Chapter 7: High Tides and Higher Stakes
Morning hit Vice HQ like a hungover piñata. Half the squad was still glowing from the night before—some from romance, others from the club’s radioactive cocktails.
Sgt. Salty sipped black coffee, sunglasses firmly on. Across the room, Lila walked in wearing one of his shirts. Rico raised an eyebrow.
Salty grinned. “Laundry day.”
Zinshed entered, flanked by Delphine, both of them suspiciously chipper.
“Did we all accidentally get happy?” Cherry Blaze asked, twirling a pen. “Feels weird. Don’t like it.”
The mood shattered when Captain Steele stormed in with her usual fire-and-brimstone energy. “Hope your hearts are full, because your plates are about to be.”
She threw a tablet on the table. Footage played—boats exploding, tourists screaming, and a red-lipped figure laughing on the pier.
“Meet Verushka Vane, a former fashion mogul turned eco-terrorist. She’s blowing up yachts and blaming capitalism. Also, she has abs for days.”
Cherry whistled. “Villains stay fit.”
“She’s holding the city ransom,” Steele continued. “Unless Miami bans luxury boats, she’ll keep lighting up the marina like it’s New Year’s in hell.”
“Guess we’re going sailing,” Zinshed said, already grabbing his wetsuit.
Cue Operation: High Tide Hustle.
The squad went undercover at The Billionaire Boat Bash, a floating party crawling with champagne, silicone, and suspicious millionaires.
Rico posed as a DJ, Cherry as his “personal assistant with benefits.” Zinshed and Delphine arrived as a crypto couple. Salty and Lila? Fake honeymooners.
“Try not to make it too real,” Lila whispered as Salty adjusted her bikini strap.
“No promises,” he replied, eyes locked on hers.
Suddenly, Verushka Vane herself emerged from the main yacht. Long red dress, wind in her hair, flanked by two shirtless goons in cargo pants.
She spoke into a gold mic. “Miami! You float while others drown! This ends tonight!”
Explosives glittered beneath several party boats.
Zinshed cracked his knuckles. “Time to un-invite her.”
Delphine nodded. “Let’s dance.”
The chaos began.
Cherry dropkicked a goon into a margarita tub. Rico spun bass-boosted beats so strong they disoriented the henchmen. “Bass cannon activated!”
Zinshed and Delphine defused two bombs, arguing the entire time about wire color.
“Red!”
“No, blue!”
“Fine, purple—there is no purple!”
“Then we run!”
Meanwhile, Salty and Lila chased Verushka onto a speedboat. The villainess peeled off, laughing into the salt spray.
Salty fired up another boat. “Hold tight!”
“Always do,” Lila said, sliding in beside him.
Cue a high-speed boat chase through glittering waves and beneath neon-lit bridges. Verushka hurled molotovs. Lila returned fire with an ice bucket and a well-aimed lobster.
Salty closed the gap and leapt boat-to-boat like a sun-kissed panther. He tackled Verushka mid-pose.
“You’re under arrest—for crimes and for that tacky outfit.”
She smiled wickedly. “You’re cute when you’re righteous.”
He cuffed her as backup arrived via jet skis.
Back at HQ, the squad collapsed in the break room. Mission complete. No casualties. And enough bikini footage for three internal investigations.
Captain Steele appeared, holding champagne. “You maniacs actually pulled it off. Drinks on me.”
Cherry clinked glasses with Rico. “Still think happiness is weird?”
“Let’s keep trying it out,” he smiled.
Zinshed turned to Delphine. “You saved my life.”
She shrugged. “You’re not bad at this partner thing.”
And Salty? He turned to Lila, brushed her wind-tangled hair back.
“You still pretending this is fake?”
She kissed him slow and deep. “Was it ever?”
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