“Who is it?”
“Mr. Dante sends me,” he says in his cloying little girl voice that sends murder through my veins. “More for tea party?”
Villa Number Three opens the door in a rush, looking down at him with eyes I’d give anything to remove from his head.
“You’re a little older than my usual girls, but you’ll do,” he says, dragging Ant into the villa.
I follow quickly, silently letting myself in behind them. I was prepared for the worst, but the three little girls are sitting around a small table with dolls, dressed very much like Ant. They all look to be the same age he was when he was brought here.
“Get under the table,” he says into the translator. “Close your eyes.”
One of the little girls sees me and dives under the table, and the other girls follow suit.
“What the fuck—” Villa Number Three starts, but finds he’s unable to speak when Ant shoves my stiletto under his chin, impaling his tongue to the roof of his mouth.
“What a shame,” Ant whispers. “I’d love to take some time with you, but we’ve got an island to blow up.”
With that, he slowly pushes the blade in to the hilt. I know he’s hit something important when the man’s entire body shakes and he falls to the floor. Urine stains his expensive linen pants and his muscles are still jumping when I zip-tie him to the bed frame and pull the duvet down over his body.
Ant pulls out the translator app again and tells the girls they are safe and can open their eyes. One of them opens her eyes, and Ant asks through the app if she understands him.
She shakes her head. “That is not a good translation,” she says in soft English.
“You and your sisters speak English?”
She carefully nods her head.
“You don’t let them know you can.”
“No.”
“Smart girls. Come with us. Don’t be afraid of my tall friend—we’re getting you and the rest of the kids out of here.”
“The security guards?” the triplet in the green dress asks.
Ant shakes his head. “We have friends who are taking care of them. If we run into someone, though, we will probably have to kill them.”
“Good,” she says, her eyes black with hate.
Honestly? Fair.
Ant picks up one of the girls, I pick up the other two, and we race down the path.
“Close your eyes,” I shout as we near the pool.
All three girls squeeze their little eyes shut as we pass the pool, stained red with blood. The bodies of billionaires and island security are stacked neatly under one of the cabanas, also rigged to blow.
We meet the Ronalds and a scantily clad young man on the way to the dock. The black-bearded Ronald is down to his tank top, and the terrified-looking young man is wearing Ronald’s shirt over a pair of Speedos. His knee is bloodied, but he otherwise looks like he’s come out of the ordeal in one piece.
The little girls shimmy down and race over to the young man.
“Ronnie!” they cry and hug his legs tightly.
Tears appear in his eyes, and he goes to his knees, wrapping his arms around them, protective as any big brother.
Quickly, he stands. “We need to follow these men to the boat. All of our friends are there and none of the bad guys.”
The three sisters let out the same relieved exhale, and Ant rubs his chest, emotion close to the surface. He’s been brave, but I suspect he’s due for a crash. Hell, so am I.
