MY SISTER MARRIED RICH—AND HE THREW HER OFF A YACHT
John shoved her off the deck. Just like that.
Everyone laughed.
Not in shock. Not in horror. They howled.
“Fifty bucks! You actually did it!” one of the Johnsons shouted, already halfway through another bottle of Dom.
My sister hit the water with a scream that vanished into the dark waves. No one moved. No one cared.
Except me.
I dove.
The water stole the air from my lungs, but I found her—choking, crying, clutching my arm like she was still trying to wake up from the nightmare.
When I dragged her back onto the deck, soaked and shaking, the music had stopped. The smirks hadn’t.
John tossed a towel at us like we were stray dogs.
“Jesus, Anna. It was a joke.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.
From my clutch—still dripping seawater—I pulled out a satellite phone. One button. That’s all it took.
“Alpha-Nine. Immediate response. Code: VENGEANCE.”
At first, they thought I was bluffing.
Then the ocean split open.
A black, unmarked speedboat tore through the dark. Floodlights flared. Men in tactical gear swarmed the yacht. Silent. Precise. Unsmiling.
John backed away, stumbling. “Hey, this is private property!”
The lead officer didn’t even blink.
“We’re here for asset extraction.”
I stepped forward. No longer the guest. Now, the commander.
“You like tossing people into the ocean?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
I turned to the officers.
“Don’t arrest them.”
Pause.
“Throw them in.”
What happened next is in the comments 👇