Chapter 5 - Into the ShadowsThe hallway outside Suite 704 was dead silent. The plush, sound-dampening carpeting muffled my designer heels completely as I stepped out into the dim, amber-lit corridor of Deck 7.
The luxury liner, The Sovereign Star, was massive—fifteen decks of floating opulence, housing over three thousand unsuspecting passengers currently wining, dining, and dancing several miles away from reality. They had no idea that a war was about to break out in the bowels of the ship.
My objective was simple: the ship's security server room on Deck 3.
If David’s father had corrupt security guards on his payroll, they would be using the main security hub to monitor the vessel's closed-circuit cameras, lock down bulkheads, and coordinate communications. If I cut their feed, I controlled the battlefield.
I kept my body low, moving with the silent, fluid grace of a shadow. Every corner was cleared using proper slice-the-pie technique—eyes leading the weapon, weapon leading the body.
As I approached the forward stairwell, two men in crisp white maritime security uniforms stepped out of the service elevator.
"Check the VIP corridor again," one of them grunted, adjusting the radio on his belt. "Old man Davis is paranoid. Said his son had better have the girl under control by now, or heads are gonna roll."
"Relax, Frank," the second guard laughed, lighting a cigarette despite the strict no-smoking policy. "Nobody escapes this tub. The boss owns the captain, the manifest, and—"
He didn't get to finish his sentence.
I didn't use the bat. Too noisy.
In a fraction of a second, I closed the distance. My left hand shot out, grabbing the burning cigarette from Frank’s mouth and grinding it directly into his right eye socket. As he shrieked in agony, his partner whipped around, reaching for the heavy service pistol holstered at his hip.
He was half a second too slow.
I drove the heavy, threaded stainless-steel shower pipe—my makeshift baton—straight into his solar plexus. The air exploded from his lungs with a deafening WHOOSH, and his eyes rolled back into his head as he crumpled like a wet paper bag.
Frank stumbled back, clutching his burned face, gasping for breath. Before he could sound his radio alarm, I stepped inside his guard, delivered a razor-sharp palm strike to his chin, and caught him as he fell, lowering his unconscious body silently to the carpet.
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I stripped the service radio off Frank’s belt, clipped it to my dress, and dragged both bodies into the dark, empty linen closet nearby.
"One down," I whispered into the quiet dark, adjusting my grip on the aluminum bat. "Ninety-nine to go."
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