International Manwhore – Part 28 (Patreon)

Everyone in this story is 18+

The helicopter’s searchlight pinned us in its glare like specimens under glass. The rotor wash churned the black water into whitecaps that slapped against the floating debris. I kept one arm locked around Sebastian’s waist, his body heavy and limp against the makeshift raft, the other hand raised uselessly against the blinding light.

Up in the open door, the figure in tactical gear turned his head, speaking into a headset. His mouth moved, words lost to the thunder of the blades. Then he stepped back.

A new silhouette appeared—taller, leaner, ridiculous even from this distance. Gold accents glinted on what looked like custom camo, the kind of tactical gear that had been to a tailor instead of a quartermaster. Hunter leaned out, megaphone in hand, voice booming over the water.

“Stay put! I’m here to save you!”

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “Where the fuck am I supposed to go…” The words came out hoarse, half-laugh, half-gasp. At the same time, something warm and stupid flooded my chest. I’ve never in my life been happier to see that ridiculous man.

The chopper descended carefully, hovering low enough that the downdraft tried to push us under. A rope ladder unfurled. Two men in proper camo—practical, no gold thread—descended fast. The first one reached Sebastian, strong arms sliding under him, lifting him clear of the water with practiced ease. Sebastian’s head lolled against the man’s shoulder as they winched him up. I watched every inch, throat tight, until he disappeared into the cabin.

Then it was my turn. Rough hands gripped my arms, the harness clipped around me. The cold sea released me with a reluctant suck, and I was hauled upward, water streaming off my clothes, teeth chattering so hard I couldn’t speak. They pulled me through the door and onto the vibrating deck.

Inside the cabin it was controlled chaos—red emergency lighting, the smell of aviation fuel and wet fabric. Jami, the sharp-jawed guy from Hunter’s airport in that same crisp blazer now swapped for a medical vest, was already bent over Sebastian. He had an oxygen mask in place and was checking pupils with a penlight, movements quick and sure.

I staggered forward on numb legs. “You look fucking ridiculous,” I told Hunter, voice cracking.

Then I jumped him—full-body, arms wrapping tight around his ridiculous camo shoulders, face buried in the damp fabric that smelled like expensive cologne and sea salt. He laughed, clapping me on the back hard enough to jolt me.

“Easy, manwhore. You’re getting me all wet.”

“Will Sebastian be well?” I asked, pulling back but keeping one hand on his arm like I needed the anchor.

Jami glanced up from where he was wrapping Sebastian in a silver heat blanket, tucking it snug around his shoulders and chest. “His vitals are good. He’s a little cold.” He adjusted the blanket again, smoothing it down. “How long has he been out?”

“Since the debris hit him during the explosion,” I said, rubbing salt from my eyes. “Maybe twenty, thirty minutes? He was talking right after we jumped, then faded fast.”

Jami nodded, pressing two fingers to Sebastian’s wrist again, then checking the pulse ox on his finger. “Okay. Hopefully he wakes soon. Being unconscious for a while after a heavy hit is not uncommon, but it shouldn’t last too long. It doesn’t seem too deep however, but we do need to get to a hospital and get a scan as soon as possible to rule out anything serious.”

Hunter leaned toward the cockpit. “Get us to the nearest hospital. Fast as you can without breaking anything important.”

The pilot gave a thumbs-up and the chopper banked, engines climbing in pitch.

I looked at Jami, still working—wiping Sebastian’s face gently with a sterile cloth, checking the small gash on his temple again. “You’re a nurse too?”

Jami flashed a quick, professional smile without looking up. “Yes. It’s how I met Hunter. He had broken his leg.”

Hunter grinned, unrepentant. “I jumped off a balcony while drunk and a little high. Anyway, I got an encrypted message from Adrien, with a ping on where the yacht was and to get a team together asap, preferably military and some medical help. It was weirdly quick to find these guys.” He pointed at the two tactical operators now securing gear in the back. “There was like an app, but I couldn’t find a doctor or anything. Then I remembered Jami at Dad’s airport was a nurse and figured good enough. Sebby is stronger than he seems. He’ll pull through.”

“Shit, you got a message from Adrien?” I stared at him, the name landing like a stone in still water.

Hunter nodded. “Yeah. Came through maybe forty minutes ago. I was unsure if I could trust him or not. But I decided to just do as he said, since you seemed to trust him or whatever, even if he left you at the villa.”

I swallowed, throat raw from salt and shouting. “He was there. On the yacht. Struck a deal with Dad.”

Hunter’s eyebrows shot up. “What? That fucker?”

“No,” I said quietly, eyes drifting back to Sebastian’s pale face under the oxygen mask. “I kinda get it. He did it for his little brother.” I reached out and took Sebastian’s cold hand in mine, squeezing gently. “I get that.”

Sebastian’s fingers twitched in my grip. His eyelids fluttered, then opened slowly, gray eyes hazy and confused. He blinked a few times, wincing at the cabin lights.

“Bryson! Oh dear.” His voice was a dry rasp under the mask.

“I’m here,” I said, leaning closer, still holding his hand. “We’re safe. Hunter came. Explosion… we jumped. You got hit by some debris but you’re okay. Jami’s looking after you.”

Jami moved smoothly—checking the cut again, applying a fresh gauze pad with gentle pressure, then adjusting the heat blanket higher around Sebastian’s neck. “Easy there. Don’t try to sit up yet. Just breathe steady for me. Can you tell me your name and where you are?”

Sebastian managed a weak, very British scoff. “Sebastian Tucker… floating in a bloody helicopter, apparently.” His gaze found mine again, grip tightening. “You’re freezing.”

“So are you,” I muttered, but I didn’t let go of his hand.

Jami continued his checks—pulse, breathing sounds with a stethoscope pressed lightly to Sebastian’s chest, another quick pupil response. “Good. Responding well. We’ll get that scan soon. Just rest.”

Hunter watched the whole thing, arms crossed. “See? Told you he’s tougher than he looks.”

I kept Sebastian’s hand in mine as the chopper thrummed onward through the night, the lights of the coast finally appearing on the horizon. The warmth of his fingers, faint but there, was the only thing that felt real right now.

Then the pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom, sharp and urgent.

“Contact. Another chopper, closing fast from the southeast. No transponder. Armed.”

My stomach dropped. I knew before I even looked.

I leaned toward the open door, squinting into the darkness. “Shit! That’s Dad’s bird. The Legacy’s private helo. He must’ve doubled back when the yacht went up.”

The military pilot banked hard, the deck tilting beneath us. Sebastian gripped my hand tighter, his eyes widening behind the mask. Jami braced himself against the bulkhead, one hand still on Sebastian’s shoulder.

“Get us out of here!” Hunter shouted toward the cockpit.

“Working on it,” the pilot replied, voice tight. “They’re faster.”

A burst of gunfire cracked through the night—sharp pops that punched holes in the air around us. One round pinged off the fuselage with a metallic clang. The chopper shuddered but kept flying.

The two tactical guys were already moving, unstrapping and positioning themselves at the open door. One raised his rifle, sighting down the barrel. The other checked his magazine with quick, practiced motions.

“Return fire?” the first operator called out, voice steady but edged.

I froze, heart slamming against my ribs. “Wait—don’t shoot them down. That could be our father up there.”

Another burst came from Dad’s chopper, closer this time. Rounds whipped past the open door, one slicing through the cabin wall inches from Hunter’s head. Sparks flew. Jami yanked Sebastian lower, shielding him with his body as best he could.

Sebastian’s face was pale, but his eyes burned with something fierce. He pulled the oxygen mask down just enough to speak, voice raw. “Bryson… they’re trying to finish the job.”

Hunter crouched beside me, gripping my shoulder. “Bro, they’re not here for tea and biscuits. If we don’t shoot back, we’re fish food.”

More gunfire. The military chopper jinked left, then right, evasive maneuvers that threw us all against our harnesses. One of the tactical operators leaned out and squeezed off a short burst—warning shots, high and wide. Dad’s helicopter didn’t flinch. It kept closing, its own door gunner pouring fire our way. A round slammed into the tail rotor assembly with a sickening thud. The whole aircraft vibrated violently.

“Bry!” Sebastian shouted over the roar, his free hand clutching the edge of the heat blanket. “Shoot that bastard! He tried to kill us, Bry! It’s us or him!”

I stared at him, chest tight, the cold sea still clinging to my skin. The brother I’d protected in that penthouse all those years ago—the one who’d ironed his own socks and read manga while Dad tore him down—was looking at me with pure, desperate certainty.

He met my eyes, steady despite the pain and exhaustion. “Do it.”

The words landed like a punch. My jaw clenched. I gave the slightest nod.

The lead tactical operator didn’t wait for more. He leaned out the door, rifle shouldered, and opened up with controlled bursts. The second operator joined him a heartbeat later, the combined fire lighting up the night in bright muzzle flashes.

Dad’s chopper tried to evade, banking sharply, but it was too late. Rounds stitched across its fuselage. One hit the engine pod—sparks, then black smoke billowing into the darkness. It wobbled, its own gunfire going wild, tracers cutting erratic lines through the sky.

“Come on…” Hunter muttered, teeth gritted.

Another sustained burst from our side. The smoke from Dad’s chopper thickened, flames licking from the side. It lost altitude fast, spinning slowly as the pilot fought for control. For a few agonizing seconds it hung there, silhouetted against the distant city glow, rotors still churning desperately.

Then it dropped.

The helicopter plummeted toward the Atlantic, a fiery streak against the black water. It hit hard—a massive splash that sent white spray exploding upward, followed by a secondary explosion as fuel ignited on impact. Orange flames bloomed across the surface, roaring for a moment before the sea began to swallow the wreckage whole.

The cabin fell eerily quiet except for the steady beat of our own rotors and the wind rushing past the open door. Smoke and the smell hung thick in the air.

I stared out at the dying flames on the water, my hand still locked with Sebastian’s. The tension in my chest didn’t ease—it just shifted into something heavier, colder. That could be our father down there. The man who had raised us, however badly. The man who had just tried to murder his own sons to protect his legacy.

Sebastian squeezed my fingers, his voice quiet but firm. “It was him or us, Bry. You know that.”

Hunter clapped a hand on my shoulder, his ridiculous camo somehow still intact. “He made his choice. We made ours.”

Jami was already back at work, checking Sebastian’s vitals again, voice calm and professional. “We’re clear for now. Let’s get you both to that hospital.”

The pilot leveled us out, heading straight for the coast. The night sky stretched endless around us, the flames on the water shrinking smaller and smaller until they were just a faint glow on the horizon.

I leaned back against the bulkhead, Sebastian’s hand still in mine, the weight of everything settling over me like wet linen. We were alive. For now. But the endgame wasn’t over—not even close.

◆◆◆

The military chopper touched down on the helipad of a private medical facility just outside the city limits, rotors still whipping the air as the doors slid open. Paramedics were already waiting with a gurney, their faces tight with professional focus under the harsh floodlights.

Jami and one of the tactical operators helped lift Sebastian out first, careful with the heat blanket and oxygen mask. He was conscious but groggy, eyes half-lidded as they wheeled him inside. I stayed right beside the gurney, one hand still gripping his, my wet clothes leaving a trail of seawater across the polished floor.

“Possible head trauma from debris impact during water evacuation,” Jami called out to the trauma team, voice crisp and efficient. “Hypothermia risk, but vitals stable on arrival. Needs a full CT scan stat.”

They rushed Sebastian through the swinging doors into the ER, the wheels of the gurney clattering. I tried to follow, but a nurse gently blocked me. “Let’s stabilize him first. We’ll update you as soon as we can.”

Hunter appeared at my side, still in that absurd gold-trimmed camo, looking completely out of place under the sterile hospital lights. “He’ll be alright, mate. Sebby’s tougher than he looks. Go get yourself checked too—you’re shivering like a wet dog.”

I shook my head, eyes fixed on the doors where they’d taken my brother. “Not until I know about Sebastian.”

They let me sit in a small waiting area just outside the imaging suite. Hunter paced nearby, occasionally stepping out to make hushed calls. The two tactical operators had already melted away—discreet, professional, gone as quietly as they’d arrived. Jami stayed, hovering between us and the nurses’ station, occasionally checking in with updates.

Time dragged in that awful hospital way—minutes stretching into what felt like hours under the buzzing fluorescent lights. A doctor finally emerged, chart in hand.

“Sebastian Tucker?” he asked, looking between Hunter and me.

I stood up too fast, legs still unsteady from the cold. “That’s my brother. How is he?”

The doctor nodded, expression measured. “He’s stable. The CT scan shows a mild concussion and a small laceration on the temple, but no intracranial bleeding or fractures. He’s got some bruising and mild hypothermia, but we’ve got him on warm fluids and monitoring. He’s awake and asking for you.”

Relief hit me so hard my knees almost buckled. “Can I see him?”

“Briefly. He needs rest.”

They led me into a quiet room where Sebastian lay propped up in the bed, the oxygen mask gone, replaced by a nasal cannula. A fresh bandage covered the side of his head, and an IV dripped steadily into his arm. He looked pale and exhausted, but his eyes found mine immediately, a faint, very British smirk tugging at his lips.

“Bry,” he said, voice hoarse. “You look like absolute shit.”

I let out a shaky laugh and dropped into the chair beside the bed, reaching for his hand again. “Yeah, well, you’re not winning any beauty contests either. How do you feel?”

“Like I jumped off a flaming yacht into the Atlantic. Which… I did.” He squeezed my fingers weakly. “Did they… get him? Father?”

I hesitated, thumb rubbing over his knuckles. “We don’t know. No news. We saw it hit the water and explode, but… we don’t know if he was actually on it. Could’ve been just the pilot and gunner. Or he might’ve jumped earlier. We just don’t know yet.”

Sebastian stared at the ceiling for a long moment, jaw tight. “Christ. Part of me hopes he wasn’t. The other part…” He trailed off, then shook his head slightly. “Doesn’t matter right now. We’re alive. That’s what counts.”

Hunter poked his head in, still ridiculous in his camo. “Doctors say you’re both going to live. Miracle, really. I’ve got a car waiting whenever you’re ready to move—somewhere safer than this. And yes, I already paid for the private wing. No paparazzi, no questions.”

I nodded at him gratefully, then turned back to Sebastian. “Rest for now. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

Sebastian’s eyes drifted shut, but his grip on my hand didn’t loosen. “Don’t go far, idiot.”

“I won’t.”

The monitors beeped steadily in the quiet room. Outside the window, the first hints of dawn were starting to lighten the sky. We had survived the night—jumped into freezing water, watched our father’s helicopter crash into the Atlantic, and somehow made it to dry land.

But the uncertainty lingered like a shadow. Was Dad really gone? Or was this just another move in his endless game?

For now, though, Sebastian was breathing, warm blankets were piled on both of us, and Hunter was already coordinating the next steps from the hallway.

That would have to be enough.

I was still holding Sebastian’s hand, half-dozing in the chair beside his bed, when the door to the private room opened without a knock.

Two men in dark suits stepped inside, followed by a uniformed NYPD officer and a woman in an FBI windbreaker. Their faces were serious, badges visible on their belts. The lead agent — a tall Black man in his forties with sharp eyes — scanned the room quickly before his gaze settled on me.

“Bryson Tucker?” he asked, voice calm but firm.

I sat up straighter, instantly alert. “Yeah. That’s me.”

Hunter appeared in the doorway behind them, his ridiculous gold-trimmed camo still damp in places, looking completely out of place. His easy grin was gone, replaced by a tight, wary expression.

The agent didn’t waste time. “I’m Special Agent Ramirez, FBI. This is Agent Kowalski. We need you and Mr. Maddox to come with us for questioning regarding the incident last night off the coast. A private helicopter went down in flames. There are reports of gunfire. We have a lot of questions.”

Sebastian stirred in the bed, eyes fluttering open, confusion and alarm crossing his face. “What’s going on?”

Agent Kowalski, the woman, immediately moved closer to his bedside, her tone shifting to something gentler but still professional. “Mr. Sebastian Tucker? We’ll need a statement from you as well once you’re cleared by the doctors. For now, just rest. We’ll have someone come back later today.”

I squeezed Sebastian’s hand once before letting go and standing up. My clothes were still stiff with dried seawater. “It’s okay, Seb. Just… procedure.”

Agent Ramirez’s expression didn’t soften. “We’d prefer if you came voluntarily, but we can make it official if necessary.”

Hunter stepped forward, hands raised slightly. “Easy, guys. We’re happy to talk.”

The female agent glanced at Sebastian again, then back at me. “Mr. Tucker, you and Mr. Maddox are not under arrest at this time. But we do need statements. Now.”

I looked back at Sebastian. His face was pale, but his eyes were steady, silently telling me he’d be okay. I gave him a small nod.

“Alright,” I said, voice tired but steady. “Let’s get this over with.”

As the agents escorted Hunter and me out of the room, Agent Kowalski stayed behind with Sebastian, already pulling out a small notebook. I caught one last glimpse of my brother watching us go, the beeping of monitors fading behind us.