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I repeat the serenity prayer inside my mind.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
I must stay focused. I can’t let the rage I used to feel consume me once more.
And damn, it’s hard. This man did something horrible to Katelyn, and for that reason alone I could kill him with my bare hands.
Yes, my rage was fueled by alcohol. But it was also a part of me that I have to work to keep at bay.
One high-profile person who frequented the island made the news. Prince Christian of Cordova, a small principality off the southern coast of France. Their only claim to fame is their royal family, whose pictures always grace the tabloids.
Prince Christian was the heir apparent, but now that title has passed to his sister Princess Salome.
“Did you ever meet Prince Christian?” I ask.
“No. He was never there when I was.”
“Who was there? When you were there?”
He keeps his lips pressed shut.
“Get talking. I don’t have a lot of patience left. You can tell me now or you can tell me later when I’m gutting you.”
“I wish I could.”
“Damn it, that nondisclosure agreement means nothing right now. It was illegal when you signed it because you were on an island doing illegal activities.”
“It was a private island. Who’s to say what the law was?”
“You can’t be talking serious. You and everyone else who visited that island knew exactly what you were doing, and you knew exactly how wrong it was. Now start talking, or I swear to God I will cut you but I will keep you alive so you can tell me what I want to know.”
“You can’t—” he gasps.
I’m holding a knife now. I pulled it out of the band of my ankle holster. It glitters even in the artificial light of the studio, and the steel blade is sharp enough to break skin at first contact.
I’ve had this knife for years. My old man gave it to me. I used one like it on the island myself, when I tried to get Emily to come back to me. That one I stole from one of the island security guards.
Yes, I know what I’m doing. I’m skilled in weapon and unarmed combat.
“Have you ever gutted a bird, Mr. Pollack?”
He shakes his head while shivering.
“Gutting an animal’s not that different. My father used to hunt wild game in Africa. Cost him an arm and a leg, but he loved doing it. I never acquired the taste for it myself, but he used to drag me along with him anyway, make me watch as he gutted those poor animals simply for their pelts.”
I’m lying. My father never hunted wild game in his life. Neither did I. I have no desire to. I love animals.
But the lie is working. Pollack’s face is twisted with terror. He’s beyond frightened at this point.
He’s petrified. Completely and utterly petrified.
“Okay, okay…” He rattles off five names I recognize. All rich men, all well known.
None of whom are in prison right now.
“Why weren’t any of these people caught?”
“I don’t know. Payoffs?”
He’s probably right. “Those are the names you gave the Feds?”
He nods, still shaking.
“Yet none of those fuckers are in prison.”
“Plenty of them are, I heard.”
“Not the ones you just named.”
“Yeah, but those are the big names. These people can buy their way out of any kind of mess.”
“Can they?”
My question is rhetorical, of course. My old man can buy his way out of anything. Hell, he bought my freedom. Which has turned out to be short-lived.
If a bozo like Pollack can find out who I am, can’t anyone?
Of course, he may have found my alias, but he doesn’t know who I am.
“There are a few others,” he says. “That tech guy, Carlos Neptune. And then the blue-blood guy from California. He’s a producer. Lucifer Ashton.”
My blood runs cold.
My old man? My fucking old man?
If he touched Katelyn, I will kill him.
“Ashton’s not in prison either,” I say dryly.
“Like I said, money talks.”
“How is Prince Christian incarcerated but not these wealthy Americans?”
“Because wealthy Americans can buy their freedom.”
“So in addition to buying your freedom with Auntie’s money, you’re also a damned canary.”
He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. We both know the truth.
I’m as much of a canary as he is.
Again…I feel like I’m looking in a mirror.
What makes us so different?
And my father…
I always knew he was an asshole, but this?
Then again, I’ve watched him mistreat my mother my whole life. I grew up thinking that was the way one treated women, which was part of the reason why I was so hard on my girlfriends. Why I wanted to control them, order them around, punish them when they disobeyed me.
My God, no wonder I’m so fucked up.
