I lean forward, putting my head between my knees. Fuck, I can’t breathe. God, I want those names. “Did you…?” I inhale raggedly. “Did you recognize any of the celebrities on that island?”
Suddenly it’s as if I’m breathing in air but not oxygen. Hyperventilation starts to take over.
“Oh shit,” Ant says, rubbing my back in soothing circles. “I…shit. Sorry for traumatizing you.”
“Cup your hands over your mouth,” Levy says, his voice incredibly calming.
I do as he says, and after a few moments, I start breathing regularly again.
“I am so sorry, Ant. I…I’m so sorry I keep getting affected this way—I’ve never hyperventilated before. Please don’t apologize for your truth.”
“Yeah, but Levy says not to trauma-bomb people.”
Levy speaks up. “This is different, Ant. We were on the subject. You didn’t do anything wrong. Javier didn’t do anything wrong. This is…this is tough stuff, buddy. It’s okay that it’s hard. And if Javier wants to, he can maybe share what he’s feeling.”
I nod along, so grateful for Levy’s kind words. “Grief and rage are clashing in my chest so hard it makes my lungs seize. I want to cry until I throw up, then I want to know where this island is so I can save every child and then carpet-bomb that place off the face of the earth.”
Ant laughs, and it releases something in my soul. “I love that idea. Can I help?” he asks with a wide grin.
Cupping the back of his head, I touch our foreheads together. “I’ll let you press the button.”
“Fair.”
Levy laughs along with us. “Alright, white knights, before you go riding in, remember we’ve got a protocol for such things. Pretty sure Erik, Charlie, Anders, and maybe his friend, Hopper, would like in on that.”
The grief and pain from a few minutes ago dissipate as we laugh, and they explain who Hopper is.
After we settle, Levy turns to Ant. “Did you tell Charlie and Erik about the island?”
He scowls. “I did, and as much as I like joking about it, they told me we can’t carpet-bomb it because it’s restricted air space. You know, because of all the dignitaries who go there.”
I fucking hate the world sometimes, and I don’t give a shit about air space regulations. That island is going down one way or another.
As satisfying as it is to imagine taking down these assholes who steal and hurt little kids, it’s harder to reconcile with my part in all this.
The truth of the matter is I neglected my family. For years I did my own thing, got involved with the wrong people, ignoring the fact my younger sister had fallen into a trap she didn’t know how to get out of. It cost her her life and sent Ant on a path he is just now recovering from.
I could kill a thousand traffickers, save a million people, but I won’t ever absolve myself of the neglect that allowed my family to be torn apart.
7
LEVY
Bram and Nacho had a small housewarming dinner planned with Ant and me before Javier showed up and dropped this bomb into our lives. They’ve decided to move forward with it, inviting Javier to join us.
Their house looks way better than when we first took it over. Where there had been walls and distinct rooms with specific purposes, they’ve now opened the floor plan with the help of some of Charlie’s friends. Nacho’s reupholstered the used pieces they bought, and I helped with the painting and wallpapering.
This dinner celebrates more than a new house. It celebrates the new venture we’ve joined and the fact our college loans are now paid off.
Nacho ropes Javier and Ant into a new online game while Bram and I prep for dinner and read the report on Javier that Erik forwarded us.
Bram shares his insightful thoughts while I goggle over Javier’s arrest record and early booking photos. Despite the grainy quality of the photos, Javier’s hair and beard are darker and a lot less trimmed, but his sexy smirk overrides the fact he’s in handcuffs.
“He’s kind of a badass, isn’t he?” I ask as I peel the carrots while Bram juliennes them. Bram raises his brow and opens his mouth to comment but is interrupted by the man himself.
“Who’s a badass?” Javier asks, peering over my shoulder, his hand on my back. “And where’s the Rioja?”
I startle at the unexpected contact, then lean into it. “Uh, you’re the badass,” I answer, unable to come up with a quick enough lie as I grab the deep-red Spanish wine from the counter. “We were reading your dossier.”
