Page 4 of Shai

I began to slide across the bottom of the boat, one or both men evidently dragging me.

“Well, Elijah, this is where you get off.” Harris then. Or at least it was his voice.

“Can we get on with it?” The third voice sounded bored, like he had far better things he could be doing. It was either Caraway or Cooper. They were brothers so they sounded similar.

“Grab his legs. I’ll get his head.”

I was lifted, the sensation of being suspended lasting a few seconds, fingers gripping my shoulders and ankles through the sack. And then I was falling, the crushing impact as I hit the water stealing the breath from my lungs. I wasn’t immediately dragged down into the cold embrace of the water, though. But then something else hit the water, something loud and heavy. There was a jerk as whatever it was started its inevitable path to the bottom of the river with me accompanying it.

It was an automatic reaction to hold my breath as water closed around my head, even though I was only postponing the inevitable. My body apparently hadn’t gotten the memo that I’d chosen to die. Maybe I wanted to live after all.

If I did, it was too late.

Shai

I LEANED BACK in my chair and narrowed my eyes as Taylor and Wyatt entered the room carrying something, which given the way they were struggling with it appeared to be heavy. I could only tell it was a sack once they’d gotten closer. They came to a halt in front of me and let it drop to the floor with a thud. I regarded the rather strange present coolly. “What’s this?”

Taylor, the taller of the two men and the one widely regarded as my second-in-command took up the mantle of explaining. “McIntyre’s men were on the river. They looked like they were up to something, so we took the boat out to see what it was.” He dipped his chin toward the sack. “They threw this overboard, weighted down. We figured you might be interested in what they were so keen to get rid of, so we dived down and got it.”

That explained why Taylor’s hair was wet. And they were right. My interest was definitely piqued. I was interested in anything McIntyre did, always on the lookout for weak spots to use against him. I wasn’t happy with the half of Deadwood I’d snatched out from under his nose. My intention had been to take it all, and I wouldn’t rest until there was no more McIntyre and everything belonged to me. He’d had his time. The man needed to step aside and admit that he’d lost. It would happen. It was a matter of when, not if. “I assume you’ve already taken a look at the contents?”

Taylor gave a nod, his fingers hovering over the fastening of the sack as

he waited for my signal. I waved a hand in an impatient gesture telling him to get on with it. What was it? Drugs? But then, I couldn’t think of a reason for McIntyre to be dumping them. He’d never been shy about dealing a bad batch before. He was too stupid to have worked out that in business, dead customers weren’t repeat customers, one of the many reasons he didn’t deserve to be in the position he was. Taylor grasped the edge of the sack and tugged hard, the pale naked limbs of a young man tumbling out in an ungainly fashion to spill across the floor. I sat back, disappointment turning my last meal to acid in my stomach. “You brought me a corpse.”

Taylor shook his head. “Still alive. Or at least he was before we put him

in the car. Coughed up a shitload of water when we pulled him out, but he hasn’t moved since.”

I stood, taking the couple of steps needed to reach the body. Crouching

down next to it, I ran my gaze over the still form to see what information I could glean. Dark hair, although it was possible it would be a couple of shades lighter once it dried. Somewhere in his mid-twenties if I had to hazard a guess. He was fairly muscular with a body that would have been pleasant to look at in other circumstances. His pale skin showed every cut and bruise, of which there were plenty. Given that he’d spent time in McIntyre’s “care,” it was no surprise. The man was renowned for taking his pound of flesh from anyone who crossed his path.

I placed two fingers against the man’s neck, his skin ice-cold. Feeling

nothing, I moved my fingers lower, searching for evidence of life. There. Just the slightest flutter, but enough to demonstrate that his heart was still beating. He was indeed still alive.

Trailing my fingers up his neck, I ran them along one sharp cheekbone.

Grabbing a handful of his hair, I turned his head to the side to get a better view of his face. A dark bruise covering the opposite cheek was the first thing I noticed. Despite the pallor, he had a handsome face, his features neat and regular, and his lips full and fleshy. His eyes were closed so I couldn’t tell what color they were.

Taylor had remained a hovering, silent figure next to me. Fingers still

wrapped in the stranger’s hair, I lifted my head to address him. “Who is he?”

He shrugged. “No idea. Someone McIntyre had no more use for, I

guess.”

I flicked a glance at him. “Find out. I want to know everything about him. Who he is, where he came from, who his family is, how he came to be with McIntyre, and what he did to piss him off enough for McIntyre to consign him to the bottom of the river.”

Taylor nodded. “What you gonna do with him?”

A voice I recognized only too well came floating across the room, the rough huskiness of it grating on my nerves the same way it always did. “He might have useful information.”

I responded without looking up, concerned she might be able to see the irritation in my gaze that I was usually so good at masking. “I thought you were asleep.”

My mother stepped into the light, staring down at the body I was still hunched over. “I was. I woke up.”