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23
GRAYSON
That message from Axl: Come now. Will arrange for your pick-up, that had brought me to this. Emme sat on the deck of Axl’s super-yacht, bound, blindfolded, and shaking. Even in the low light, I could see that she trembled. The chopper had dimmed its lights, and this boat had been barely visible, from a distance. The pilot deserved a medal.
Subterfuge and secrecy?
“This vessel will still show on radar, Axl,” I observed. No doubt he had bought off several people. There had been killing tonight. Dark red smears stained the decking near the chopper.
He nodded from where he stood, hands in the pockets of his brown trousers, lording it over the scene. Behind him a man lay bound as if half cocooned—with tape wrapped all over his bloodied head.
“You remember Wolfman?” He indicated the man.
“Fuck. Yes.”
“And I know you heard what dear little Emme said at the pub. Wolfman’s real name is Martelle, and he took it upon himself to kidnap both Emme and her friend.
“Why am I not surprised? Figures.”
Well, it didn’t really, not until I saw this, tonight. Now though, I knew. Axl and his richer friends, and this Martelle, they were mixed up in dark enterprises. Human trafficking? Drugs? I didn’t have those facts. Yet. And if Axl had brought me here, I was about to be either killed, or shown some of the truth.
However, there was Emme to deal with, to comfort, even. I took a step and kneeled beside her, placed my hand on her back, noted that she was still fully clothed and unharmed. Something to be grateful for.
“’m here, Emme.”
She nodded, cautiously, unseeing but knowing my voice, I assumed.
“My friend, Charity?” she croaked, still shaking coarsely. I could hear her teeth knocking against each other.
Axl answered. “Martelle told me she’s dead. Raped and killed by him. I have photos from his cellphone. I’m sorry, Emme.”
“Oh.” She lowered her head and sobbed.
This struck me as deeply as if Charity were someone dear to me. It hurt me because it hurt Emme. That simple. That she had loved her friend this dearly had made her into someone I liked far too much for my own well-being. The history between us was instantly even more twisted.
This surge of care for her, it unbalanced me. To screw around with a nobody, a fucktoy, that was easy. But to want to do it to her, now?
I was a horrible person.
How do I want to fuck thee, let me count the filthy ways—this, while my hand was on this sweet, grieving girl. And I wanted to scream at the appalling injustice of this night.
I sighed.
I said nothing and watched Axl. He was my friend, but this was a side of him I could not fathom. He waved off the one man who seemed to be a bodyguard, sent him off down the internal stairs, with the metal steps ringing at the impact of his boots. He disappeared below, and it was only the four of us.
Axl drew a pistol from inside his navy-blue jacket and locked his gaze on me. “Martelle overstepped, and I thought you might want to do this. Either way, he isn’t going to live past tonight.”
When the bound man rolled and made noises as if to protest, Axl stopped his movement by planting a foot on his back.
“Your choice.” He handed me the gun, grip-first. “Shoot him.”
I took the gun, bowed my head, letting the weight of the weapon rest on my other palm. “We release Emme, first. You’re not killing her.”
It was not a question.
“No. I wasn’t going to. Ever. I am not that man.”
The unsaid conclusions in my head solidified. He wasn’t, but he also planned not to let her go. How could he?
