Young Gomez was cocky, an arrogant prick. And a nasty piece of work if the mood took him. Life came cheap in his line of work.
Reluctant Nick had to let himself be transferred to Gomez’ speedboat. On his best behaviour. Anything less and he feared Gomez would take it out on the girl. But he stood in the stern of the other boat glaring back. Daring Gomez to try anything on.
His perfect day had gone to shit. Gomez had crept up on him. Got him. The day was not turning out as planned. But first Nick had to take care of the girl.
“I warn you, Gomez .. you touch her …….”
Gomez, still lounging smugly on the stern, shrugged. He laughed.
“Now what would I want your hand-me-downs for, Carter?”
They’d met before. Nick had had the chance to appraise Gomez .. a confrontation in the casino. Young Gomez had a mean ambitious streak that contrasted with his playboy good-looks. A superb body on him .. Gomez had spent a lifetime building it up on top of a naturally athletic build. Untold hours with a personal trainer .. Nick had to admit it, Gomez looked good. Like Nick himself. But unlike Nick Gomez didn’t throw his weight around. He didn’t need to throw a punch. Or get his hands dirty. He had goons to do that for him.
Nick felt Gomez’ look from over the other boat. A steady perusal of a rival’s physique .. taking in the breadth of Nick’s shoulders, rounded off with solid rocks of strength. He felt eyes like fingers testing the hardness in his pecs. Nick was used to being checked out. By other guys in the gym. Gazing in admiration as relentlessly he worked the rippling ladder of power in his abs. Gomez too was no slouch. Nick felt himself looked over by someone who knew what effort went into building a physique like Nick’s. Gomez knew that from experience by the look of him too. Only for Gomez it was a vanity. So he could hold his own among these muscle-headed thugs he hired. And to give his women something to wonder at.
Nick wasn’t given the chance of hitting off a further stern warning. His shoulder was pushed. A large man-sized box in the stern lay open. More like a coffin.
Nick delayed. Giving young Gomez a final warning look. But seeing now in his rival’s eye not the admiring glance from another stud in the gym. The gaze was dissecting him. Analysing. Assessing. Probably looking for areas of weakness. Places where he’d order his thugs to get to work on Nick.
“You deaf, dickhead?”
The goon’s head indicated Nick was to step inside. With a final warning scowl Nick stepped over the side into the box.
“On your butt.”
Nick sat down. Suddenly from the other end his ankles were grabbed and pulled. Nick fell on his back, his bound hands trapped underneath. His bare shoulder scorched against the side as he was yanked. Before he could react the lid had been slammed above his head. Encasing him in near-darkness. He heard the bolt slide across. Nick was trapped.
No way out of here, bolted in. And worse, the box had metal sides. It had been out in the sun all day. Nick winced as his bare flesh scorched when he’d wriggled himself comfortable. There were about a dozen holes in the metal lid .. for air. But it was hot in there, hellishly hot. What little air drifted in was soon superheated. Nick was fucking hot. Sweat was running in no time at all.
The engines had started up, the speedboat lurched forward. They were on their way taking Nick back to land. Nick knew they were over an hour out. In this man-sized coffin he’d have sweated himself dry by the time they arrived.