Scorpion Strike. John Gilstrap

a reason for that.”

      “You want to get laid or not?” She sold that with just the right coy smile.

      He laughed. “So, you’re going nuclear on me.” He prepared himself with a breath. “I was angry at the world,” he said. “Not Mom, per se, but she took the brunt of it. I was pissed when my dad died, and then I was pissed when Baker and Mom started to fight.”

      “So, he left you guys and moved to the islands to buy a hotel?”

      Tyler bobbed his head noncommittally. “You lose track of about six years in there, but yeah. And it’s not just the hotel. It’s the whole freaking island.”

      “You can own an island?”

      Tyler laughed at the amazement in her face. “Who knew, right?”

      “And he’s okay with you bringing guests to share all the freebies?”

      Tyler broke his gaze. Lying was never his long suit, and he had it on good authority that his eyes always gave him away.

      “What?” Annie leaned in closer.

      It was a question he hadn’t expected.

      “He knows I’m here, right?”

      Tyler cleared his throat. “He’d be fine with it,” he said.

      “Then why—”

      A loud crash terminated her words, yanked their heads back toward the ornate wooden door with its cut glass insert. The doors exploded open as if hit with a battering ram, ripping the auto-close hardware from their mounts. Before the panels could rebound, three men charged through the opening, identical assault rifles pressed to their shoulders. And they looked dead serious about using them.

      “Hands up!” one of them yelled as he swept the room with the muzzle. “Hands! Hands! Hands!” The gunman’s friends mimed his actions and echoed his commands.

      Tyler thrust his hands high, while Annie just sat there, her face a mask of fear. Confusion.

      “Annie!” he whisper-shouted.

      An instant later, through his peripheral vision, he caught a fellow drinker and his date bolting from their stools at the bar, heading toward the doors that led to the beach. They’d made it maybe three strides when a burst of gunfire knocked them both to the polished bamboo floor and shattered two panels of the wall of windows. After impact, neither of them moved.

      Annie screamed, drawing the muzzles of two rifles in her direction.

      “Shut up!” one of the invaders ordered. “Shut up now, or shut up forever.”

      Annie clasped her hands over her mouth, as if it were the only way to halt the sound.

      “Your friends were stupid!” the invader yelled to the guests who remained in the bar. “They didn’t listen and now they are dead. Do exactly as I say, and the same will not happen to you.”

      Tyler nudged Annie with his raised elbow. “Put your hands up,” he hissed.

      They moved from her mouth and stretched high over her head. At first, Tyler thought that maybe she was mocking the terrorists with such an absurd stretch, but then he realized she was just that terrified.

      “Up!” the same invader commanded, gesturing with the muzzle of his gun. Since he was the only one talking, Tyler figured him to be the man in charge. “All of you stand where you are, next to your chair. Ladies, leave your purses and handbags where they are.”

      “What are you going to do?” asked another lady who was perched at the bar.

      One of the silent attackers whirled on her and fired a single bullet into the front panel of the bar, missing her by only an inch or two.

      “That wasn’t bad marksmanship,” the leader said. “That was a warning to listen carefully and to keep your mouths shut. Now, please stand, everyone, so I don’t have to make you fall. Keep your hands up the whole time. It will feel awkward, but you can do it.”

      Awkward didn’t touch it. As Tyler slid from his elevated stool and tried to push it back with his butt, it toppled with a clatter and a slam. He jumped, but his captors did not. Apparently, they’d been expecting that. Other chairs toppled, as well, but everyone complied.

      “Well done,” the leader said. “Now, gentlemen, I want you to move very deliberately and carefully to turn out your pockets. I want it all. Wallet, keys, cell phones, cameras, and even your wristwatches. Pretend that you are naked, but with clothes. You will be searched afterward, and you do not want to be found noncompliant with this.”

      Tyler complied, placing his wallet, room key, and phone on the bar table, then raising his hands again.

      When the men were done, the lead terrorist said, “Ladies, the rules are the same for you. If your items are all contained in your purses, then you are done for now. If you have items in your pockets, empty them.”

      Tyler shot a look to Annie, who shook her head. She had nothing.

      “You’re doing very well,” the leader said. “Now I want you all to move to the center of the room and join together.” He motioned to a spot near the center of the wall of glass doors.

      As Tyler’s heart hammered, he felt his face flush. They were being herded into a smaller target. They’d taught him some of those terror tactics at Wilmot Academy, not as a lesson on what to inflict, but rather as a lesson on what to avoid. They were quickly reaching the point of no return, yet it would be foolish to even think about running or fighting. A simple glimpse at the bloody corpses on the floor was testament to that. Compliance was the only option. Victimhood. This was really, really bad.

      When everyone was in the proper spot, the invaders pressed them progressively tighter into each other, until they were touching, shoulder-to-shoulder or chest-to chest. Tyler counted eight of them altogether, and of the crowd, he and Annie were the youngest by at least ten years.

      Beyond the shattered doors, somewhere out in the night, more gunshots rattled the stillness. The hostages—is that what they were now?—all jumped, but no one screamed. A lesson well learned.

      “Join hands,” the leader commanded, “everyone facing each other. We will be walking all the way down to the beach. It is a full moon, and we can see you, so do not attempt to run. If one of you tries to run, I will shoot the entire group. Do you understand? I expect an answer.”

      About half of them said, “Yes,” and the other half mumbled some version of “I understand.” But everyone answered, and no one said, “No.”

      Tyler gripped Annie’s hand in his own left, while a sweaty fat guy did his best to crush his right. Tyler nudged the guy and said, “Lighten up, that hurts.”

      When the guy failed to respond—he just kept his eyes locked to the front—Tyler rattled the guy’s hand to get his attention. When Hand Crusher’s gaze shifted, Tyler whispered, “You’re hurting me. Ease up.”

      This time, the pressure eased.

      “No talking,” the invader snapped, and Tyler felt a surge as someone pushed the group forward.

      The doors from the lobby bar led to the expansive veranda with its slate floors and gorgeous wicker furniture. Only five hours before, Tyler and Annie had enjoyed evening cocktails before dinner there. Two hours before that, the maître d’ had sheared the neck off a bottle of Dom Pérignon as part of the resort’s famous evening ritual.

      Tyler found himself walking in shuffling half steps amid the crowd, the only way to keep his balance.

      The veranda led to a wide flight of five steps that grounded out at the perfectly manicured lawn, where earlier in the afternoon, hotel guests dressed all in white had engaged in a rousing croquet match. The pretentiousness of the Crystal Sands Resort made Tyler’s skin crawl. But the ladies loved it, and it was free. Pretty high cotton for an unemployed nineteen-year-old.