Chapter 38 · Death from Above

The machine gun on the crane racked a round, and our crushed hull rang like a church bell.

"Don't move." Lucian had one hand clamped under his ribs. Blood ran between his fingers, black in the firelight. Every breath he took whistled. "Bianca. Look at me."

I wasn't looking at him. I was looking at the cage.

It hung off the crane hook sixty feet up, swinging over the tank farm. Orange light licked the bars. Inside it, a small shape in a college hoodie gripped the wire with both hands.

Mia.

"Lucian!" Silvio's voice boomed over the harbor tannoy, warm and fatherly, like he was toasting at a wedding. "Walk out. Alone. Hands up. Or my niece takes a swim in diesel and I light the match."

"He's lying," I said. "He'll shoot you and drop her anyway."

"Probably." Lucian coughed. Red foam on his lip. He wiped it on his sleeve like it was nothing. "So we make him wait."

"We?"

He almost smiled. That was the worst part. "You came here in combat black with a breaching kit, Bia. You didn't come to hide under a boat.