Emma stomped down the container. When she neared me, I held a hand out to stop her. That glare of hers, as deadly as Medusa’s, kept me from grabbing her. She’d be impossible to convince later if I got physical now, even to protect her.
The curtains flew open with a toss. Emma stood before the double doors staring at the crank in the middle that connected to the outside locks. She grabbed the crank and fiddled with its safety.
“Now’s not a good time to open that,” I warned, inching closer. I had to be able to grab her just in case. “I’m trying to explain everything. We are still a few hours away from our destination.”
“We’re moving?” Emma closed her eyes and moved from foot to foot. “I think I’ve already listened to you more than enough.”
The safety clicked and the crank turned. Emma pushed and leaned to look through the crack. She sucked in a breath and stiffened. My arm snatched around her waist, the other hand on the door crank. Outside, the cranes and towers of shipping containers in the port of Liverpool sprawled stories below us. A twist of the crank locked the doors closed.
Emma wrenched herself from my arm. She backed away from the door, and her eyes fell to the floor.
“Where are we?” she demanded.
“Liverpool, but we’re not sticking around,” I replied. “The crane will put us on a truck in a minute. We have plenty of time to talk.”
Emma glared at me. Her current getup nerfed the effect, made it more a pout than anything actually dangerous. She crept further into the shipping container and dropped to the couch. Her legs took the other cushion.
“Fine,” she hissed then held her arms out, “explain everything.”
“I’ll try to not lecture like a teacher,” I said with a nod. “You’ve got a disturbing school girl thing going on.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry my outfit distracts you,” she said in mocking baby talk, complete with lisp. “Had I known you were going to kidnap me, I’d have dressed more practically, maybe stashed away a weapon or two.”
“What were you even doing with that pretentious arse?” I asked.
Emma bit back her anger. A smile more vicious than any of her sneers grew wide. She laughed and shook her head.
“A little jealous?” she teased and shifted on the couch to push her chest out. “It’s your fault, you know. You opened my eyes. Twenty thousand pounds for a fake marriage? Without you, I never would have had a taste, known exactly how much I was worth, how much potential sugar daddies would shower me with gifts to just pay attention to them. But none of that has anything to do with what’s going on. Let's start with my brother. How do you even know about him? Which one?”
“I’m talking about Ewan. Sal Jr. is as irrelevant to me as his senior,” I replied. “Like I said earlier, Ewan got impatient. He couldn’t just wait for your father to fade peacefully. Some of us are more patient than others it seems.”
“My father? The accident?”
I nodded. It only took her a moment to draw the mental lines. She tilted her head and let the gears make their rotations.
“It’s only a theory. I don’t have proof, but you’re too important to risk leaving on the table,” I said and mimed picking up a chess piece. “Ewan will have everyone under his control looking for you. With Turner out of commission, he’ll count most of the family as his. That’s a lot of resources aimed at you.”
“My father’s will must leave me something,” Emma theorized and twirled a finger through her hair. “That’d explain why he wants to find me.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’d guess.” I nodded. “No idea what the will says, but he’s in a bad way after the ‘accident.’ More likely than not, the will will be executed.”
Emma’s sharp eyes fixated on mine as her lips turned in a frown. She squinted and scrunched her face.
“What’s your play?” she asked. “You’re not an idiot, that’s clear. If you think I’ll reward you for saving me from my evil brother, you’ve got another thing coming. I never agreed to that. What are you getting out of this?”
“A husband should do all he can to protect his wife,” I replied and held a hand up at her glare. “Sorry, couldn’t help it. I’ve got one last lie to correct. My family name is not Fitzroy, though it’s apt. Ian Hunter.”
I extended my hand for a shake but Emma only stared at it. She mouthed the word ‘hunter’ silently, head tilted to think. Her eyes scrunched closed but then opened wide with the answer. Given the less than cordial welcome her Scottish family had given her, I wasn’t sure she’d know the name.
“Before the wedding, my father mentioned the Hunters,” she said, still trawling her memory for his exact words. “Something about five families coming together… the Hunters leading, but he said they were dead.”
“He tried,” I scoffed. “If my eight-year-old bladder hadn’t sent me back into the house to pee, the bomb he planted in my parents’ car would’ve taken me too.”
“My father planted the bomb?” Emma asked.
My final revelation sapped even more of her anger, but only offered more to suspect. After all the lies and deception, I’d never expected her to believe me with words alone.
“The three remaining families were one back then. If another group had targeted them, my family wouldn’t have been the only victims,” I explained. “Your father had just taken over the Turners the year before. Before the car even stopped burning, he tried to take control of the whole organization, succeeded in taking my family’s underground operations.”
