The Remington 870 shotgun—an American classic. Chambered in 12-gauge, loaded 7+1, it's earned the nickname: The Equalizer.
Taylor's Remington wasn't just any 870. It was custom-polished, finely maintained—clearly part of a luxury arsenal curated by professionals.
Ryan inspected it. The steel gleamed. No rust. No gunk. This gun could sing.
He loaded the chamber, slipped extra shells into the oversized pockets of his floral board shorts, and stood up.
Behind him, Taylor and Elizabeth watched nervously.
"You expecting trouble?" Taylor asked, clutching his arm.
"Just being careful," Ryan said. "But if anything happens—you two stay in the panic room."
Below deck, the yacht's master bedroom doubled as a luxury reinforced panic room, with bulletproof paneling, emergency oxygen, GPS beacons, and an independent distress system.
Taylor and Elizabeth nodded, no argument. They weren't the dumb white girls from slasher movies. They understood danger.
Ryan moved to the bow, scanning the open sea through the mounted observation binoculars.
His jaw tightened.
Two small powerboats.
Five men per boat. Mostly Latino. Ten cartel thugs heading straight for them.
"F**k."
He muttered it low.
They weren't tourists. And with that kind of headcount?
Definitely not fishermen.
"Ryan? What's wrong?" Taylor peeked her head up.
"We've got company," he replied. "Get below. Don't come out unless I say so."
Taylor grabbed his shirt. "We can hide in the safe room, Ryan. It's just drugs. Don't risk your life."
He shook his head. "If they take the yacht, we're helpless. You think they'll let us live, knowing we found their stash?"
That silenced her.
Ryan softened his tone. "Trust me. I've got this. Just stay safe."
The women nodded and vanished into the reinforced quarters.
Ryan cut the fishing line, sending the 500 kilos of cocaine back to the sea's depths. It sank quickly.
Then he dialed his boss—Commander Alicia.
"Commander. We've got two speedboats inbound. Ten armed Latinos. I suspect cartel. ETA?"
Alicia had just arrived at the marina with her tactical unit when she heard the report.
"F**k," she hissed. "Ryan, stay put. Best case—we reach you in 20 minutes. If your life's at risk, abandon the package."
"I already dumped the drugs," Ryan said calmly. "I have a Remington 870. I need authorization to return to active duty. Now."
Alicia didn't hesitate.
"Fine. You're reinstated. Officer Ryan, you are authorized to engage. Stay alive until we get there."
Click.
Call ended.
Ryan exhaled, then grinned.
"Time to earn some justice points."
Through the binoculars, he watched the cartel's approach.
Each man was armed:
3 Scorpion SMGs
4 TEC-9s
3 SAR rifles
Ten men. Fully loaded.
He had one shotgun.
But he had home field advantage.
Ryan's smirk returned. "The odds? In my favor."