Thirty-One
Liam
The harsh ringing of the doorbell pulls me from sleep. Sara's warm body still curled against mine, and my first instinct is to ignore it, to sink back into the cocoon we've created. But the second ring is more insistent, a rapid-fire assault that can only be Damien's impatient finger glued to the button. It’s too bad my blender broke two days ago with Sara’s need to put a hundred and ten ingredients for her disgusting skin smoothie, because that’s where his finger would end up right about now.
“Fuck,” I mutter, carefully extracting myself from her. I brush a strand of hair from her face, allowing myself one extra moment to take in the sight of her sleeping and softly kissing her lips.
I pull on sweats and a t-shirt as I move toward the door, my mind shifting gears from the peaceful bubble of last night to the shitstorm waiting outside and the yacht, the photos, the girls, and the poker games, the trafficking and finding who runs the show. The goddamn mess we're in. When I swing open the door, Damien and Mateo stand there with shit-eating grins on their faces.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice rough with sleep. “It’s—” I glance back at the clock on the oven, “—six forty-five in the fucking morning.”
Damien doesn't wait for an invitation. He pushes past me as he takes a bite of a croissant, practically vibrating with energy, while Mateo follows with a slightly apologetic look.
“We got something from the raid,” Damien says between chews, already making himself at home in my living room as he sits on the couch, one arm resting on the edge. He drops a thick folder on my coffee table with a heavy thud. “And it couldn't wait.”
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss, glancing toward the bedroom where Sara is still sleeping. “What's so important that it couldn't wait until a decent hour?”
Damien's eyes widen slightly as he follows my gaze toward the bedroom, then a knowing smirk spreads across his face. “Oh. You have company.” He doesn't bother hiding his amusement. “So, getting rid of the bed worked, then?”
I shoot him a warning glare. “Just—” I gesture toward the patio. “Outside. Now.”
I lead them through the living room toward the sliding glass doors that open onto the pool area, keeping my movements quiet. The last thing I need is for Sara to wake up and findDamien and Mateo in my house. She deserves a few more hours of peace.
The morning air is crisp, the surface of the pool is still and reflecting the early sunlight. I drop into one lounger, running a hand through my sleep-mussed hair.
“Go ahead, spit it out?” I ask, keeping my voice low despite being outside. Damien leans forward, his excitement palpable.
“Remember our little friend on the boat who you blew his kneecap off? Fun times. We got him to chat a bit. After some persuasive attempts, he gave us some intel that I think is a good lead.” He hands me the folder. “The next poker game is in three days. Invitation only, and there’s a list.”
“Let me guess…” I say, knowing where this is going, and I already don’t like it at all.
“Sara’s on it,” Mateo cuts in.
“Here’s the kicker, that pig explained that the pink poker chips have numbers assigned to special wins.” Damien explains.
“What kind of special prize— girls?” I widen my eyes.
“Yup, he confirmed girls are the prize, and then I punched his teeth out.” Mateo’s jaw tenses.
“Fuck, Joe must’ve found out about this… but how did we miss this when we raided the boats in the past?” I connect the dots.
“Because the games don’t take place on the boats. That’s how we missed it,” Mateo responds.
“We think Sara should…” Damien starts, but I cut him off right away.
“Absolutely not. Are you out of your damn mind?” I retort.
Damien and Mateo exchange glances, and I can already see the argument forming on their lips.
“There's no way she's going to that game,” I continue, my voice dropping to a dangerous level. “Not after what we've seen. Not after what those bastards are capable of.”
Mateo leans forward, his expression serious. “Liam, we need someone on the inside. The feds have been trying to crack this ring for months. We can help.”
“The feds haven’t done shit, for years. Don’t talk to me about the fucking feds— send in one of your undercover agents. Not her.” I stand up, the angst of this ill-conceived scheme running my blood hot. “Anyone, but her.”
“Liam, It's not that simple,” Damien says, and I look over to what’s in his hands and opens it. "These people are careful. They've vetted everyone on this list. Sara already has a foot in that we can't fabricate even if we tried. She’s on their radar, Liam.”
A list of guests, pictures of a building in the old village near the lighthouse, and the man I met who put his hands on my girl when he clasped that necklace around her neck. I could’ve cut his hands right then and there and fed them to the sharks.
