Not even ten minutes later the container ship had become a battlefield.
Because it was smuggling, the security detail present was small—just enough to protect the cartel's merchandise and call for help in an emergency.
Most of them had already begun to relax once the lights of Santos City rose on the horizon, the familiar silhouette of the port promising an end to the long haul.
That fragile sense of safety died the moment a lone girl appeared beside two men sharing a quiet smoke near the forward containers.
One never even finished his exhalation.
Elle's hand flashed across his throat in a single, clean arc, fingers shearing through skin, muscle and windpipe with the ease of a blade.
Arterial blood erupted in a hot, pulsing spray that painted the deck and the second man's face before he could fully turn.
The second guard's eyes widened in raw panic; he tried to raise his weapon, but her fist was already driving forward.
