With a sigh, Ava leaned against the side of the raft, keeping her hand steady.

At least she'd learned something. It wasn't much, but it would lead her to Remy.

Venom.

Remy awoke in a dark room. Not a speck of light was visible to help him get his bearings. By the feel of it, he was lying on metal. And he was definitely on the ship. He heard the far-away hum of the motor and felt the slightest motion of the craft as it cut through the water.

He briefly wondered where they were heading, but thoughts of Ava overran his mind. Was it possible that Ava had escaped the blast? If anyone could, she could. But that was just hope talking, not reality.

The pain that squeezed his chest and suffocated him was different this time. Six years ago he had thought he was betrayed and that he didn't really know Ava as he thought he did. But now he knew she was a victim just like him. He'd wasted six years hating her, and now she was gone.

No, she couldn't be. He wouldn't believe it.

Remy cringed as he sat up. Whoever hit him hadn't held back. At least he got in a few good punches beforehand. But not many. The crew was military trained.

It made him wonder about the men on this boat. Were they just here for the money? Was there a cause they were fighting for?

Remy had a feeling it was just for the money, and that made him feel slightly more at ease. Greedy people were easily swayed. Those fighting for a cause were not.

Standing, Remy let his legs settle before he attempted to move. Between the knocks on the head and the moving vessel, Remy wasn't too confident he could walk without falling.

After a moment, he took a step, stretching out his arms to feel for obstructions or walls. He cursed as his shin banged against something metal.

Light slashed across the room as a door opened. Remy blinked against the brightness that illuminated three guards standing in the corridor.

Remy looked down at the metal bunk he had walked into. "You couldn't have aimed for the bed when you dumped me in here?"

"Come with us," one ordered.

Remy rubbed the back of his neck, stretching as he walked to the door. He wouldn't give the men any trouble. Let them start thinking he was biddable. They'd let their guard down eventually. It was only a matter of time. Time he really didn't have.

Remy followed one guard while the other two stayed behind, nudging him with their rifles if he fell behind a step or two. That didn't bother him too much. What did bother him was the way his stomach rolled back and forth. He hadn't eaten for . . . had it already been a day? However long it was, there was positively no food left in his system. So why did he want to throw up? What was there to purge?

When Remy was young, he had originally wanted to become a Navy SEAL. That dream died on his first boat tour . . . docked in the harbor.

Remy hated feeling weak. He desperately wanted to ask for sea-sickness medication, but then they'd know how feeble he felt. No, he would power through this like he had with all of his other missions. Not everything in life was easy. He learned to make do with the resources available.

Right now, he had a ship. Could he commandeer it? Alone? It was something to think about, though he wasn't going to waste much energy on it.

As Remy continued to follow along, he realized they were taking him to the captain. Huh. Maybe he could commandeer it.

They stopped at a door. The man rapt his knuckles against it and then cracked the door open, waiting for permission to enter.

"Captain?"

"Enter," was the barely audible response.

The guard pushed the door open wide and stepped through. Remy followed since he had no other options at the moment. Even if he did have options, Remy had no intention of walking away from the person responsible for murder and treason.

The office was larger than he expected. Something about war ships brought to mind confined quarters and a lot of sterile painted metal. But this changed his view dramatically as he took in the thick carpeted floor, the large oak desk, and decorative furnishings. Comfort reigned in this office. Judging from his limited knowledge of military ships, this was no ordinary captain. But then, he already knew that.

"It seems whatever we do, it's never enough."

Remy followed the voice to the chair behind the desk, turned so the occupant could look out the floor-to-ceiling window. Was it a specially designed modification?

"I know killing you will never be enough," Remy retorted. His neck veins pulsed as he tethered his temper.

A dry laugh filled the room. "You never change, Brock."

Brock?

Remy didn't know why the use of his old name shocked him, but it did. He was being thrown back into a life and time he didn't want to relive. And yet, he had no choice if he wanted to finish this once and for all.

"You know my name, but I don't know yours," Remy stated. "You're a coward, just like your men."

Remy's knees buckled as a blow to the back of his legs came hard and swift.

"You'll never learn, will you?" The chair turned as Remy stood back on his feet.

He nearly toppled back over.

Jeremy French.

Ava watched helplessly as a cruiser sped toward her. Did they see her? The vessel's fast pace told her they didn't. She was useless with one arm waving and one stuck to the raft, holding the air in.

Just before she was about to dive overboard, the boat slowed and drifted close, nudging her raft. This craft was only slightly smaller than the bucket she had rented. It was built for speed and in far better shape. The silent deck bobbed above, threatening to crash down on her.

Her gut told her that whoever this was, they were no friend and certainly not the Coast Guard.

She wondered if her call for help had been intercepted. A bad feeling slithered inside her as she waited for someone to appear on the boat's bow. Why were they taking so long? Ava wanted to call out, but fear silenced her.

Remy lunged for Jeremy French, plowing over the desk before he was hauled back and slammed to the floor by two guards. The soft carpet absorbed the fall, not that Remy would have felt pain in his current state.

He wrenched away and stood, glowering at the blond weasel sitting calmly in front of him.

"You didn't plan for this scenario, did you?" French asked. His hand waved lazily at his surroundings. "It's amazing what you can buy nowadays. One of our very own Navy ships." He stood and strolled around the desk to face Remy head-on. "You'd think the Navy would want it back. But it's been covered up. Just like all those weapons that keep disappearing."

"What the h.e.l.l do you want with me?"

"So angry," French tsked. "And here I thought you'd be pleased with my surprise."

"What surprise?"

"Ava, of course. You didn't plan for that scenario, either, did you?" French smiled. "I figured a reunion was in order."

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d! You've been using Ava." Remy's chest tightened. "Her death is on your hands." Even though he shouted the words at French like a foul curse, they boomeranged back, cutting through his heart. Ava's death was on Remy's hands. He should've listened to her when she first asked for help. If he had, none of this would have happened.

French raised a brow. "Why would I want her dead? She's my inside at the CID."

"Your men blew up her boat."

He shrugged. "You know the drill. All evidence needs to be destroyed. I can't leave an empty boat drifting along. You should have said she was...o...b..ard. Ava and I have a very pleasant working relationship."

Remy struck out, landing a solid right hook that snapped French's head to the side from his undefended blow. Guards held Remy back from doing further damage.

French straightened, his hand cupping his cheek. "I forgot how wicked your hooks are." He opened his mouth, testing his jaw. "You still care for Ava after all of these years; after all you thought she'd done."

Remy shoved a guard aside, only to get blocked by another.

With a hand signal, French gave the order to stand down. "Ava is alive."

Remy stilled. "Alive? But you blew up the boat."

"We had eyes on her. She made a call before diving overboard. She's safe in an emergency raft, waiting for the Coast Guard to pick her up."

Ava was alive? She survived? French had to be lying. Why would he leave her for the Coast Guard to pick up? They'd want to know what happened. French would be an idiot to take that chance.

"If she's alive, then why didn't you turn around and get her?"

"Turn this ship around? Do you realize what you are saying?" French responded.

No. Remy didn't have a clue what he was saying. He had no idea what the h.e.l.l was going on.

"It doesn't matter; I wouldn't have let her board anyway," French said.

"Why not?"

"Do you know who Venom is?" French asked.

"You have Venom cargo on deck," Remy stated, eyeing French. Ava was right; he had changed. French was no longer the scrawny beanpole Remy remembered. He was now a man who had blood on his hands and vengeance in his eyes. And who owned a ship of stolen weapons. "You're Venom."

French's gaze turned from flippant to curious. He smiled. "If I was Venom, I certainly wouldn't want you on board."

"Why not?"

French smirked, ignoring the question. He crossed over to the window and looked out. "We have a common enemy, and it seems you're the only one who can find him."

"You're my only enemy, and you're standing right in front of me."

French shrugged. "Maybe I am. But have you ever wondered why you were the only one taken all those years ago? There's something about you. Something you did set off a chain reaction."

"What's it to you, anyway?" Remy asked, wanting to know French's motivation. Ava thought it might be personal; Remy wasn't so sure.

"I'm trying to find out what's so special about you." His fingers trailed the desk, then moved over to an old-fashioned globe. He flicked it, sending it into a sluggish spin. "I've tried for years to track down Venom, but it seems you have the key."

"I have nothing."

French laughed, the sound grating against Remy's ears. "You have the answer whether you know it or not." His laughed died. "I won't stop searching for him. And you will help, otherwise I have no use for you or Ava. Do I make myself clear?"

"Ava's no longer under your control, and I already have no use for you," Remy growled, furious by French's threat. "Whatever you think you can get from me, I won't give. Whatever threats you make, I will double. Whatever secrets I keep will follow me to the grave."

Remy had no intention of helping French, no matter what he threatened. For right now, Ava was safe with the Coast Guard. She was out of French's hands. It gave him time . . . until Ava came for Remy like she'd promised. Remy cursed himself a hundred different ways.

"I was hoping you'd be more reasonable, but time has not rid you of your stubbornness."

"I see you for what you are, French. What I don't know is why you turned from a young man with potential to . . . this." Remy couldn't keep the disgust from his voice, not that he tried very hard. The man who stood in front of him was a stranger. Remy didn't like this stranger; he didn't trust him.

But he knew he was going about this all wrong. He was so used to standing toe-to-toe with men of rank that a different approach was needed with French. Had Remy been on land, this conversation would have been over. He had no patience to follow the whims of another, especially one like French. "I had always liked you, you know?" The words were honest but also an experiment. They felt like ash on his tongue.

"No one liked me," French snapped. "But we aren't here to talk about the past."

"I thought we were. You said I started something. What was it? The only thing I did was help a scared young soldier through war."

"You don't know anything."

"I know you changed. How can a man start out searching for a traitor only to become that traitor himself, buying stolen goods? What is it about Venom that has the power to change people? Is it the money, or do you enjoy watching innocents get cut down with Venom weapons?"

French's jaw clenched tight, his knuckles white from his tight fists. "I would think first about how you speak to me. I'm no longer the team mascot. I have an army of my own; one that isn't swayed by our dear government."

"This is no army. It's a ship of greedy men whose only allegiance is to their cut. Do you have enough to keep them from turning on you?"

Remy blocked as French swung at him. Remy smiled, knowing he'd hit a nerve. So, French wasn't as confident as he appeared. Good.

"What is it, French? Do you already feel the control slipping?"

"Take him away," French snarled.

The guards jostled Remy from the room and down to his cell. Remy didn't make it easy for them. While he didn't fight, he made them work for it by dragging his feet, making the guards have to get up close, their hands wrapped around his arms. As they pushed him into his cell, Remy pilfered a radio from a guard's waistband. They slammed the door shut, snuffing the light and sending him into darkness.

Remy had p.i.s.sed off French and obtained a radio. He'd consider that a win. Now he had to figure out what Jeremy French was up to and send a message to Ava.

Remy would deal with French alone.

Remy turned off the radio and shoved it under his thin mattress as soon as he heard footsteps outside of his door. He thought it might be morning, but it was impossible to tell without a window. If French thought leaving Remy in the dark was a form of torture, then he was sadly mistaken.

The door opened. Three new guards stepped in, surrounding Remy, who was lounged on the bed, ankles crossed as if relaxing. He was anything but relaxed. The radio chatter had proved useless. It gave him nothing he could use against French. He had even tried several different channels, but it seemed as if they only used the one.

"Come with us."

Remy stood and followed the same path as before to French's office. It was going to be the same bulls.h.i.t drill as the previous day. Remy blinked as they walked past French's door. Where were they going? He followed, more aware of his surroundings than mere seconds before.