After narrowly saving the Pogues from being captured by Sheriff Shoupe and his deputies, Rafe found himself at the helm of the boat, steering them toward Morocco. Despite the shared urgency of their mission to reach Groff, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken animosity. Rafe’s unease was palpable—he didn’t trust the Pogues, and they certainly didn’t trust him. His grudging cooperation was driven more by self-interest than any sense of loyalty.

Rafe gripped the wheel with white-knuckled determination, steering the boat into the open ocean. He eventually stepped away, leaving the course to autopilot, and approached John B, his expression guarded but calculating. Neither of them liked or trusted the other, but they both knew they needed this uneasy alliance to work—at least for now.

Rafe: "I get you to North Africa, you get me to Groff. Deal?" he said with a sharp tone.

John B studied him, cautious but resigned.

John B: "We want the same thing,"

Before Rafe could respond, JJ stormed in from below deck, face red with anger.

JJ: "Hey, Rafe!" he yelled, then landed a brutal right hook to Rafe’s jaw, knocking him out cold.

John B: He glared at his friend before kneeling beside Rafe, as Sarah, Kiara, and Cleo quickly excused themselves from the room. "Seriously, JJ?"

JJ: "What? He had it coming!" The blonde fired back, shaking his hand.

Pope: He gave JJ a disapproving look. "Now he’s definitely not on our side,"

JJ: "He was never on our side."

John B: "Pope, grab the rope. We need to tie him up before he wakes up." He sighed, raking a hand through his hair.