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I exhale but obey, barely noticing the sting of the needle when Doc injects the local anesthetic and only stare at his hands as he cleans and stitches my shoulder wound.
He stares at me in reproach as I leave with a curt, “Thanks.”
The sky outside is stormy. It’s been days since the last rain.
Which reminds me—a hurricane is coming. The Eastsiders are probably angrier with me than they ever were. Like I give a shit. They won’t reason with me but will listen to Maddy. It’s their safety that will be at stake, and they can fuck off if they don’t want a helping hand. This island is my responsibility. But I simply give people choices and wash my hands off afterward. Even what happened to Olivia didn’t make them realize that they are not invincible. Not there.
Olivia…
The memory of that night flashes like a twenty-fifth-frame effect, making my stomach turn for a moment.
My clothes are wet and smell like seaweed. I cringe. I hate dirty shit. That’s what I turned into—a billion worth of shit, and they still put me in Forbes.
I rake my hand through my hair and close my eyes for a moment. I need sleep. I should take sleeping pills tonight. Several. A bottle of them would be ideal.
I dial Marlow.
“Those three from the Eastside in the holding cell—tell them their littleCall of Dutygame is over. Droga and his girl are gone, mission accomplished, and they can fuck off. Put them on a boat—nicely,” I press. I don’t want another fight or manhandling. “When you drop them off—that piece of shit from town who’s dying on the Eastside—see if he is still alive, and bring him here. We’ll deal with it.”
It must be exhaustion. I don’t know why I even care about what happens to them, or anyone for that matter. But then again—losing people, even the ones who hate you… Loss is a noose. It’s been too tight around my neck lately.
Talk about restricted breathing—Miss Ortiz is waiting at my place. She spent the night there. Good. She needs to learn her place.
The surveillance center is my next stop as I drive through the northern part of the resort and toward the buildings deeper in the jungle. I am tired of this never-ending routine, but that’s the only thing that keeps me in check today. Keeps me from doing anything stupid to myself.
I need to call Dad and tell him there might be a call from the Coast Guard.
The memory of Droga makes me want to punch someone—no one wants to be anywhere around me.
My phone rings right as I reach the surveillance center. I kill the engine and look at the screen.
Amir.
“What’s up?” I ask, getting off the bike.
“Well, a number of things. But we’ll talk when you get to the lab. Just wanted to touch base about that man, Aleksei Tsariuk.”
I rub my forehead, trying to get rid of the headache that’s splitting my brain. “Yeah?”
“Just got off the phone with the Emirates. Dad said Tsariuk didn’t say much. Mentioned that he talked to the Secretary and that didn’t help.”
“I know that. That was a year ago.”
“Well, he said that he will get some people who know what they are doing to look into Zion.Inconspicuously. Quietly.Without much noise.Those are his words.”
My mind starts working out scenarios of how he can possibly get his people to this islandinconspicuously. The word is an insult to my surveillance team. Prick.
“It has something to do with former contractors or Navy SEAL guys,” Amir says.
My mind goes wild at the words as Amir keeps talking. “I don’t know how inconspicuous it sounds, but maybe Marlow should check the records of all the security guys who were hired in the last year. And maybe sift through the spring-breakers again.”
“I’ll buzz you later,” I cut him off. “Thanks, man.”
I stab the phone into my pocket and jump back on my bike.
I fucking knew it!
I don’t need to check the security. In the last several weeks, there is only one person who has Navy SEAL written all over her file. Her dad’s, to be exact.
