“How?”
“She went out to get coffee. I was asleep and…” I stop, irritated enough at myself without having to recount the fucking events to a brother who’s judging every damn move I’ve made. “Black van. I saw three of them.”
More silence comes after that, giving me time to calculate each possibility that could come for us now and send the plate number to several contacts, Quinn included.
His phone beeps, the message coming through as I read through the Yakuza info again.
“I’ve got the plate details,” he says, a snide chuckle coming across the line that fills me with a dread I’m trying to supress. Dread’s the last thing I need. Cold gets this done. Cold and ruthless. Quinn’s always been right about that if nothing else, and for once it’s ebbing through me with no thought for the decency I’ve tried to hold onto my whole life. “I’ll check the ports and access out of Antwerp.”
I stand and start pulling my things together, barely acknowledging the apartment around me as I tow luggage and crap I don’t give one fuck about. It’s enough to have me staring blankly into the room and idling, hatred crawling through my skin and warning me of that Cane blood that’s riling itself up inside. I’ll kill them if they touch one damn hair on her head. I’ll do it bare handed, let that hatred consume me until there’s nothing left of me.
“I can hear the Cane in you, brother.” Another chuckle comes down the line at me as I stare into space. It has all the resentment and bitterness for Cane life washing what was left of honour out of me completely.
I snarl into the phone and let it come as I pull in breaths, let it pour visions of her scared and alone to the forefront, so I can focus on what needs to be done. He knows this shit, knows it’s balled up inside me even after all my time dampening it down. He’s always damn well known, hasn’t he? No matter how much I’ve tried to keep level and calm, be the honest one who keeps him in check, he’s always seen it in me. He’s asked for it when needed. “She’s safe, Nate. Calm down. She’s useful to them for the time being.”
“I know that,” I snap at him. I do. For now, at least. “I’ll meet you at the airport.”
I end the call and pick up my laptop, choosing to leave everything else behind as I swing on my jacket. Nothing else is needed, only the focus that becomes more acute with every step I take out of this apartment down towards the road below. I stop on the sidewalk and look around, imagining her here, and then notice the empty coffee cups on the ground, liquid still spilling from them and muddying the pristine snow.
My hand raises for a taxi, flagging him down, but I wander to the coffee as he pulls over and rub my toe in the stuff, trudging it into the snow some more until it becomes a murky mix of sludge and stain. I’m transfixed by it for some reason, analysing it for clues maybe. But there’s nothing, is there? Only the latent imprint of her hand holding two cups, a smile on her face as she comes back to me and proves she can go out on her own. One for me. One for her. Two cups. Two. Together. I look at the cups, still side by side, coffee bleeding together and mingling.
The taxi horn beeps, causing me to glower at the interruption and just about stop the desire to yank the guy from the car. Fuck him. And fuck these streets. Why the fuck did I let her bring us here? Chicago was safe. Quinn was right, and now she’s gone and it’s my own damn fault. I should have locked her down, kept her safe and secure so I could control everything around us.
My feet crunch through the snow to get to the car, the door slamming behind me as I tell the guy to get me to the airport fast. All there is on the journey is a rally of emails and phone calls coming in from contacts, none of them knowing a damn thing to help. Why would they? It’s fucking Antwerp. I know no one here. The only hope I’ve got is that my information from the files Quinn sent, along with whatever he’s managed to get out of Marco about Andreas, is enough to counter the move the Yakuza are about to make. I don’t even know if it’s her they’re really after anymore. It’s more likely her brother. Hell, it could be Cane.
That’s been enough of a deviation to have me locking everything we have up tighter than it’s ever been, solidifying it into something transferable should the need come, and moving it out of Quinn’s control. Land, acquisitions, money—it’s all clean now, and most of it is hidden in plain sight through channels he knows nothing of, but it’s not the paper trail they’ll be after if they are coming for us, not entirely. It’s the network, the power Quinn’s trying to hold on to. Legal or not, they’ll want it all from him regardless of how well I’ve hidden it.
His life, too.
That shit’s not acceptable.
We arrive eventually, and brusque steps have me travelling through security and into the first-class terminal, searching for our jet through the windows.
“Sir?” a man says. “Can I help?”
“There,” I snap at him, pointing at Andrew as he walks down the steps from the jet and starts talking to the guys refuelling. “That’s my pilot. Get me out to him.”
“Sir, if you could just come to the lounge I can go through procedures and checks before—”
“I’ve been fucking checked,” I grate out, snapping my eyes back to the plane and noting Quinn at the top of the steps. He looks into the terminal, hands in his pockets and a smile on his face as if he’s got all the time in the world. He hasn’t, and nor have I. “That’s my brother. The Cane plane. Out. There. Now.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I’m hurried through without any more conversation from the fool, doors opening for me now they’ve realised who I am. Damn right. The fucking cart they offer to pretentious dicks gets waved off as useless as I get to the tarmac. I keep walking towards the bottom of the jet’s steps instead, intent on using my power to get this job done before it turns messy.
“It’s cold here,” Quinn says. What the fuck? I stride past him into the interior, laptop out and on the table before he’s managed to follow me in. “You’re not gonna live here, are you?”
“What?”
“Antwerp? You hate the cold.”
“Quinn, the van plate?”
He ambles by and turns his laptop to me, opening an email box so I can see the content.
“We’re tracking the flight. It left twenty minutes ago. Van brought her here just before I landed. She went with four men and a woman. Two Japanese.” How the fuck he’s found this out I don’t know, or care, but relief floods me nonetheless.
“She okay?”
“She was alive. That’s all I know.”
“Where?”
“Course set for the States according to Andrew. He doesn’t know more than that yet.” He sits opposite me and stares. His dice come out of his pocket as if he’s got something to say that I won’t want to hear. I duck back down again and look at the screen, scanning the information available. There’s little of use short of the fact that someone saw the van and her alive in it. “You okay?”
My brow raises, head looking over the top of his laptop at him. Concern? That shit’s not gonna work. “Pissed.” At everything.
“Hmm. You know what this is about yet?” I listen to the clunk of those cubes rolling around his palm and consider the possible truth that could well set our world ablaze. He needs to know. He does, no matter how small the threat might be to us, because no amount of me analysing Gabby’s problem is going to make the potential danger to Cane fuck off. “’Cause I’m thinking you’ve got something to tell me, Nate.”
I sigh and push his laptop closed, mine following suit as I hear the doors close and the engine start up. “What did you find out from Marco?”
“Not a lot. New deal with Andreas Alves gone wrong. He’s moving into diamonds to stave off boredom in this safe world of yours.” I frown at the thought of safety. “Half the diamonds are now missing, which your woman is supposed to be looking for. For him.” My woman. The thought has the frown lifting slightly. “He doesn’t know what happened to them. I assume you do.”
“Yakuza, according to Gabby�
�s contacts.” He nods and grinds the dice some more. “And two Japanese guys taking her makes that more plausible.” He frowns and mutters something. “But neither she, nor I, can work out what they want with her. Aside from using her to get to her brother, and in doing that, the Miami port access. We went over it again and again. Nothing. She got mad in the end, told me to stop attacking her for things she didn’t know answers to.” I stare at him, wondering how this shit’s going to go down. “My assumption would now include something to do with us rather than just her brother.” The dice stop in his hand.
“Why?”
“Because of what you said before we fought weeks ago, and because I’m now linked to her. It might not originally have been us, might still not be us entirely, but like you said that day in the office, they’re coming for us. What’s better than a ransom? It’s the quickest way to get what they want from Cane. Pushing you hasn’t worked, so I’m thinking they’re trying to coerce it now.” He frowns. “And our drug access in and out of Chicago is just as lucrative as Miami, regardless of if we still use it that way or not.”
“But she doesn’t mean shit to me.” A smile nudges his mouth.
Asshole.
I glare and wait for an apology. None comes as the wheels leave the ground. He just returns the stare, barely acknowledging her as relevant in his life. The sneer that crosses my lips doesn’t go unnoticed.
“But you don’t have the keys to everything, Quinn, do you?” He lifts his chin at me, anger lacing every fucking feature on his face all of a sudden. Screw him. “I do.” He stands so abruptly it makes me sit back a little, my own chin lifted ready for whatever aggravated attack he might try for. Tough. I’m in control now. And I’m using it. “My codes. My deals. My fucking gamble.” The fury that grows in him brings a smile across my own lips, a light chuckle coming as I keep watching his mood swing. “Sit the fuck down, brother. This is my game now.”
Time passes, and nothing is said as we follow the plane she’s on to fuck knows where. I carry on with the last of my work, infiltrating whatever accounts I can manage and not caring if he’s pissed or not. My plan. My strategy. I’ve worked on it for days, knowing this shit might come. We will not go in with only guns blazing, and he can shut the fuck up with his attitude and posturing. It’s a standoff that’s never happened between us before—not once—and it’s about damn time it did. Love does shit like this to people. It’s the same as when he asked me to accept Emily regardless of what happened, asked me to welcome her into our home. I did, for him. And this now? This is for me and what I want. He’ll do whatever I ask of him and he’ll fucking smile as he does it, thanking me for saving his goddamn life if I can manage that. Maybe then he can have his control back.
Maybe.
“You’d give it all away for her?” he eventually says, fists still crushing those dice at his sides regardless of his calm words.
I widen my smile, remembering the way she laughs and wanting nothing more than to hear it again. On a beach. In my house. On the floor as I fuck her. Life is empty without it now. So yes, I would. I’d give everything I’ve ever made away for that sound by my side again. Cane empire or not.
“Not if I can help it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dark.
That’s all I’ve known for the past however long. I wasn’t in the van for long before being shoved out the door onto concrete. Without any idea of where I was, and having my hands tied, meant I landed pretty hard. One of the men dragged me to my feet and pushed me up some metal steps. The clang of each step echoed in my ears before it went quiet and I was forced into a soft seat.
We’ve now been sitting for a while on a plane, a small one. It’s probably a private charter judging by the sound of the engine. I have no reference as to where we’re travelling, just my own guess at how long we’ve been in the air, which is precisely no idea. Time has a funny way of lasting a lot longer than you think when you’re pumped full of fear.
The men who took me must be Yakuza. There’s no other theory I can fathom. They’ve spoken very little English since we boarded, just endless Japanese. I was given a bottle of water shortly after we took off. When I pushed up the material of my mask so I could take a drink, someone from behind leaned over my seat and covered my eyes so there would be no way to slip the hood off my head accidentally.
“I need to go to the bathroom.” I wish I didn’t, but my body doesn’t appreciate the situation I’m in. I hear a few people mumble, perhaps between two of them, before I’m pulled out of my seat.
“This would be a lot easier if I could see.”
“No.” It’s not the man who spoke to me in the van. Assuming there are just the three people I saw, perhaps a driver? Realistically, I don’t know how many people are on-board, what they want, or if I’m even going to get out of this with my life.
He shoves me into what I guess is the bathroom. My hands lift instinctively to brace my fall forwards. I hear a slight click and wait. My heart drums in my ear as I listen to check if I’m alone. In my head I count to five and then scramble to take the hood off, pushing it back and off my head as if I suddenly need to be free of it to breathe. When the scratchy material is off, I resist opening my eyes right away.
Logically, I’ve been hidden in the dark for so many hours, I need to adjust to the light first. But I also don’t want to admit to the situation I’m in. I tease my eyes open and flutter them for a few moments, letting the light in to illuminate where I am.
It’s a small, well-appointed bathroom. Nothing too fancy but definitely not from a commercial flight. My guard is probably keeping time, so I quickly relieve myself before looking around the tiny room. My hands are still bound, but they are in front of me. I set the water running while I open the two slimline cupboards. Towels and toilet paper only. Nothing of use. The handles and fixtures would take too long to try and break off, and realistically, what am I going to do with a door handle?
A resonating thud shakes the room, and I know my time is up. I’m not going to make it easy on them, though. The horrible hood that’s kept me blind the whole journey isn’t going over my head again. I stuff the material down the toilet and flush several times, hoping it will get stuck. Then, as I push down on the door handle, I press all my weight against the door, hoping to knock my babysitter out of the way.
A crack followed by a low grumble tells me I hit my mark, so I barge against the door and push my way past. My eyes zip around the interior of the plane, taking in as much as I can. It’s all cream leather with wood panelling, nothing like a commercial plane. A bank of two four-seat sectionals take up most of the space, each with a table between the seats. A few single seats on the opposite side of the aisle make this a twelve-person plane. Two other men sit in the rear sectional. They stand when they see I’ve exited without my hood.
A lot of hand gestures and what I’m sure is Japanese come firing at me. Everything sounds very serious and insistent, but I hold my ground.
“Let her sit.” A female voice rings out above all the commotion, and both men freeze in their tracks. I use the opportunity to take my seat, walking past the men who haven’t moved an inch since the order was issued. Clearly, she’s the one in charge.
From my position, I can’t quite see the woman. Her seat is in front of mine on the opposite side of the cabin. She’s kept herself away from me and the men—presumably the muscle to keep me in line.
All the men settle back into their seats around me. My heartbeat picks up as I wait for my guard to come back. He sits opposite, his nose red and a lump developing nicely on his forehead. The smirk inside me is desperate to escape but I know the importance of keeping my poker face. If they learn how terrified I am, they’ll play on it.
Minutes tick past with no conversation or movement. I’m left inside my head wondering what Nate is doing back in Antwerp. If he thought I ran out on him again… No.
No, he wouldn’t. I wrote a note. He knows how I feel about him.
Doubt
eats at my core, causing the steel-like strength I’m summoning to crack. I’ve been kidnapped by the Yakuza for god only knows what end. And the man I love may be some kind of gangster. I couldn’t have made this scenario up if I tried.
As time passes, the murmurings of conversation pop up between the men. None of them addresses the woman or me directly. I listen, but there are no words that betray anything I can understand.
My buddy opposite has remained quiet, the bump on his head growing in size each time I glance over. “Does it hurt?” I ask, motioning to my head in the same spot.
Immediately, his brows close together, and his face turns to thunder. A crackle of tension runs through the air, and I regret my words. It was the pressure from all the hostility weighing me down. I had to say something.
I brace myself for a punch or slap, but nothing comes from him. Instead, the woman, anonymous until now, stands and turns to me.
Her jet-black hair is silky smooth, trailing down her back. Her suit is immaculate and cut so crisply you could cut yourself on the edges. Her face holds no emotion, no expression, but she turns me to stone. She glides the few feet to stand in front of the table that separates me from my captor.
I thought the men were intimidating, but this woman sets a feeling inside of me that wipes out any hope or light at the end of the tunnel. She’s all business. No messing. She fiddles with something in her hand, and my eyes drop to see what it is. It’s then she strikes.
A blow to my cheekbone, so precise and delivered with so much force it knocks me sideways. My entire face feels like it’s going to explode from the pain. I struggle to right myself with my hands still tied, but I do, easing myself back to sitting. The pressure around my eye immediately hinders my sight, and I can feel my cheek swelling and press against my eyelid.
I look at her hand and see a metal plate running along her palm. The reverse of a knuckle duster. The tears sting and as I hold my breath to keep them locked inside, the throbbing in my cheek grows.
Devious Eyes (A Cane Novel Book 2) Page 20
