Even if it's our own people.
Carter’s eyes roam the floor before he glances back up at me. I can already see a question flickering in his gaze before he opens his mouth. “I know I’ve been taking a lot of time off, but I was wondering if next month I can take a week and a half to head back to Chicago.”
Gulping down the rest of the bottle, I place the cap on and toss it into the small trash can against the wall. “What is it now?”
I can tell from the way his mouth twists to the side that he’s being cautious about saying too much. He knows by now the topics that send me into a depression spiral. I’m right whenhe says, “My little sister is getting married.” I swallow, briefly thinking how my sister will never see that day, but I push that thought far back to the recesses of my mind. “Her fiancé is an asshole, but I need to be there to support her. My parents would be pissed if I missed it. They already think my tech job,” he puts in air quotes, “takes me from them enough.”
I reach for my towel on the nearby bench, clearing away the thick glaze of sweat on the slopes of my neck. “I get it. Just be back in time for the security briefing.” Arden wants to review some new protocols, since none of the recent deliveries are matching up with our agreement. “It doesn’t seem like it's a coincidence anymore that small parts of our shipments aren’t arriving.”
He sharply nods in agreement. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
A few beats of silence pass between us before I clear my throat. “Your sister’s fiancé may be an asshole, but I hope you enjoy every minute of it. I’ll never get to experience that.”
Something passes over his eyes, and I try to dissect the expression. It's not pity. He knows I fucking hate pity. It’s more like sympathy, but combined with something else I can’t place. After all, I didn’t just lose my sister; he lost a friend.
Carter was there for me every step of the way when it was confirmed that Tayla and my mom, Lynn, were never going to be returned to us. Their heartbeats ceased before we could negotiate or fight to get them back—and God knows we would have burned the world for them. But the ruthless wind rose instantly and never gave us the chance to strike the match.
Between the moment they were abducted and the morning we got that box, Luciano hadn’t even kept them alive for more than eight hours. We knew that thanks to the photos in the box containing time stamps and brutal images of their murders as they lay bloody and lifeless on an unknown concrete floor, side by side.
I choke down the bile burning my throat. “I’m going to shower, and then I’ll meet you at the marina.”
He presses his lips in a line and says, “I’ll head there now,” leaving me alone in the gym.
Pacing over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, I glare out over the expanse of the yard till it meets the maze and garden before it drops off to the rocky beach below. On the right side, through the towering fences, watch towers, and a half-mile expanse of forest that creeps down the hillside, lies the edge of Lachlan Park. Usually, the impeccably mowed crisscrossed lines that meet the ten-foot-tall security fence would give me some sense of comfort, but it doesn’t come.
Until three months ago, our only worry was vengeance. Now, with small parts of our product vanishing, I can’t help but feel as if it's going to deter us from our mission to take down Luciano. Our operations come first, no matter how difficult that is to swallow. My chest can only support a few feelings at a time.
Retaliation.
Resolve.
Too many distractions will make me a half-asser, and nothing irritates me more.
I’m just hoping there won't be any more.
FOUR | KATE
It’s been three days since I sat there listening to a haunting story that I shouldn't believe. Exhaustion is rotting me from the inside out. No matter how many cups of coffee I consume, it won't dissolve the dark circles under my eyes or the constant yawning that is starting to become a nuisance.
Doesn’t stop me from guzzling the drink as if it will randomly decide to start boosting my system as it should. At this point, my caffeine intake should give me an overdose.
I lift the paper coffee cup to my lips from Bloom & Baked, a local coffee shop on the other side of the boardwalk from Lachlan Park that sits on the bay. I take another drink of my vanilla oat milk latte, as the soft ocean breeze floats off the water and brushes through my hair that has far too many tangles for this time of day.
There was only a sliver of a second when I thought about getting ready, then changed my mind. After all, it’s my day off, and enjoying my coffee with my journal by the water sounds like a peaceful way to spend my late morning. Besides the slight waves to my hair from my shift yesterday, there isn’t an ounce of makeup on my face. Not that I wear much anyway, but it's nicenot to have a care in the world when you’re trying to remain a ghost in it anyway.
The chatter of birds blends with the soft waves caressing the marina's dock. The occasional horn from a boat cuts through the vibrant blue sky, dusted with those light wispy clouds that remind me of the cotton candy machines at the park when they heat up just enough to melt and spin the sugar as it wraps around the wand. Light. Fluffy. And in a way, magical.
Boats sail across the expanse of deep blue, with those subtle and gentle waves that only this time of morning can accomplish. It’s the calm before the afternoon wind picks up, creating white-capped waves that fold repeatedly, stirring up the surface.
The warm light bathes my skin, making my lips tilt upward to greet the sun that energizes me more than the caffeine that runs through my veins.
My feet pad across the dock, gently swaying with the water. I’m not quite sure what convinced me to decide on the marina today. Still, as I walk farther out into the water with boats on either side of me, the end of the dock provides a perfect display of a sailboat against the backdrop of water against the horizon. I’m drawn to it, and there just so happens to be two beige loungingchairs propped at the end with a small matching coffee table positioned between.
The only thing keeping me from them is the fence I come toe-to-toe with, separating one part of the dock from the other. The massive red-and-white restricted sign should deter me, make me turn around, and find a different spot. But I want that one at the edge of the dock with a chair that my ass is aching for.
Okay, my ass is fine, I’m just trying to justify all the reasons I should cross this barrier.
Plus, there are only three massive fishing boats, one on each side. They aren’t the expensive yachts and sailboats like the other ones I passed to get to this point.
