear.”

My gaze narrows on his fear-filled eyes as his hands claw at the chain tightening around his neck.

“The help drives a Lambo? Not a fucking chance. I’m going to ask you one more time, and if you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’ll take you up in that chopper and drop you in the middle of the fucking ocean. You understand? Where the fuck is de Vere?”

“No! I don’t—”

His words choke off when I tug the chain to pull him out of the car. Donnigan throws open the back door as we approach the chopper, and the guy flails harder with every step I take.

“Please, man. Don’t kill me. He’s not home.”

I shove him toward the open door and look to Donnigan. “Go check the house. If he’s lying, he dies.”

The guy crosses himself. “He’s not there. I swear. He had me pick up some shit, and I’m supposed to meet him at a friend’s place.”

“Tell. Me. Where.” I grit out the words through clenched teeth.





The rotor wash kicks up dust as we land on another roof that was never meant to be used as a helipad. Thanks to the punk in the Lambo, we know one of de Vere’s friends leases the entire top floor of this building for parties and as a stash house for the drugs de Vere traffics on his clueless parents’ private jet.

He’s going down, and there won’t be anyone to save him.

Donnigan stays in the chopper as I hop out and head for the door marked stairs. It swings open as I approach, and Goliath’s familiar form waves me on. As I jog down the flights behind him, I send up a vow to Isaac.

You’ll be able to rest easy soon, my friend. I’m going to end it.

Goliath shoulders open the door that leads to the penthouse level, and I step out behind him, gun in hand. The hallway is empty, but I spot the door closest to the sea side of the building, which is where the rat in the chopper said we’d find de Vere.

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