Page 26 of Volatile Waters

His expression fell to despair as he continued to lie. “What are you talking about?”

“The trickery in my hand. Worthless paperwork.”

“I—”

“No, no. No more lies. You have one hour to deliver me the truth.” I hung up on him.

My men and I listened as he made another call, but his whispers were too hushed for us to hear. Once off the phone, Harold then claimed, to the boys, that he was leaving to meet up with Mr. Summers.

Timothy continued to show wisdom dangerous for his health. Patronizingly, he asked, “My father is actually doing the right thing?”

Harold nervously retrieved keys from the bowl. “Uh, yeah. Great news, huh?”

“Dad?”

“Everything’s fine, Harry.”

As soon as the drug dealer raced off into the night, my cousins and I rushed into the basement, baffling the two young men. Harry begged us not to take Timothy. “Please! He’s my only friend!” Harry’s infatuation with the new relationship was a blatant reminder that my family stole not only his own older brother but also the adoration Harry was clearly craving himself.

Kirill rolled his eyes as he restrained the child. In Russian, he told me, “How pathetic.”

I smirked, but it wasn’t sincere. I couldn’t help but realize Harry had one up on all of us. Kirill, my men, nor I had one true friend. Not one man in that room would’ve begged for my life like Timothy, who was yelling, “Leave him alone! It’s me you want!”

Unfamiliar feelings zipped through my body as I observed Harry, terror blanketing his young face, while my men and I overpowered a struggling Timothy. I told Kirill, “Tie the American’s kid up.” We were expected to kill him, as another lesson in betrayal; Harold earned money by selling Whitney.

“But—” Kirill stopped when my jaw locked, and my nostrils flared in warning. “Whatever you say, Boss.”

“No!” screamed the boy, catching on as he saw us taking Timothy toward the sliding door. “Take me instead!”

Timothy demanded, “Harry! Shut your mouth. I mean it.”

Harry did. It appeared to break his heart, but he did it. In front of the couch, Kirill laid Junior down and hogtied him, then gagged him with a handkerchief tied behind his head.

Being shoved toward the sliding door, Timothy begged me, “Please don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt her. She’s good. She’s kind. She knows nothing about all this…”

Peering over my shoulder, I watched Harry staring at me from the floor, his eyes full of desperation and helplessness. I think he knew Timothy’s life was coming to an end. I think he instinctively knew I was about to obliviate his last shred of innocence. I felt sorrow for robbing him of another brother, but I believed I had no choice. There were already too many threats present with the Summers. This one could be disposed of. The newspapers already had provided an alibi with the drug addiction stories.

Timothy, unlike his father or mother, had heart, a good soul, and most of all, courage. That made Timothy the most dangerous kind of threat. I felt trapped between mercy and my duties. Pulling my cellphone to my ear, I angrily spit out, “You may want to check in on your son,” and hung up on the now frantic American.

Sheltered by the darkness shadowing the boat dock by the lake, we watched Harold’s car race back to the lake house. The car was practically still in motion as he jumped out and ran to the front door. I gazed down at Timothy, who was tied and sitting on the dock’s wooden planks, leaning against a bench. I grinned at the hatred in his eyes. “Your fight is admirable, kid.”

“Fuck you.”

I shrugged. “You know my job, yes?”

His brows bunched. “No. I have no idea who you are.”

“I train sex slaves. You sure you want me to fuck you?”

Appalled, the back of his head slammed into the bench. “Stay away from me.”

“No worries. Your ass is safe with me, but,” I gestured to Kirill, “maybe not with him.”

Timothy was eyeing his possible rapist while lights were being flicked on in every room of the lake house. Harold rushed about, searching for his kid, screaming his name, “Harry!”

Once he found him in the basement, he didn’t even have him fully untied before attempting to get me back on the phone. As if I hadn’t caused havoc and an abundance of fear, I answered, “Kidnapping services, may I help you?”

“You sonofabitch!”