by Gwyn McNamee
I haven’t been giving myself a chance to think about it, to wonder what it meant, but now, I have to go face him and them after his meltdown last night. And I need to figure out how to get them to let me go.
The first step is the pile of clothes. The jeans are slightly too big and the T-shirt slightly too tight, but at least my underwear and bra are dry now.
Thunder rumbles low somewhere in the distance, and the light ping of rain on the roof of the warehouse rings in the tiny room. This storm system is really taking its time moving on.
That will only complicate things for Warwick in dealing with these people in Chicago.
On top of that, I also can’t wait much longer to contact the crew or Mom. He said he would release me in forty-eight hours, and we’re pushing that, and the twenty-four deadline Arturo gave them, soon. My crew will contact the authorities if they don’t hear from me.
I need to tell Warwick.
But I shouldn’t. I should let them contact the authorities and tell them everything that happened. That’s the right thing to do, but deep down, I understand why Warwick is doing this.
He did it to protect his father’s legacy and the family name. The same reason I stepped up to captain the ship when Dad died, and I had no fucking business doing it. I should have scraped the money together to hire an experienced captain instead of doing it alone. Warwick was right. I’m no captain. I’m an accountant with a captain’s license. Those are two different things.
What he did, what he’s doing, goes to another level, but at the heart of it, it’s the same. We are the same.
How far would I go to protect Dad’s business?
I can’t know until I’m there, dangling over the cliff to fall into bankruptcy and failure. We’re close, but not quite there yet. My chest aches thinking about losing the business.
And I hope we never get there.
Who am I to judge what Warwick has done?
I slowly pull open the door and cringe as it squeaks on its old rusty hinges. Voices drift up from the warehouse. Excited voices. Angry voices.
Dull light streams in from the high, dirty windows, and thunder rolls again.
Should I stay up here and wait to see what they decide to do with me? Do I go down to confront them and hope it’s not my final overstep that pushes them over the edge of their patience with me?
I can’t just sit here and wait. I told myself to be proactive, and I need to be.
Warwick’s story last night changes nothing as much as it changes everything. The fact that it split my heart in two to hear him talk about his mother and his father and everything he’s been through can’t be a consideration right now. The fact that I wanted to embrace him, offer him comfort as he told the story and tell him I understood why he did it has to be pushed deep down, deeper than I’ve ever pushed anything before.
Because if I consider that for one moment, I’ll lose my nerve for what I have to do.
I have to get out of here. Away from them.
No matter what it takes.
Slowly, I inch my way down the stairs, and the voices grow louder.
“It’s at the Port of Milwaukee.”
Someone mumbles a reply.
“We don’t know that.”
Several voices mix together and something unintelligible gets yelled.
I finally make it to the step where I will no longer have the benefit of hiding behind the office.
Warwick and his crew are all gathered around the table.
The man who has me so completely conflicted stands at the head of the table with his back to me.
His strong, deep voice floats clearly across the space between us. “There’s no question what we need to do. We can’t get that amount of heroin anywhere else fast enough to save our asses. The only option is going back for the ones we missed.”
Shit. They’re going back on the ship?
That seems unwise. To say the least.
Even if the crew followed their directions and reported nothing to the Coast Guard or police about me being taken, as soon as they see me, as soon as they know I’m out of danger, they will sound the alarm. And if this pack of goons shows up without me, it will be even worse, because, of course, they will think Warwick and the guys are coming to kill them. And that I’m already dead.
Unless…
I race down the last few steps and onto the concrete floor. “I’m going with you.”
Four heads whip around to look at me with wide eyes. Well, at least three sets. I still can’t see what’s behind the sunglasses. But they’re definitely focused in my direction. The fifth guy is MIA, probably the “E” who was sent to watch the crew.
Warwick’s dark gaze meets mine. “What?”
Each slow step that brings me closer to them has my heart amping up. “I said, I’m going with you.”
The Hulk barks out a laugh and nods in my direction. “Hear that, guys? She thinks we’re stupid.”
“No.” I shake my head and near the table. “I don’t think you’re stupid. Hear me out.”
The tall guy pushes to his feet. “Why the hell would you think we would be stupid enough to waltz you up to the ship we kidnapped you from?”
Fair enough. But they aren’t getting it.
Milo wanders around the table from where the guy with the shades sits and makes his way over to me.
I take a calming breath and allow myself a moment to try to steady my voice and remove the shake I’m sure would give away how fucking terrified I am. I bend down and scratch his head before rising.
“It’s not stupid. It’s really fucking smart. I can walk right up to the ship and scope things out in a way you can’t. I can figure out where the crates are and the easiest way to get them without anyone questioning why I am there.”
The Hulk snorts and crosses those gigantic arms over his chest. “Yeah, except your crew. And potentially the police and Coast Guard, who are waiting for you to show up or for any signs of you if your guys ratted us out.”
I sigh and place my palms against the table to lean over it in the same way Warwick is on the opposite end. The guy has said nothing. “What makes you so sure of that? I may not have been their captain long, but they’ve all worked for my father for years. They’re not going to do anything to put my life in danger. And if that means keeping their mouths shut, we can assume they’re going to do it.”
“Won’t they call the cops as soon as they see you and know you’re safe?”
Same thought I had.
I shrug. “Not if I tell them not to.”
The guy with the sunglasses crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair. “And why would you do that? Why would you be willing to help us?”
And this is where things get a little awkward. I can’t stop my focus from flicking over to Warwick before I answer.
I’m a terrible liar, but I hope to hell I can pull this off and conceal my real intentions.
“I swear, no funny business. I just understand now why you’re doing this. Please don’t be mad at him, but Warwick told me everything last night about what’s happened with Il Padrone.”
Their eyes all move to Warwick, and the anger simmering there makes me step back from the table.
The man with the aviators, the only one whose eyes I can’t see, and the one has never exhibited even a hint of softness, nods. “I know.”
Shit. Did he overhear us last night?
I bite my lip and then take a deep breath. “I understand your lives are at stake here, and you need to make this delivery. I’m not going to lie and say I’m happy about finding out drugs were on my boat in the first place, or about putting them in the hands of people who will distribute them and ruin people’s lives.”
I glance over at Warwick, who keeps his eyes down on the table, but the tension in his shoulders and clenched jaw tell me everything I need to know. This is way too close to home for him, and he’s about ready to fall apart. He needs help. They all need help.
And I can
use that to my advantage.
“All I want to do is get you in and out to do what you need to do. Once you’re gone, I’ll stay with my crew. I won’t say anything to anyone. I’ll tell my crew you guys abided by the agreement, but I won’t give them any more information about you. I’ll tell them I don’t want to go through the agony of reliving my ordeal by trying to find you and prosecute you. We will pretend this whole thing never happened.”
The Hulk snorts again and looks to his buddies. “Are you guys buying this? I sure am not. I don’t trust this chick. There has to be another way.”
Warwick’s head snaps up, and he scowls. “Yeah, what way is that? Give me one good alternative to what she suggested. We can’t get our hands on more drugs, and we can’t show up with half a fucking shipment either. You know none of us walks out of there alive if we did that. We have to at least try, and we’ve got nothing at this point.”
The tall guy walks around the table to tower over me, and I shift back until my ass hits the edge. I grasp it with my hands, digging into the old, splintering wood.
He glowers at me. “I’m not happy with the situation. I’m not happy that Warwick spilled his fucking guts to you. I’m not happy that you hold our lives in your hands right now. But Warwick is right.” He looks over to The Hulk. “We don’t have any other choices. I spent all fucking night looking for another way to get the drugs, talking with some of my old contacts, and it’s just not gonna happen. We all know we’re not getting more time from Arturo, so that only leaves one option, and that’s hers.”
Glasses guy frowns and shoves away from the table. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this one fucking bit.”
Warwick rises to his full height and crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t care what you like, Cutter.”
Cutter. So…I finally have a name…
Whether it’s his real name or not is another question.
“We don’t have any options. This is it.”
Cutter grunts and mimics Warwick’s stance. This close to him, the pale pink-and-red scarring along his right temple and down his cheek and neck are clear. Maybe that’s why he wears the glasses.
Scars or not, I don’t like the guy. The vibe he puts off is absolutely sinister. The Hulk may be the biggest, but this guy is the coldest. I can see that even from only this short time with him. And he has all of his attention focused on me and my plan right now.
Not good.
Warwick tosses a quick glance at me. “You and I are leaving. I’m going to change. Stay here.” He looks at the tall, thin guy. “Go find out what you can about dock security, Coast Guard, police status. Call E and see if anything changed.”
The tall guy nods. “There hasn’t been anything in any of the reports or scanners about a hijacking or anything about us. Last check-in, E said the crew was at their hotel.”
Warwick smacks his hand on the table, and it vibrates through the room. “That doesn’t mean anything. You and I both know they could be withholding the information because we have her, trying to keep things on the DL until she’s safe. We need to proceed with caution.” He turns and strides across the warehouse floor to the staircase, leaving me with Cutter, The Hulk, and the third goon who slowly makes his way down the hallway with a slight limp.
The Hulk snort-laughs and grins at me. “Good luck, little girl. You better not betray us.”
Cold dread squeezes tightly around my throat. The threat is direct, and as soon as he makes it, he turns around and disappears back down the same hallway as his buddy…leaving me alone with Cutter. And Milo, who sits at our feet, staring up at us with big, brown eyes.
The inability to see Cutter’s eyes unnerves me. My skin heats under his assessment, and I shift where I stand and avert my gaze to the table. He’s up next to me so fast, I didn’t even know he was moving until he grips my arm and takes my chin in his other hand.
With a quick jerk, he tilts my face up to his.
“Don’t double-cross us. If you do, I will fucking kill you.”
I gulp and try not to piss myself.
“Warwick may want your pussy and be letting that go to his head, but I sure as fuck don’t. You’re nothing to me. Nothing but a bargaining chip, and if we lose you, then there’s nothing to keep me from killing you and giving you exactly what you deserve for betraying us.”
I stare at my own reflection in his glasses, and acid crawls up my throat.
He growls low again and squeezes his fingers into my chin. “Tell me you understand.”
I nod as much as possible in his firm grip, and he shoves me backward. “Good.”
He stalks away down the hallway with Milo at his heels just as Warwick appears on the top of the stairs.
Thank God…
The malice coming off Cutter in waves has me second-guessing my plan. If I’m caught trying to escape, he will kill me. He will find a way.
Is the potential to maybe get away enough to risk my life? Or should I really just help them and let it go like my fake plan suggests?
That’s a decision I have to make…and fast.
Warwick descends and approaches me slowly. “Let’s go. We have a long fucking day ahead of us.”
11
War
I don’t fucking get it. It would be so easy for her to report us. For her to walk up to literally anyone at the dock and tell them what happened and ask them to call the police.
Deep down, part of me knows that’s probably her plan.
But I don’t want to believe it.
I want to believe telling her my story, telling her what’s at stake and why, was enough to sway her to want to help us…but that’s asking a lot. Especially from someone we kidnapped.
I can’t blame her for not trusting me. Not trusting us.
Yet, she offered to help, and she follows me out of the warehouse and climbs up into my truck parked behind the building without a word.
I settle into the driver’s seat and glance over at the woman who is slowly tearing me apart. Her pale, freckled skin looks almost paler, if that’s even possible, and she stares off at the lake while I start the truck.
What are you thinking, Grace?
I’m not sure what Cutter said to her when I was upstairs, but the look on her face when I came back down as he walked away from her was enough to tell me it was something very characteristic of him. Cutter is a “take no prisoners” guy. The kind of guy needed on my team to get the dirty work done. The kind of guy perfect to instill some real fear into a woman like Grace who fights so hard not to show any weakness.
It’s times like this, I both appreciate him and maybe fear him a little myself.
With good reason.
The man never cracks, never gives a fucking inch, never shows an ounce of compassion for anyone except maybe me and the guys, and that’s only because he knows we have his back as much as he has ours. We’re family, the only real family any of us has left. The only ones we can rely on.
While I don’t think I could ever hurt a woman, he’s done just that…more than hurt. Granted, it was in a different world. A different time, under war conditions. He was fighting an enemy who hid behind women and children, who used them to commit absolute atrocities.
Hesitation costs people their lives there. It almost cost Cutter his.
Because someone else hesitated. So, he won’t.
Which makes it even more important that Grace understands the consequences, that she understands she better not betray us.
If I were in her shoes, taken hostage, threatened, repeatedly berated by my captors, escape would be at the forefront of my mind, yet, she hasn’t tried. The threat against her crew and herself has kept her in line.
But what about when that threat is gone?
Will she really let us walk away with millions of dollars in heroin to keep working for the Marconis, now that she knows what we do for them?
The gravel road dips below us, and dark clouds gather overhead. I lean forward to look up. The forecast was ri
ght. This is one hell of a storm system. It keeps circling and hovering above us. Refusing to push off over the lake like weather here normally does. Flooding is already a problem in some parts of the state, and it could become even worse.
Who knows how long the storms may continue?
We don’t have much time, and getting the rest of the shit down to Chicago by Arturo’s deadline is looking less and less likely. The only way we’ll make today at all is if the stuff is still on the Neptune’s Daughter and we can get to it right away. Even then, we may need a few extra hours to get to Chicago on The Destiny in this weather, but we can at least assure him we’re on our way. That’s better than another call telling him we aren’t coming. That might as well be putting a gun to own heads.
This better go well.
I can’t take another fuckup or complication. The one sitting next to me is already more than enough to handle.
The small two-lane highway finally appears at the end of the gravel drive from the warehouse, and I turn out onto it and head south toward our fate. Grace relaxes slightly, but the silence in the truck’s cab is deafening.
She’s always so inquisitive. So full of questions. But after what I told her last night and the way I reacted when she pointed out my idiocy in never questioning what I was doing for the Marconis, I’m not sure what to say.
How does she feel about me after learning everything, after seeing me explode like that?
It can’t be good. And I shouldn’t care.
It shouldn’t matter if my damn hostage likes me or not, if she understands what we’re doing and why, if she understands me…
But it does.
I wanted to climb up those steps a hundred times last night to talk to her, to…I don’t know…apologize for how I acted. I also wanted to stay the fuck away from her—as far away as was humanly possible in the warehouse. So, I slept on the Calista alone, with nothing but my conflicting thoughts and stupid fucking conscience eating away at me.
When I told her about Dad and asked her about her father, she made the connection. What I’m doing isn’t that far off from what she did in taking over the Neptune’s Daughter when she’s still a newly licensed basically baby captain. Not when you get right down to the nitty-gritty of it.
