by Gwyn McNamee
But I can’t let that interfere with what needs to happen.
Until I have that cargo safe and sound and delivered to the Marconis, I can’t let her go. And the longer she’s here, the more information she has on us and the more likely she will run straight to the police as soon as we release her, and we’ll be caught.
Fuck.
This is precisely why I’ve always had the no hostage rule. There’s no good way to handle a captive, and feeling helpless doesn’t sit well with me.
Yet, here we are, at the mercy of Mother Nature and the Marconis’ demands…and trying to wrangle the spitfire upstairs.
“I guess all we can do is wait, then.”
Rion nods and takes another drink of his beer. “You want one?” He raises the bottle.
I shake my head and narrow my eyes at him. It’s not even noon yet. “No, I’ll need something stronger eventually, but not until I know what’s going on. We may need to get out of here quickly. I want to have my wits about me.”
“Good call, man. This will be my last one.”
Which means he’s already had others this early in the morning. It might worry me, but it doesn’t matter how many he has. Rion’s a fucking tank. I’ve seen him drink a six-pack in half an hour and not feel anything. It’s one of the reasons he never advanced very far in the military.
When you drink like a fish and don’t want to give that up, it tends to cause problems with your superiors. Rion’s a beast, a hard worker, and loyal as hell, but he wasn’t willing to give up his love of alcohol, even though he can hold it.
He would’ve ended up like Cutter. An unstoppable machine with the skill set that gives people nightmares.
Rion is one scary motherfucker in his own right, but if he could do what Cutter can, on top of his size and strength…
Hell.
I chuckle to myself.
“What’s so funny?”
I sigh and drop down into the chair next to the table and lean back. Milo curls at my feet with a huff. “Nothing.”
There is absolutely nothing funny about this situation. All this should have been over years ago. When I went to work for Il Padrone, it was out of pure desperation to save the business. Il Padrone saw a young kid with a certain skill set, willing to break the law and do just about anything to protect the family legacy and make some money. He took advantage of that. And while my moral flexibility has certainly come in handy, it doesn’t mean I want to keep doing this the rest of my life.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” The words echo through the cavernous warehouse, mingling with another roll of thunder and the driving rain. I slam my palms on the table then run them back through my hair.
Rion’s eyes flick up to my bedroom. “You aren’t worried that you left her alone up there?”
I snort. “What the hell is she going to do? That staircase is the only way down and we’re sitting right here.”
Although, I’m confident she will sneak around my room and look for anything useful. Seeing my journal in her hand, the way she was reading the words I scribbled before I climbed in the shower, angered me more than I thought it would.
No one has ever seen it. No one has ever read it. It’s only for me—a holdout Mom started when I was young and she told me I needed an outlet for my thoughts and my anger.
I never thought I’d still be doing it at twenty-six. I never thought I’d be doing this at any point though, and knowing Grace read those words, that she knows how much trouble we are really in, has me gritting my teeth and biting back another round of curses.
But I have the journal now, and there’s nothing else up there for her to get into that can cause me any problems.
The SAT phone on the table rings, and Rion practically jumps to grab it. He glances at the screen. His brow drops and he scowls. “It’s Arturo.”
“Motherfucker.”
Using that phone is a last resort only. Something we rarely pull out. Only a handful of people know the number, and that’s intentional. If we want to be reached, we will be. Otherwise, we operate under the radar as much as possible. Of course, the Marconis have the number. They must always have a way to get ahold of their lapdogs.
Why does it have to be Arturo?
I’d much rather be dealing with the big man himself. Il Padrone is one tough motherfucker, but the number two in the Marconi family is another level of evil compared to his uncle.
He has his sights set on taking over the family business, sooner rather than later, and he’s doing everything in his power to ensure he strengthens the hold the Marconis already have over Chicago.
He’s the one who made the call and ordered us to take the shipment for them. I can’t even remember the last time I spoke with Il Padrone personally. He made it clear Arturo spoke for him and that we were to do whatever he asked. Arturo’s the one who has been doing most of the dirty work with his uncle seemingly preoccupied doing God knows what.
I’m not privy to what is going on. All I know is, Arturo is the one who’s been calling the shots and making the threats lately. If anything were ever to happen to Il Padrone, I’m sure Arturo would insist our deal continues with the family and doesn’t die with him.
Paying off this debt is becoming a giant black cloud. I despise being at the beck and call of the Marconis, but I know better than to argue. That would mean a death sentence, not only for me but for the rest of the guys as well.
I can’t put them in that position, which is why I’ve bitten my tongue, sucked up my pride, and done what’s been ordered the last five years even though I know Mom and Dad are looking down at me, devastated by what I’ve been up to.
But I had to do it to save the business. The only thing Dad left me was the boats and some mixed memories. I can’t lose it…as stupid and sentimental as that may sound.
I clear my throat and rise to my feet to grab the phone from Rion. “Arturo, what can we do for you?”
He chuckles low. “You can start by bringing me my delivery. You should’ve been here by now.”
Which is precisely why my gut is churning and my blood won’t stop thumping in my ears.
I’m not even entirely sure how much we got or if the boys will get it back here safely. There’s no way I can tell Arturo that.
I have to stall.
“I know, man, but we have some major weather up here that has us behind schedule.”
Rion raises an eyebrow and watches me, undoubtedly wondering why I’m lying to one of the most powerful mobsters in the United States. A man who could literally crush my nuts in a second.
“A storm?” His skepticism grates through the phone.
“Yes, check on the radar. It’s tearing up the lake. Maybe it’s missing Chicago, but we had to take shelter for a while and do some repairs to damage to our boat.”
Even through the momentary silence on the line, I can practically see his dark eyes flashing with anger. “How long of a delay are we talking?”
My heart leaps at the opening. This actually buys us some time. “Well, the weather report is saying the storms could last well into tomorrow or the next day. My boats can handle a lot, but after the damage they sustained, it will take a day or two to even get them back to working order before we can head down that way.”
“A day or two?” The words are icy cold.
I raise my eyebrow at Rion but he offers no help. “Yeah, a day or two.”
Silence from the other end of the line has my fist clenching around the phone.
“You have twenty-four hours. If my shipment isn’t here by then, you’re going to have to answer for it.”
The line goes dead, and I toss the phone onto the table. “Well, fuck!”
Rion and I drop down in the chairs opposite each other. He motions toward the abandoned phone. “Well, what are we going to do?”
It’s just like Arturo to give veiled threats. He’s not dumb enough to flat out say what he’ll do with us. We know. Everyone knows, which is why nobody fucks with the Marconis. The only people wors
e are the Gashis. Even I wouldn’t touch those crazy Albanian fuckers with a ten-foot pole.
“We wait until E and Cutter get back. We figure out how much of the shipment we lost, and we go from there.”
It’s all we can do at this point.
He sighs and drains the last of his beer. “I know I said I wasn’t going to have another one…”
I wave a hand at him. “Bring me one, too.”
We might as well drown our sorrows while we wait.
“What are you going to do about her?” He nods up toward my bedroom.
I release a heavy sigh. “Right now, I plan to stick to my word and release her as soon as this all gets taken care of.”
“And what if it doesn’t get taken care of? What if we need to use her? Or what if she threatens to expose us?”
Visions of her red hair splayed out across my pillowcase, the way her lips parted slightly as her soft, deep breaths puffed in and out during her sleep flash before my eyes. A deep ache forms in the center of my chest, and I rub at it.
“I’ll do what needs to be done.”
I always do.
6
Grace
Pounding footsteps echo down what can only be metal stairs, ringing in my ears even through the closed door.
Yep. He’s pissed.
Rightly so, I guess. I shouldn’t have questioned him. I shouldn’t have brought up what I overheard. And I sure as hell shouldn’t have read his diary.
But how could I not?
The man kidnapped me, and he’s already more contradictory than the Catholic Church. One minute, his black eyes are emotionless and hard, and the next, they soften to an almost gray and he seems…lost.
He would have to be…to be doing this.
What a damn mess.
There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep again, so I snatch a book off the bookcase without bothering to even look at the title. Getting lost in anything would be better than thinking about and dealing with the situation here.
If I do, if I really think about it…I may totally lose my shit, and staying calm is the only way I’m getting out of this unscathed.
I’m smart enough to know that. I’m also smart enough not to even try to escape until I figure out where we are and if it’s even possible. I can’t run without knowing the crew is safe. And I’m not even sure if I need to. He says he’ll release me.
Do I really believe it?
Part of me does, or at least wants to.
Thunder rolls, shaking the row of windows against their frames even though they’re on the inside of the building.
That’s one nasty storm out there, and despite the circumstances, I’m glad I’m at least inside. I wouldn’t want to be on the water during this. Although, by now, the Neptune’s Daughter would be in Milwaukee and we’d be enjoying a day or two in the city while we wait for the cargo to be unloaded. Instead, I’m stuck in this room, in only God knows where, with these crazy men.
Don’t think about it too much…
I drop back on the bed and lean against the headboard to open the book I grabbed. Moby Dick.
Ha.
I chuckle to myself. Sort of ironic.
The soft, old leather of the book cover glides under my fingertips. I flip it open.
Holy shit.
1851. First edition.
This book is worth a fortune.
What’s a guy like him doing with a book like this?
I flip to the next page and freeze. A handwritten note, in a light, delicate scroll.
Don’t read it, Grace. It’s none of your business.
But I’ve never been good at containing my curiosity.
He did say I could look at the books…
That should include everything inside them, right?
It’s enough justification for me.
War,
I know this was always one of your favorites. A story of surviving the perils of the sea and friendship. I hope you never lose your love of the water.
Love, Mom
My eyes automatically drift to the photo on the dresser, and I push up from the bed and slowly walk over to it.
The smiling couple and little boy make my heart ache. It has to be Warwick and his parents—the same dark eyes on father and son.
How could a child who looks so sweet and innocent and happy like this turn into a bitter, angry criminal like him?
Seeing the picture, reading his mom’s words, it all makes him so…normal.
So why is he doing this?
It doesn’t make any sense, and I can’t seem to wrap my head around the logic of someone turning to this life. Things have been hard for a lot of people. Hell, we’re close to broke and will probably lose the ship because of this. We’ll have to wait for an insurance payout, and any delay in payment will be too long.
But no one I know would ever resort to becoming a damn criminal. I certainly wouldn’t.
Who the hell is this guy?
The other books on the shelf seem to call to me, like somehow the contents will tell me everything I want to know about Warwick Pike.
I kneel down in front of the bookshelf and scan the titles again. One stands out.
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
It slides easily from the shelf, and a slip of paper falls out.
Another note?
I pick up the yellowing paper and climb to my feet. This one is folded, which makes reading it seem a little more intrusive than the last one.
You’ve already done it once. What’s one more?
A deep breath gives me enough time to stop overthinking it, and I flip it open.
War,
I know you’re struggling with the demons that live inside you. Just know that you are stronger than them. The good can always win. You just have to let it.
Love, Mom
My hand moves to another book on the shelf almost of its own volition, the words of Warwick’s mother tugging at me. I have to know if they are in every book. I have to know what she says about the man who now holds my life in his hands.
To Kill a Mockingbird…
War,
Defending your beliefs in the face of criticism and threats of violence takes bravery you must find deep down, but bravery doesn’t always mean violence. Sometimes, it requires standing up in a way that’s even more difficult than a show of physical force. Assess each situation carefully and determine what type of bravery is called for. Your heart will always guide you in the right direction.
Love, Mom
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn…
War,
You’ve always reminded me so much of Huck–restless and wild, always looking for adventure, and unable or unwilling to fit into any mold society tries to cram you into. Don’t ever lose that spirit. Those molds only constrain you from being who you truly are and civilization isn’t always so civilized.
Love, Mom
She’s not wrong about civilization and the world today. I’ve never bothered to conform to my role as a diminutive girl who should do what she’s told. Dad always appreciated my attitude and drive, the way I wanted to know more, but it’s definitely been a problem for some other people.
And it seems to set Warwick off when I question him. It may be in my best interest to keep my mouth shut, but that’s not my nature, and I need to know what’s going on if I have any chance to survive this.
Another title catches my attention, and I grab it from the shelf. Heart of Darkness…
Reading it in high school, I found the entire thing a bit absurd. Marlow’s reactions to the things he was witnessing always felt so foreign, maybe because I was so sheltered by Mom and Dad and had such a loving and normal childhood.
War,
Like Marlow, you will be faced with times where it feels as though there is no “good” choice, no choice that feels completely right. Moral ambiguity exists everywhere in this world and will appear in your life. During those times, remember that sometimes, choosing the lesser of two evils is all you can
do.
Love, Mom
Choose the lesser of two evils…
Is that what he’s doing now? Is taking me instead of killing or harming the crew the lesser of two evils in his world?
I drag my hand along the spines on the shelf—classic after classic, all probably containing notes from his mother.
Hmm…Lord of the Flies…
War,
You’ve never been one to follow the rules. Like the young boys in the novel, you will face the constant conflict between wanting to live peacefully by rules, doing what’s right and good for the group, and the instinct to fulfill your own violent desires to control others and get what you want. This fight between order and chaos, good and evil, and law and anarchy will never die. Choose to follow your own path, but always remember some rules are meant to be broken and sometimes, the only one looking out for you is you.
Love, Mom
The only one looking out for you is you…
Maybe that’s what Warwick is doing. He’s working for someone, someone willing to kill for whatever they took off the ship. And he took me to ensure he got it to that someone. He was protecting himself, and probably his guys too.
Choosing what’s good for the group, even though it may not feel right.
I want to believe that’s true—that he never would have taken me if their lives weren’t in danger—but the damn man is so infuriating, it’s hard to get a read on him at all.
A loud crack of thunder shakes the building. The lights blink out, plunging the small room into pitch blackness. A scream slides up my throat and out into the air. I drop the book and shuffle through the darkness toward the bed.
I sit on the edge and cling to the comforter while I wait for my racing heart and breathing to return to normal.
It’s just the storm.
Calm down.
Footsteps thunder up the stairs, and the door flies open. A beam of light falls on me, and I raise my hand to cover my eyes and blink against it. The beam lowers enough for my eyes to adjust.
