Page 41 of What Doesn't Kill You…

Hell no.

If they got hold of it, they'd know the footage was uploaded. Then they'd wonder what footage he'd gotten. Then there would be questions, probably at gunpoint.

"The Scots never surrender," Evan shouted. "You'll pry this controller from my cold dead hands."

A security guard bore down on him. Evan lobbed the device to Davy, who snatched it from the air like it was a rugby ball and took off down the course. The others shook off their guards and followed, turning the event into a rugby game as the controller was thrown between friends, and the poor guards tried to intercept it. They were no match for the Scots. Drunk rugby was Scotland’s other national sport.

As they reached the part of the green that abutted the restaurant, Evan shouted for the device and Big Andy tossed it to him. He made a show of fumbling the catch. The device hit the ground hard, and Evan stamped on it for good measure. Before he could pick up the wreck and toss it back into the game, a security guard tackled him to the grass. There were gasps of shock from the restaurant diners. Evan caught sight of his team, watching his every move with tense expressions.

He grinned widely as he was dragged to his feet. A roar of outrage sounded from his new friends who complained about foul play and poor sportsmanship. Unfortunately, the hotel security guards weren't concerned with fair play. One by one, they took hold of the Scottish team and loaded them into the awaiting golf carts.

Wee Andy, aware he had an audience in the rapt diners, leaned out of the cart and shouted, "We're gonna deep fry your coconuts!" Before grinning like an idiot.

His friends tried to turn it into a chant, but it didn't have the rhythm needed to really be catchy. As the golf carts drove past the restaurant, Evan winked at his team. Successful op. He sank back into his seat with satisfaction.

It was then he spotted Damien Poole, striding across the dining area, broken drone in hand. He headed straight toward the Benson Security table. And worse still, he'd seen Evan wink at his team.

Damn it.

He'd blown it.

He'd gotten carried away and exposed his team. They were fried. What a crappy, rookie move. His brothers would never have done something so stupid.

Damien signaled to the driver of Evan's golf cart, and it came to a halt. One of his personal security team approached the cart and asked Evan to get out. The other carts passed, full of his new friends, who were equal parts worried and outraged. They called for his release. But it was too late. There was nothing anyone could do.

His shoulders slumped as Poole's private guard gestured for Evan to follow him—straight to the rest of his team. His stomach clenched and he knew without a doubt that he'd have to act his arse off to get out of this mess. Unfortunately, he wasn't the triplet with the acting prowess.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Bloody Evan had to get cocky. Violet was fuming, and when she caught Rodrigo's eye, she knew he felt the same way. Damien Poole was bearing down on them, and talking their way out of this would be nigh impossible. If she'd been the hotel owner, she wouldn't have listened to their excuses. She would have considered her suspicions as evidence enough and had them kicked out of the resort.

Damien came to a halt in front of Max. He tossed the mangled drone onto the table beside their empty plates. At least she'd had dinner before they turfed them out. She wasn't sure she could have controlled her anger if her stomach was empty.

"Your friend was trying to film my estate," Damien said. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Max sat up a little straighter. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Poole. But I suggest you get some counseling for your delusions."

She had to give him credit—when push came to shove, Max could lie with the best of them.

Poole smirked and gestured for Evan to be brought forward. Violet tensed. Evan was young and inexperienced, which meant he was the weakest link. Sadly, there was nothing they could do to help him. He was on his own and all they could do was hope he stuck to his cover story, and pretended he didn't know any of them.

"I assume he's working for you," Poole gestured to Evan.

Evan ignored him and reached for the drone. "Thanks, man. That cost a bundle and I think my mate's photos are still on there." He beamed at Poole. "You're a legend."

Before he could touch the drone, a bodyguard, dressed in formal pants and a shirt, grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"What the hell?" Evan said. "That's my drone. My property. Get your hands off me and give me back my drone."

"I don't know what you're trying to do here," Max said to Damien. "I've no idea who this kid is. I'm just trying to have a nice dinner with my fiancée and friends before our wedding. To be honest, I've been working damn hard to put the fact you own the hotel out of my mind, but you keep popping up to remind me that our destination isn't all golden sands and blue skies."

Around them, in the now packed dining room, the other diners were watching the drama unfold with rapt attention. One or two even had their phones out filming the situation, which might work to their favor. Damien wasn't likely to go into full paranoia mode while cameras were rolling.

"This isn't a wedding," Damien said, keeping his voice low. "It's a cover. You're here hunting another story and it's pathetic, Maximillian. Haven't you learned already that there's no point digging into my business. There's nothing to find. You're wasting your time. And mine."

"If there's nothing to find," Max said with a sharp smile. "Why are you so concerned with some kid's drone."

"Who are you calling a kid?" Evan said belligerently. "I'm a full-grown man, dude. Come on over here and I'll show you how grown. I'll pound the information into your pretty face." He looked up at the guard holding him. "Americans, am I right?"