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29
MARENAH
I walk to the helicopter,still shivering from the trauma of the night, but filled with a sense of power, a rightness of making sure those people were released, but as much as that felt good, I know that this can’t be my life. I thought signing up would give me free rein to find out my father’s dirty secrets. Instead I found out that he was paying people, important people, to cover his trail, to obliterate any evidence of his wrongdoing from this earth before anyone like myself could find it.
I am wiser now and know exactly what I need to do as I pull myself up into the helicopter and take a seat right next to Scottie.
“We need to go back and finalize things, you know that,” Scottie says.
I wonder if he can see me swallow my emotions and fear, trying to bury them way deep inside, but I nod. “I know.”
“Head to the satellite boat,” Scottie says to the pilot, and the whirring of the blades overhead becomes louder and louder and the chopper becomes airborne, seemingly in place for a space of a matter of minutes before it veers into the sky, leaving people, boats, trees, and the shoreline behind us, leaving me to contemplate what I want and need to do.
* * *
Over an hour later,we land on another large boat in the middle of nowhere. I look around, realizing I have nowhere to go if things head south. The only escape is the deep dark ocean swirling around us and the thought of jumping into the deep blue waters this far off land with no backup or safeguard is unthinkable. Scottie has brought me to a virtually impenetrable area, and I resign myself to my fate as I jump down after him and follow him across the deck and down the stairs. I have the worst sense of déjà vu. What if Scottie isn’t who he’s pretending to be and is bringing me back to these men? Why would he take me to their headquarters? To kill me or to turn me in? I take a deep breath. Scottie could have killed me multiple times, and he didn’t. It’s been a long day, and I am just being paranoid. He could have turned his loaded gun on either Matt or me, but he didn’t. It takes me the entire walk into the cabin to calm myself to the point that I am breathing regularly.
When the dark-haired captain in uniform, the one that hired me and is sitting at the large mahogany desk, gestures for me to come closer, Scottie encourages me with a slight nod of his head.
I didn’t follow protocol, not once, but disregarded them several times in my need to see those people freed. I steady myself, walking toward him, not fully knowing what reprimand and penance comes with such disregard of the game plan in the world that is Interpol.
The man assesses me from across the desk and then turns his head down, reviewing the documents he has in front of him for what seems like hours but could only be a moment in time. “You want to tell me why you signed up, why you really signed up?” he says as his eyes pan across my face, settling on mine and holding them captured, ensuring I feel the entire magnitude of his displeasure.
“I wanted to make a difference, and thought I could,” I say.
“Enough! You thought you could gain inside information about your family, did you not?” he says as his dark eyes hold mine.
I shiver, because there’s something in that look, in those eyes, in that voice, that takes me back to a different place, to a different time, and I can’t quite figure it out, until I finally do.
I breathe deeply, inhaling, knowing that if I give him one reason to know that I recognize him from the men that were in my grandfather’s study, making deals around the world, not only will I be dead, but anyone we are trying to save will be likewise.
I watch him, his deep grey eyes penetrating mine, and then I see it, the recognition, then his shock quickly covered, but I think he knows I know.
This man that deals with my grandfather, the head of the Bratva, is in a senior position in Interpol, and I know exactly why Scottie is just watching, taking it all in.
The man behind the desk snarls. “I recognize you! You’re the girl he introduced us to as his granddaughter. He sent you to keep tabs on us because he didn’t think we were capable of doing his dirty work right?” he shouts.
I smile and watch him squirm. He thinks I am a plant for my grandfather, and he has unknowingly told me exactly who is responsible for the human trafficking that I’ve been following for Interpol, but he is afraid, and should be, because everyone knows that my grandfather will put anyone that he believes could talk or that crosses him into the ground.
I just let recognition settle in, and then give him a little smile, letting him know he’s right in terms of who I am, because I want him scared. There’s a sick side of me that wants this maggot to feel just a small amount of the fear, only a sliver of what these young people he has been trafficking have endured. I realize in this moment that I may have inherited this trait from both my father and grandfather, and it doesn’t bother me in the least.
He starts babbling about the boat being overtaken. I smile, because I know it’s for my grandfather’s benefit. He hopes that he will be granted mercy by my grandfather when he is behind bars in a prison that my family owns, but he will not be, because this is the cockroach that not only has been responsible for orchestrating the movement of human lives, but has been taking kickbacks and bribes that takes money out of the Bratva hands, and no one does that and sees the light of day.
I let that thought settle with me, and I don’t feel remorse for this asshole, only happiness that he will see justice, but if I didn’t know it before today, I do know that I will never be part of either of my families, because I can’t stomach that they are both part of this life, making part of their living by plucking unsuspecting women and children out of their lives and selling them to the highest bidder. I will, instead, fight against this. It is finally right here and now that I understand who I am and what I stand for, family name be damned.
I see the nod of the captain’s head, just a tilt, but it pulls me out of my head and into the moment as his henchmen stalk into the room with guns aimed at Scottie and me.
One puts his Glock right behind Scottie’s neck and the other one marches to me, his gun leveled at me the entire time he walks toward me. I let him get closer, because he needs to be, and when he is in my face and tells me to put my hands up, I do, at both sides of my head, just as would be expected, but in a practiced sweep, I grip both sides of the razor-sharp hair clip and bury them hard into both sides of his neck. The sound of his scream does not phase me. It allows me time to grab my Glock and crash it into the side of the captain’s head, rendering him unconscious and allowing Scottie the moment of surprise he needs to spin and overtake the man that has him hostage, taking him in a choke hold that he’s not going to get out of until he has breathed his last breath, and only then does Scottie let the man’s limp and lifeless body slump to the ground, and I wipe the blades of my combs off on the dead man’s shirt.
I hear the footsteps overhead before they ever reach the steps. I nod to Scottie, pointing up, and he knows without me saying a word exactly what I’ve heard. We march to opposite sides of the stairs that will bring our enemies into the lower level, and when all six men march down the stairs, we are prepared to take them out, but I shake my head to Scottie. These are supposed to be the good guys of Interpol, and I know this because they are the ones that have been chasing these fuckers, trying desperately to catch them in the act.
I come out of my position behind the stairs, and all eyes turn to me. “The men on the floor were trafficking women and children,” I say, looking at the most senior of the Interpol men. “I’ve finished the job asked of me. You’ll find these are the men responsible. The captain should still be alive. Consider this my resignation,” I say, walking past them to get to the stairs. It’s not until I reach the upper deck that I take a deep breath and feel the heavy weight of my family’s history fall from me, finally free, at least to the extent anyone can be with a legacy such as ours.
I am leaning over the railing, looking out at the darkness, when Scottie approaches from behind. “You did well, Lass,” he says, leaning on the rail beside me.
“You always knew, didn’t you?” I say.
He tilts his head and his lips curve upward ever so slightly, and just for a brief second, but I didn’t miss it. “You’re too smart for your own good. Yes, I always knew who your family was. What I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure of tonight was where your allegiance would fall when you found out your grandfather was working with the Interpol faction that was responsible,” he says.
