Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 160791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
I fall into the rhythm of the machine’s motion, my body moving up and down smoothly as I skim the water, the growl of the engine pitching higher every time I break the swell, leaving the water before hitting it again with a thud.
I smile, a distant Danny getting closer, and when I’m just a few yards away from him, I turn sharply, laughing when he tries to shield himself from the bullets of water my move makes. “You fucker,” he yells, his jet ski slowing to a stop.
I go in for the kill, circling, turning, attacking him with the water, not giving him a moment to get his bearings and retreat.
“Who’s king of the water?” I yell, smirking when I catch sight of the evil glint in his eyes that I’ve come to know.
“Me, you fuck.” He’s suddenly racing away, gaining a good distance, before he slows and chugs around to face me again. I grin. A face-off. What a fucking pair of kids. I rev my engine, edging forward, staring at him in the distance, hearing the distant sound of his intimidating throttles too. Game on, Black.
His engine bellows, and I yank on my throttle and speed toward him. I will not be the first to turn. Never. And I know he won’t either, which basically means our shiny new skis are going to be smashed to smithereens in a few seconds.
“Come on,” I yell, my adrenalin pumping, Danny getting closer.
Reckless. But I need to let off some steam, and I know Danny does too.
Closer.
I hear him shout over the rush of wind and water, his body rising from the seat.
Closer.
I see his intention. He’d rather take the hit himself than let his precious ski get damaged.
“Come on, you murderous wanker,” I say quietly, engaging my muscles, my arse lifting from the plush padded seat. “Let’s do this.” I launch at the exact same time Danny does, leaving the ski and sailing through the air toward him, and our hard bodies collide on a powerful crash. I grunt on impact, wrapping my arms around his neck as his go around mine. We’re literally hugging in mid-fucking-air.
“Fuck.” He coughs as we sail a few meters through the spray before hitting the water with a slap, sinking deep. I kick my feet, pushing my palms into his chest to break away, fighting my way to the surface. I break the water on a gasp, seeing Danny emerging a few feet away.
“Yeah!” he bellows, slapping the water with his palm, laughing his fucking head off.
I sweep my hands through my hair and shake my head. “You crazy fucker.”
“You started it.” He smirks and lunges forward, dunking me. The Brit fucking dunked The Enigma. What are we, five?
I cough and splutter, jerking my head to shake my hair from my eyes. “Get the fuck off,” I mutter, shoving him away, laughing.
“Fuck.”
My amusement dries up, our childish game ending abruptly. “What?” I pull my arm out of the water, seeing the key where it should be on the end of my wristband, thinking an AWOL ski is the cause of his alarm. I swing around. The jet skis are fine, bobbing on the water nearby, the engines cut. Then I spot his problem.
“Play time’s over,” Danny says, front crawling to his machine and climbing back on. He looks toward the shore where the black BMW is parked, a suited man leaning casually against the side. “That’s a cop if ever I’ve seen one,” Danny’s mutters.
“Know him?” I ask, swimming over to my ski and climbing up, reattaching my key.
He lifts his glasses. “Can’t tell from here.” He smirks. “So they’ve finally heard I’m back.”
He looks delighted by that. And sickly, I know he is. “Ready to say hello?”
“Oh yes.”
We start a steady pace back side by side, taking our time, Danny clearly not in any rush. I take in all of the buildings on the shore, some fully built, some half built, some with only foundations dug. Developments are flying up everywhere. It’s a shame. This little cove is a beauty.
It takes everything in me and more not to laugh when we get to the shore, seeing Leon looking at the cop with a shit-eating grin on his face. Even the kid recognizes a copper when he sees one.
“I don’t believe it,” Danny says quietly, getting off and wading to the sand.
I follow, watching the cop’s lip curl to the point it distorts his face. “I take it you know him.”
“Higham,” Danny sings, reaching behind his back for his zip and pulling it down. “You been promoted?”
“It’s Agent Higham to you,” he grunts, reaching into his inside pocket and pulling out his badge, flashing it like a status symbol.
“Ooh, fancy.” Danny pushes his suit down to his waist. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”