Jack POV
The rain started soft, like a whisper brushing against my face, tiny drops misting my skin. I barely noticed it at first, too focused on the mess in front of me. But then, in a heartbeat, it changed. The sky opened up, and a full-on downpour crashed down, soaking everything—my clothes, the yacht’s deck, every inch of this cursed boat. Water ran in rivers over the wood, turning it slippery as ice. Thunder growled above me, loud and deep, like the sky itself was angry. I didn’t care about the storm, though. My eyes were locked on him.
Angelo.
He was bleeding bad, a dark stain spreading across his shirt from where I’d shot him earlier. He stood there, cornered against the railing, his chest heaving. His dark eyes flicked around, wild and desperate, jumping between me and the gang
