Sharks - Matt Rogers (classic books for 11 year olds txt) 📗

you’re not exactly necessary anymore, Dylan.’

Slater didn’t move to stop King. They must be in the endgame. That was the only way the phone call could have gone.

Dylan was irate now, livid instead of scared. ‘You think I give a shit about my brother? Kill him, give him a new life, I couldn’t care less. I’m the one with the leverage, you dumb fucks.’

Slater said, ‘Pipe down, kid.’

‘Kid?!’ Dylan spat. ‘You’re twenty years younger than me, you goddamn stupid motherf—’

King said, ‘Enough.’

He said it with a verve that clammed Dylan up like someone had zipped his lips shut.

King said, ‘You are a kid. You know why? Because you didn’t play this right, and you’re starting to realise it. We have Lyla’s location now. And we never had your brother. Our partners surprised him and he ran away from them. Tripped on a rock and died.’

‘Good,’ Dylan said. ‘He was always pathetic. I gave him that eighty k from the good of my heart. That ungrateful piece of shit.’

‘There’s no good in your heart,’ Slater said. ‘And no matter how much we lecture you about what you’ve done you’ll never realise right from wrong. That’s the most frustrating thing. One tiny facet of your business that you knew next to nothing about facilitated the exploitation of underage sex slaves in Las Vegas. You funnelled dirty money through your banks like it meant nothing, and it did mean nothing to you. It was so inconsequential that you considered it beneath you. And you’re so narcissistic and corrupt that it’ll never sink home. You’ll never see it from anyone’s perspective other than your own. We could sit in a room with you for a month straight and you’d still never see it. So...’

He nodded to King.

King’s finger started to depress the trigger.

Dylan was clearly straining to stay mute, but he couldn’t.

Self-preservation gave way to desperation.

He said, ‘I have reinforcements all around us. You two were too stupid to see them. You kill me, you’re dead.’

King shook his head with a sad smile. ‘Where, Dylan? Where exactly are they? Hiding in the brush in ghillie suits? You thought you had absolute leverage over us. You got cocky. You caused your own downfall. Keep that in mind.’

Dylan, who was composed in every situation, broke out in a full sweat. ‘If I miss my check-in in two minutes, the woman and the brat get it! Slowly and painfully! They’ll scream.’

Slater said, ‘That’s what’ll happen to them within half an hour? I don’t think so. You know why? You never stopped to think whether your men were as evil as you.’

‘They’ll do what I tell them. I can guarantee you that. Get this gun out of my face.’

‘They’ll start torturing a scared grandmother and her scared grandson the minute after you miss your check-in?’

Dylan said, ‘Yes,’ but his eyes weren’t so sure.

King said, ‘You’d do that. To protect your bottom line. But they’re salaried. They’re independent contractors. And you’re not the cartel. You’re a businessman with a handful of ex-military in your employ. Have you threatened to kill their families if they don’t comply? Have you done anything to ensure that they’ll slowly murder an old woman and a child just because you were twenty minutes late to a check-in?’

Something dawned behind Dylan’s eyes.

A painful, miserable acceptance.

With that, his last option had been exhausted.

His voice cracked and he said, ‘Wait. Please.’

It was music to King’s ears, and it was the closest they’d ever get to making him pay for the things he’d done.

The only way to a narcissist’s heart is to make them realise they made the wrong call. When it’s not life or death, there’s always an excuse, always someone else to blame, always an ego to protect.

Not anymore.

In that singular moment, the titan Dylan Walcott was reduced to a beggar.

King pulled the trigger.

They caught his body before it fell, one man on each side, and walked it to the reef. Then they dropped it into the shallows, where the blood tainted the clear water, dirtying it, muddying it, ruining its impeccable beauty.

Which was fitting.

Dylan Walcott and his grandfather before him had tainted this island.

The Walcotts — all of them, even Theodore with his secret campaign to destroy his brother — had exploited a kind and good-natured population for everything they were worth.

Now the dynasty was no more.

King and Slater might have fished around aimlessly for the first stretch, but they’d located the sharks and neutralised them.

Their work was done.

Almost.

79

The resort within which the villa was located rested off Midshipman Road, with hexagonal parcels of land sporting unparalleled views of the inlet leading to the bay.

Blue water shone and fancy new buildings gleamed in a subdued atmosphere.

There was no gate preventing Violetta and Alexis from driving straight in.

But they pulled to the shoulder behind a perimeter wall anyway, because the villa itself would surely be guarded.

A curved tree line blocked an empty plot of land on the right-hand side of the entrance, and they used the evenly spaced trunks for cover. They stayed low, Alexis following in Violetta’s wake, because as much as she liked to think she was a supremely efficient operative, there was no doubt in her mind that Violetta had superior field skills. They passed the first series of villas, all lacking waterfront views, set closer to the road than the bay. Tropical wildlife squawked and shrilled in the palm trees adorning each tract of land. The palm fronds provided respite from the sun, the shadows underneath home to lounge chairs that were stretched out in just the right position so sun exposure could be spaced out at regular intervals.

In the distance, a child laughed.

The pleasant drone of a speedboat leaving a nearby marina floated through the air.

In back gardens, couples and families exchanged unimportant words, letting the laziness and comfort of the atmosphere dictate their conversation.

It was idyllic.

Violetta focused on her phone screen and said, ‘Fifty feet ahead. It’s got to be the one in the middle.’

From the cover of the