Page 54 of Volatile Waters

Done! Your life! Their peace!

Now, I was the one blinking, wondering what I had just agreed to. Dazed, I lied to Harold, “I have not mentioned anything of the sort. It is you who is speaking of blood and death.”

As if sensing I was lying yet again, he raced from his chair to a little bar along the wall. Pouring whiskey into a glass of ice, he mumbled, “You are a deadly, impossible asshole.”

In my already confused state, my brows bunched. “It could be a language barrier issue, but that makes no sense to me.”

He threw the full glass against the wall, then roared. “Are you going to kill my son?”

Frustrated with myself, as much as with my conversation with Crash, I stood, preparing to leave. “Reether? No. His father and I have an arrangement.”

Harold appeared as if he were either going to implode or explode at any second. The pressure of possibly losing another son was clearly a breaking point for him. Maybe my snide remark helped push him over the edge. As I exited the den, he yelled, “What about Junior?”

I peered over my shoulder, “Crash? We, too, have made an arrangement.” I winked before walking out the American’s front door.

Adrian followed me as Harold, still in the den, screamed into his handheld radio, “Get my fucking son home, you ignorant, useless bastards!”

Harold’s minions found Crash at Whitney’s home when they returned from a doctor’s appointment about her foot. Leaving a stunned Reether and Whitney behind, the minions returned Crash to his father. Harold put the kid on lockdown in an attempt to keep him safe, but Crash had learned how to outsmart his father long ago and delivered himself to me.

A hotel room was not a good place to hold a hostage, so Adrian had arranged for us to rent a secluded house a couple of hours away. Harold and all his minions searched and cashed in favors to gain any information to our whereabouts. Apparently, five Russian men in Connecticut is quite memorable. After being found twice, by Harold’s hired guns, and after successfully shooting our way free both times, we managed to keep Crash in our care.

The men Father had sent me came in handy.

“Hello?” I answered my cell, knowing exactly who was calling.

“You motherfucker! You killed four of my men!” Harold was livid.

“It was actually five. I can only recommend hiring more competent help or stop chasing us.”

“You have my fucking son, you Russian asshole!”

I disconnected the call, laughing. “Your father is pissed.” Crash was sitting next to me in the middle row of seats in the SUV. He had blood on his face because I had shot the thug that tried to take him from me. As if lost in his circumstance, he stared out the window. “You didn’t have to kill him. I had almost broken free.”

Kirill laughed, still exhilarated from the fight. “Did you see that guy’s expression? He kept saying ‘I’m here to help you!’”

Crash’s eyes closed, as if trying to block out the image and the choice he had to make. Had he let that man take him, nothing would stand between myself and Whitney.

Trying to ignore more annoying sensations in my chest, I did my best to be casual about an unsettling situation. I rested my arm around his shoulders. “What would you like one of your last meals to be?”

He shrugged me off him. “Jesus, Yury. You’re such a dick.”

“What? At least I am feeding you.”

His head fell back against the seat. “Why bother? I’ll be dead soon.”

The reality of the situation I had created—the hasty deal I made with Crash while still angry—started to sink in even more. Then came a feeling of dread in my gut. I couldn’t help but quietly ask, “What does it feel like to choose to die for someone?”

Crash blew out a weighted breath, his shoulders showing exhaustion. “It’s sad.”

Not being able to back down due to exhibiting weakness in front of my employees, I figured this was a perfect way out for Crash. “Then, why do it? Just let me have her.”

His head leaned against his window. “It’s not sad because I will be dead. It’s sad because I will no longer,” his voice changed as he became choked up, “get to see her.”

The SUV went quiet. I was trying to understand such dedication. It was mystifying and unsettling to me, all at the same time. Crash was willing to no longer breathe or exist on earth so that someone else could. Not only was that confusing, but frustrating, because I couldn’t relate in the slightest. I felt as if I’d missed out on some sort of secret of life—some sort of ‘knowing’ that didn’t apply to people—traffickers—like myself.

Adrian said, “I hate to interrupt this uplifting conversation, but where are we going to take Crash now?” He examined his gun. “I’m running low on ammunition.”

“Let me think for a minute.” I observed Kirill staring at his naked stripper on his phone. “How old is she?”