“Mmhm. They’re taking food because they’re hungry.”
“Are you going to let them?”
“Mmhm.”
“You’re not running a charity,” Mary reminds me.
“You sound like Endo.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment.”
Even if I confronted them, they’re all armed and could take me out. I don’t suffer from any delusions that I could get out alive if I said anything about the stealing. Acting on this would be reckless. But Mary is right. I am not running a charity, andif I allow this without a mention, they will steal the airplane tomorrow.
Once the two men load their white pickup, the forklift guy fills the hangar with closed crates that hold weapons. Endo sent quite a few. I wish I had that many men, but I could only bring so many without it seeming like a hostile takeover while outnumbered by Ivan’s, or rather, men loyal to my father.
If I can pin Dad’s murder on Ivan, it would solve most, if not all, of my problems. Glass won’t like that, but he can have him once he’s in whichever prison the international judge puts him, because if Ivan survives this ordeal, he sure as hell isn’t getting a local trial. Even if I take control of the locals, corruption runs so deep here, I lose sleep over which judge will sell me out for more money from Ivan’s treasury, which he will still control in prison.
I mean, a dead Ivan would be the best solution, but right now, I’m needed at the helm, not at the back of the operations, being a useful little ninja turtle, quietly eliminating my enemies.
The pilots start to move the plane away for refueling.
I could board and go back home in Couldermouth to be with my family.
Connor would follow me later today.
Dina wouldn’t.
And that seems to be a problem for me.
“I fucking hate this city,” I mumble.
Mary shakes her head. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Their buildings are nice. Their roads aren’t bad either. And the people aren’t too friendly. There’s no Selnoa’s welcoming committee I have to smile at.”
Once the last man comes out of the hangar, the forklift driver goes to lock up. I slide on my sunglasses and approach him.
“Do you mind if I look around?” I hand him a roll of cash.
He takes the money. “Five minutes.”
“How many cameras are inside?” My brother would know, but he’s busy doing his girly stuff with Dina.
“Two at the front on the left. One in the back right corner.”
“Thanks, man.”
The guy nods. “I know who you are,” he says and spreads his legs wider, his hands relaxed at his sides. He’s a big man, strong from manual labor. Jeans, checkered shirt, beard; some would say a stereotypical lumberjack. There’s a scar on his neck. I’ve seen this type of scar once before, on a man who survived wire strangulation. It cuts deep into the flesh.
Under the sunglasses, he can’t see that I’m staring at his mark. “Who am I?”
“You’re Anabela Yordish’s son.”
I chuckle. “Nobody’s ever called me that.” I’ve always been Declan Crossbow. The Crossbow twin. One of the Crossbow boys.My rape baby.
“You and your brother take after your mother. She was my mother’s cousin. Yeah.” He looks off into the distance as if recalling something. “We are related.”
I check my watch. My family lives in Couldermouth.
“Oh, sorry,” the man says. “I got carried away. Meeting you is like meeting a celebrity. When…when your mother passed away, your father came after all of us. We fled the Tavala district and settled here.”
