They’d been at sea for several hours and piracy was more common in the waters to the east of them. The shipping lane they were on was largely unmolested. He’d made sure of that.
Stomping, banging on the side of the ship and loud voices echoed through the tiny space. He recognized the language as Russian. Byron only had a rudimentary knowledge of the language. But there was a heavy presence of Russian mob on Cyprus and in Greece, so he’d encountered several factions in his work for the DOD.
But as of yet, he didn’t have any intel that they were involved in piracy—at least not outright. They were subsidizing some of the Somali crews but not Russian crews. Shit, this was about to get dicey. The imagery of her face peering out from the body bag haunted him.
Just let me keep her safe. Just let her live through this.
When she started awake, he pressed his palm over her mouth gently to keep her from shrieking. “We’ve been boarded, but everything is going to be fine. Just remember to keep quiet and do as I say,” he reassured her.
Her eyes were wide and luminous, still so trusting.
He started processing their situation from every angle—each scenario that was within the immediate realm of possibility. He strategically moved them around the chessboard, trying to figure out the safest and most expedient course of action.
Until he heard Castallegna.
Renner had told him there were international and unsavory buyers for the Jewel.
For Damara.
He’d kill them before he’d let them touch her.
A calm came over him. His heartbeat slowed and the peace he’d been seeking filled him. Because this was his purpose; this was what he’d been born to do. And in this, he could keep her safe.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered. It was the second time she’d sensed what his actions would be before he took them.
“I’ll be back.” He shifted carefully, hoping to make his exit from the lifeboat unseen.
“What if you’re not?” Damara asked.
“Then stay here. And when you dock, get to the American Consulate. Ask them to get in touch with Renner.”
She grabbed his hand.
He smiled in the darkness. “This is what I’m for, remember?”
“There’s too many of them to kill them all,” she pleaded.
“I like a challenge.” He didn’t say “trust me” because that was the last thing she should ever do, but this, this he could handle. Byron slid out onto the deck and crouched behind the boat, watching. No matter what he decided to do, he had to do some recon to see what exactly they were dealing with.
He saw the captain of the ship—his contact Miklos Sanna speaking with one of the boarders.
“Ah, Grisha! You should have told me you were coming. There was no need for the display of firepower,” Miklos said as he clasped the man’s shoulders.
The man he’d called Grisha, a hulking beast with narrow eyes, grinned. “I need to let my dogs run free now and then. Or they will get soft.” He shrugged. “But I don’t have time for pleasantries. Do you have the Jewel?”
Miklos nodded to the stairs that led to the hold—where they would’ve been hiding had the deck been clear when they’d boarded. “They should be below.”
That bastard, Byron thought, even though he wasn’t surprised.
“They?” Grisha arched a simian brow.
“You didn’t think the princess escaped Tunisia alone, did you? A hardcase mercenary helped her. American.”
“A cowboy?” Grisha said the word as if his mouth were full of marbles, as if his tongue couldn’t wrap around the syllables.
“A real John Wayne motherfucker,” Miklos agreed genially. “He won’t be bought. You’ll have to kill him.”
Again, Byron wasn’t surprised at the betrayal—that’s what people did. The only person that could be counted on was oneself. And even that was sometimes sketchy. He thought about their options again.
Damara was right. He couldn’t kill them all—at least not while he still had to keep her safe, and that was his number one priority. It would be a dangerous game of cat and mouse to hide until they made port. It was possible Miklos would weigh anchor until they were found.
The Russians had several smaller boats that were unmanned while the crew was aboard the Circe’s Storm.
He had enough C-4 he could create a diversion and disable the cargo ship, but that wouldn’t stop the other boats from pursuit. From the position of the stars, Byron judged that they were about ten hours away from Marseille.
There was one other option.
He could let Grisha take Damara.
As soon as the thought entered his head, everything in him screamed in protest—except for his logic.
Grisha wanted her to control Castallegna. She was a princess schooled in diplomacy. She could keep herself safe for however long it was until they made port and they could escape. Byron didn’t see any other way that didn’t put her life at risk. Grisha wouldn’t kill her.
That’s not to say it wouldn’t be uncomfortable for Damara. But they were outgunned and outnumbered here. A firefight on open water could lead to her injury or her death. It was like when an animal had locked its jaws on you, you didn’t pull away because the animal would just bite harder. You pushed yourself into its mouth to force its jaws wider until you could break them.
He didn’t like his options, but they were all they had.
Byron had to make decisions with his head, not his feelings. His rage had gotten his men killed in Uganda, and he hoped that this would save her.
If not, he’d die trying.
Byron crept back to the lifeboat and found Damara gone.
A string of profanity hovered on his tongue, but he didn’t dare speak for fear of raising alarm and alerting them to his presence.
Where was she? Had they caught her already?
What if she was afraid?
But what he really meant was what if he had to add the sounds of her screams to the loop in his head.
“You don’t have to kill anyone,” he heard her say. Pride and anger swept through him. He was so proud of her for being strong and brave, but he was angry that she’d revealed herself to protect him.
Byron knew he was completely at odds with himself. That it was okay somehow for her to face Grisha only if he told her to, but the fact that she’d done it on her own made it foolhardy.
He watched her. Even in dirty fatigues, she had a regal bearing.
“I think I do. You belong to me, you see.” Grisha grinned.
She flashed him a look that made the temperature around them drop several degrees. “No, I don’t. You haven’t paid my brother for the privilege. Until you do, anything that you do to me could be considered an act of war on Castallegna.”
“A tiny country with no allies.” Grisha shrugged.
She smiled. “Perhaps. Or perhaps my brother has had other offers for my hand from stronger, more powerful men than you. There are sheiks and princes who would marry me for Castallegna’s diamond mines.”
Grisha was still smug. “Then why are you not with them?”
“Don’t underestimate what I will do if you make me angry.” Damara may have been small, but