by Nicole Fox
“I can’t keep my mouth shut,” I say quickly. “Reassign me somewhere else.”
“That is your problem. If you smart off to the captain or his guests, you’ll be fired, which solves everything for me. Either way, you are out of my life, so I’m happy.”
“But—”
“Enough,” the chef says with a final wave of his hand. “You don’t want to argue with me, boy.”
Boy. I snarl at him, and he raises his brows in surprise. He takes a small step backward like he finally recognizes he’s in the presence of a dangerous man. That realization doesn’t stop him from delivering his next piece of information, though.
“You know something? I checked the ship’s logs after the auction the other night.” He smiles when my eyes go wide. “I have good reason to believe you are not who you claim to be.”
I freeze. “That’s ridiculous.”
He shrugs. “Maybe it is. Cross me again, and I’ll start a formal investigation and expose your lying ass. Understood?”
I spin away without a word and march down the hall towards my room.
I lift the edge of my mattress and pull out the flip phone I stashed there. The screen flares to life immediately, but there is no service. Zero bars.
Getting in touch with the Bratva is my only option now. Devon will recognize me. The beard does a little to throw people off, but anyone who actually knows me won’t be fooled. He will recognize me and have me killed, and my family will be sold into slavery. I have no other choice.
Except, it isn’t a choice at all since we’re too far out to see to get cell-phone reception.
I throw the useless piece of plastic back under the mattress and dig through Andrew’s bags, hoping to find something that might help me get in touch with someone on land. As an experienced sailor, he was probably prepared to be at sea for a long period of time.
Buried in the bottom of his duffel bag, I find a satellite phone.
Thank God.
I try to punch in the number again, but there is nothing. No signal. No connection.
“Shit.” I try it again, even though I know it won’t do any good.
It looks to be in working order, so I’m not sure what is going on. Maybe I’m not using it right.
I open the door and poke my head into the hallway, half expecting to see Devon’s guards coming for me because the chef changed his mind and alerted them to my unauthorized presence on the ship. Instead, I see my neighbor returning from his night shift. His eyes are bloodshot, and he rubs a hand in his eye socket as he unlocks his door.
“Hey.”
He looks over, surprised to see me. “Oh, hey, man.”
I hold up the satellite phone. “This isn’t working.”
“Correct.” He nods.
“Why?”
His face screws up in confusion. “Weren’t you at the orientation?” He shrugs as if he doesn’t really care about my answer. “This is a shady-ass operation, man. The bosses put a jammer in. No calls in or out.”
I curse under my breath.
“Yeah, I have a honey at home I’d like to talk to. But we should be there in a few days, and you can call whoever you need to call then.”
I’m trapped.
My identity is about to be discovered, and I don’t have access to anyone on the outside. No help, no assistance. Just me, my wife, and my daughter against an entire ship full of people who would gladly kill us all for a bonus in their next paycheck.
“If it’s urgent, you can try to get into the comms station on the bridge, but good fucking luck with that,” he says. “They don’t let no one in there.”
I give him a small wave of thanks and wait until he shuts his door before I dart down the hallway towards the bridge.
It is an insane idea, but it’s truly my only hope.
There are always at least two guys manning the bridge. I can fight two guys at once. I’ve handled more than that.
The problem would be that once I fought them, help would need to arrive before they woke up if I wanted to get off this ship.
I could kill them, but I have to assume anyone working the bridge would be missed more than a perpetually drunk sailor. Rumors are already starting to spread that he stumbled and fell over a railing into the ocean one night.
When I get to the bridge, it feels like a miracle.
There is no one inside.
I lurk outside, peering through the windows to be certain because there is no way I can get this lucky. Not after the endless shit storm that has been the last few weeks.
I don’t see any movement, so I stroll casually to the door, and to my disbelief, it opens.
I am just about to step inside when I hear boots behind me.
“There you are!” I turn and see one of the servers from the kitchen standing there, his chest heaving. “Jesus Christ. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. We have to go.”
I shake my head. “Go where?”
“Service,” he says, eyes wide like I’m out of my mind. “The chef sent me for you. If we’re both not back in a few minutes, we lose our jobs.”
I want to tell him the chef doesn’t have the ability to fire anyone without express permission from his superiors, but I doubt that will do much to sway the very nervous waiter.
The easiest solution here is to push him over the railing. I could push him, make my call, and be gone before anyone knew I was even here. It would be a tragic accident. The man stumbled in his desperate attempt to find me before being fired.
I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to hurt another innocent man, but is anyone on this ship innocent? They all know something bad is happening here, but they don’t care. Does that make them bad, too?
I take a step towards the man, and he waves his arm for me to hurry.
I take another step, and I’m going to do it. I’ll push him over the edge and do what I have to do to save my family.
I’ve just reached the decision when another voice comes from further down the stairs. “Did you find him?”
The man in front of me yells back over his shoulder. “We’re coming now!”
I look past him and see a second man with him—another server—waiting for us.
I can’t kill them both. Not without one of them running to alert someone.
The comms room is still empty. Blissfully, magically empty, but I sigh and follow the two servers.
There is no other choice.
12
Dmitry
I had imagined the food taken from the kitchen was taken directly into the captain’s quarters, but I quickly learn that is not correct.
The two servers who stopped me from going into the comms room take me to a large prep room just off the dining area. There, I am given an itchy formal jacket that matches my black pants and a pair of gloves.
Waiters and waitresses rush around wiping food from the edges of the plates, filling pitchers with ice water and juice, and plating everything in a way that actually makes the food halfway appealing.
“Finally,” a dark-haired man in a full suit says, scowling at me. “The chef said you’d be here half an hour ago. Being late on your first day isn’t a good look.”
I could respond with one million snappy comebacks, but honestly, I’m too nervous.
In all likelihood, Devon is on the other side of the large wooden door where all of the servers are lining up, and he’s going to recognize me. When he does, will he kill me on the spot or draw it out? I can’t imagine what information there could be to torture out of me. He would know I’m here to save my family, and I have no other plans. He could decide to torture me for pleasure, though. That doesn’t seem too outrageous a thing to expect from the psychopathic mind of Devon.
“Button your damn jacket and get to work,” the suited man says. Clearly, he’s the person in charge. “Put covers on the food so they don’t get cold.”
The food is carried out of our kitchen on single large platters, but here each bowl is placed inside its own silver serv
ing dish. As if the people in that room are royalty, rather than career criminals selling women and children for profit.
I do as I’m told without complaint, my mind racing with possibilities that all end with me being captured and killed.
For the first time, I don’t see a way out.
How long will it take for Courtney to find out about my death? How long before she loses all hope?
My vision goes blurry when I think about never seeing Tati or Olivia again, and I look up at the ceiling to center myself. I’ve never cried openly in my life and now is not the time to start. I’ve made it this far; might as well hang in there for a few minutes longer.
All of the servers grab a tray or a pitcher and assemble in a short, neat line. The head server pushes and pulls us until we’re in a perfect row. Then, he folds one hand behind his back and opens the large wooden door.
The room is simple like the rest of the ship, but the décor is lavish. A solid wood table sits in the middle of the room with ornately carved chairs around it. Greenery and glass décor litter the table from one end to the other, and when I reach the end of the table, I see Devon.
He is acting like a completely different person than the man I met a few times, whenever Sadie brought him around. Back then, he was still childish, still an asshole, but had some semblance of humanity to him. Enough to pass below my radar.
But now, he is a crumbling mess. Chaotic. Barely lucid. Barely holding it together.
He nods to the head server as he enters, but his movements are stuttered and awkward. His eyes dart around the room like he can’t seem to focus on any one thing at a time. I wonder why no one around him seems bothered by this.
A man halfway down the table reaches for his glass, and Devon snaps his attention to him. “Wait for everyone to be served before beginning!” he shrieks.
The man pulls his hand back like a child caught reaching into the candy drawer, and everyone at the table sits a bit taller, backs straight.
They are afraid of him.
I see a man directly across the long table from Devon, who I assume has to be the captain. Even he seems uneasy around Devon. I can only see him in profile, but he avoids eye contact, preferring to keep his eyes low. In my experience, that means he either respects or fears Devon. My guess is the latter.
“Can someone draw the blinds?” Devon yells, gesturing wildly to the wall of windows. A few crew members rush over to pull the blinds closed, dousing the room in darkness that is interrupted only by the small lanterns along the length of the table.
Devon massages a finger down the center of his forehead and the length of his nose. He squeezes his eyes closed and rolls his neck like he has a headache.
“And play some music, for God’s sake,” he barks at a young woman standing in the corner. “I don’t want to listen to the sound of everyone here gumming their food. It’s disgusting.”
The girl rushes to a set of speakers sitting inside a built-in shelf and quickly starts some soft instrumental music. Devon gestures rudely for her to turn it up, so she continues to do so until the music is almost too loud for me in the other room. It’s blaring, and everyone seems uncomfortable, but nobody moves to cover their ears or protest in any way.
Even the captain wears an exasperated, slightly amused expression.
Suddenly, another door to the left opens, and a large beam of light cuts across the dark room. Devon spins around and squints into the light.
“Who the fuck is that? We’re about to eat!”
A woman comes in carrying a bundle in her arms and it takes me a second to understand what I’m seeing.
She walks directly to Devon and, without hesitating, he reaches out and scoops the bundle away from her. A pink blanket falls, and I’m staring at a baby.
My baby.
The woman rushes away and leaves Olivia with Devon, and I feel as though my heart is being pulled from my chest. Like someone has attached a hook to it, yanking me forward like a truck stuck in the snow.
My little girl.
It has been so long since I’ve seen her that I’m not sure if I’m just imagining it or if her hair really does look longer. Her face less round. Her fingers longer.
She looks so much bigger, and I want to sprint across the room and pull her into my arms. I want to nuzzle my cheek against hers and listen to her giggle as my facial hair tickles her skin.
“I’m ready to eat!” Devon bellows.
Olivia flinches at the harsh sound and lets out a small cry of protest. Devon smiles down at her. “You heard the girl. Bring in the food.”
Devon looks up at the door where I am standing with the other servers, and I swear his eyes land on mine. Just for a second.
I’m second in line from the door and in my position—leaning around the man in front of me to better my view—I’m easy to spot.
My heart stops.
My entire body freezes, and I’m unable to stand tall or pull back into line. All I can do is try to keep breathing and stare back at him, hoping he doesn’t figure it out. Hoping he doesn’t recognize me.
After what feels like a small eternity, Devon turns away and bounces Olivia on his knee a few times. She giggles, and my stomach flips.
How am I supposed to deliver food without stopping to see her? How am I supposed to walk into this room and pretend my heart isn’t yearning for her? I’m not sure I can do it, but there isn’t time to think about it any longer. The head server snaps his fingers to draw our attention and then waves for us to begin filing into the room.
I grip my silver serving platter and look down at the floor. I just need to keep my composure for a few minutes at most. I have to. For my family.
The first server steps into the room and through the door, and I follow close behind him. But after just two steps, I’m still standing in the doorway when a strange noise fills the room.
Everyone, including the server in front of me, turns towards the now-closed windows as the noise gets louder and louder.
It sounds like a roaring wind, lashing against the glass in waves.
Devon jumps from his seat and hands Olivia off to her caretaker, who is standing next to the door she entered through. Then, he runs for the windows and pulls back the curtains. He lets out an animalistic screech and then turns and runs from the room without another word.
The whole scene is so bizarre and the noise is so loud and disorienting that all I can do is look around with my mouth hanging open, bewildered.
The captain stands up with a shrug of his shoulders and shakes his head in a kind of unspoken apology. “Sorry, everyone. The meal will be delayed until Mr. Devon returns.”
The other people relax back into their seats and the servers all trudge back into the prep room and lay their trays down. The head server leans against the wall and stares up at the ceiling.
“I need to use the restroom,” I say loudly to no one in particular.
The head server waves a hand in my direction. “Do whatever you want. That psychopath won’t be back for a while.”
There is a chuckle of agreement throughout the rest of the waitstaff as I dart from the room.
I race down the hallway and through a door onto a narrow overlook. Below is a large deck with a helicopter pad, currently occupied by a helicopter whose blades are still spinning slowly.
That explains the noise.
Devon is waiting on the edge of the helipad, hands folded behind his back. He is facing away from me, but I still step back from the railing to do my best to blend in with the shadows.
Devon’s body language is a one-hundred-and-eighty degree switch from what it was in the dining room. He is stretching up onto his toes and craning his neck in every direction to get a good look at whoever is coming out of the helicopter. He’s excited. Antsy, almost.
Then, the helicopter passenger disembarks, and I understand why.
It’s Elena.
She’s in a dark skirt suit that gives her a kind of sturdy, boxy appearance. Her hair is pi
tch-black now, with none of the gray I saw threaded through it last time. She must have dyed it in the interim since our last meeting.
Since the meeting where she distracted me while my family was drugged and kidnapped.
I clench my fists, desperate to jump over the railing and snap her neck for what she did to me and my family. For what she’s still doing to us.
Devon runs forward and greets his mother with a large bear hug that she does not return. Then, he places a hand on her back and leads her towards a door that is restricted for unauthorized crew members.
Even if I wanted to follow them into the room, I couldn’t.
I don’t want to. Because if I go now, I’ll kill them. I’ll end them both.
And it isn’t the right time.
I know Olivia is being kept close to Devon, and I know where Tati and Courtney are being held, but I still don’t have a way off this ship. No one on the outside knows where we are or how to get to us, so killing Devon and Elena would feel great, but it wouldn’t do anything to get us away from the Yakuza.
I have to be patient.
The helicopter is quiet now except for the ticking sound of the engines cooling, and the pilot has walked around the back of the helicopter to the railing to enjoy the view and smoke a cigarette.
Then, an idea comes to me.
Devon and Elena are out of sight and the only other person around is the pilot, but he’s all the way across the deck.
I’ve never flown a helicopter, but I’ve ridden in them before. Maybe there’s a chance I could fly this one right off the ship with my family.
It’s crazy, but I won’t know until I get a look inside.
I move quietly down the stairs behind me to the deck below and then creep towards the helicopter, sticking to the shadows to avoid detection.
The pilot stubs out his cigarette and immediately lights another, so I know I have a few minutes.
I climb through the still-open door and haul myself into the pilot’s seat. Immediately, I know there is no way in hell I could safely get my family off this boat.
The dash is a byzantine series of dials and knobs for altitude, knots, various types of pressure, and speed. There is a much higher chance I would crash us all into the ocean than be able to land anywhere safely. Plus, it would take me a long time to even figure out how to get off the ground, and as I learned in the dining room a few minutes ago, the helicopter is not a covert mode of transportation. As soon as it turns on, everyone will know.
