Page 15

Chapter fifteen

Cillian

I step out of the airport terminal into the humid New Orleans afternoon. Fuck, I hate this city. There are too many memories of the last time I was here, and I’ve decided all of New Orleans can go to hell. Especially one person in particular.

I spent these last four weeks wondering what I could have possibly said to Nova to make her run. Did she think I was going to ask for a cut of the money? Did she think I was going to ask her to come back to Boston with me? The questions swirled in my head over and over—as did every emotion under the sun. But they all landed back at anger until settling into indifference.

Or so I thought.

Then Sampson called and said he’s been seeing those same Italian fucks around the docks, and the ship from Russia is scheduled to go out tonight. I called Liam and hopped on a plane, and now I’m back in this god-forsaken city. And my anger is back in full force along with me.

Finn was more than happy to see me off on this trip. He’s been privy to more than a couple of my angry outbursts over the last few weeks. But so what if I’m a little short-tempered these days? It’s not like he has much room to talk. Anyone looks at his wife wrong and he’s liable to shoot them in the kneecap, especially now that Alessia is expecting. Suddenly, when I punch a guy in the face for making a joke about New Orleans working some voodoo magic and making me a grumpy bastard, it’s an issue. I mean, fine, it was his brother, but still. Sometimes the kid gets on my nerves and needs to be put in his place every once in a while. Eoghan is the annoying little brother I never had and never wanted, and it’s not the first time I’ve hit the little asshole. I got him an ice pack for the split lip, for Chrissake. What more did he expect from me?

I didn’t have to tell Finn shit went south with Nova; he read it on my face clear as day when I met him the next day for our meeting with Ozzy. I barely said more than two words, and Ozzy kept shooting me confused looks. I’m not exactly the chatty one of the family, but that day I was particularly quiet, seeing as I’d just had my car stolen and been fucking ghosted the day before. As soon as the meeting was over, Finn made me spill all the gory details about how I’d essentially been had by a con artist who I thought was just a simple pickpocket. Oh no . Nova got me fucking good, and I had no clue.

There’s sure as shit no way her little story about wanting to hit that charity auction with some guy who she thought could help her out was true. No, I think her plan solidified when I told her I was in town. She knew exactly what she wanted from me the second I texted her about wanting to see her. She had the perfect opportunity to have a professional help her, so she did whatever she thought was necessary to secure that help. She fucked me for three days, then fucked me over. What other reason did she have to run? She got what she fucking wanted then decided she was over keeping up the charade, so she bolted.

And I’m the one who fell for it—hook, line, and motherfucking sinker.

The drive to the little hotel Liam and his team are staying at takes me about thirty minutes. Nothing but disgust rolls through me at the sight of the city I’d happily never step foot in again. And hopefully after tonight, I never will. Once this shit with Farina’s men is figured out, I’ll make damn sure everyone knows the port of NOLA is off-limits for any of this human trafficking bullshit. God, I hope they put up a fight. I'm in the mood to wipe some pieces of shit from the earth tonight.

I pull up to the roadside motel outside of the city and knock on room 7. Liam opens the door with a wide smile on his face that quickly disappears when he gets a good look at me.

“Jesus, mate. Who pissed in your Cheerios?”

I roll my eyes behind my sunglasses—so I doubt he notices—and shoulder past him. The room is sparse, with beige walls, a bed, and a dresser with an old TV sitting on top. The window facing the street has a small round table in front of it, which is where Sawyer is set up with his laptop.

“We’re good to go. Abel has everything set up down there,” Sawyer tells us.

I walk behind him to take a look at his screen. There are several small windows displayed, each with a different view of the docks. There are a couple different views at the entrance gate where freight vehicles pass through, and a few cameras pointing at the freight carrier scheduled to go out tonight.

“How’d he get in?” I ask. Sampson never called me to tell me anyone else was snooping around, and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have missed Abel.

“Facility maintenance. You’d be surprised how easily that works in most situations, especially places like this where unfamiliar faces aren’t out of the ordinary,” Sawyer answers.

“Come take a look at this,” Liam says, leading me into the adjoining room.

Laid out on the bed is everything we’re going to need tonight. Vests, comms, guns, extra magazines, and a few knives. Even some brass knuckles, a few pairs of handcuffs, and several bundles of nylon rope.

“Judging by”—Liam waves his hand up and down in front of me—“everything, I’m going to go out on a limb and guess you're in no mood for prisoners, but I’m going to ask you leave at least one of them alive,” Liam says.

I send him a smirk and pick up one of the .45 pistols. “I’m not making any promises.”

The ride to the port is silent. We decided to take two black Sprinter vans—one loaded with all the weapons, along with Liam, Sawyer, Abel, Hendrix, and myself. Kingston is driving the other that contains medical equipment and plenty of room for the women who these scumbags plan on shipping. When we pull up to the gate, I show my paperwork to the lone guard, who barely glances at it before waving us through.

“Top-notch security they have here,” Hendrix comments as we make our way through the gate.

“It works in our favor. Hopefully the same can be said once we find the container,” Liam comments.

I drive slowly, with Kingston following behind. I know where I’m going, seeing as Sampson and I were out here a month ago. But now is not the time to think about that trip and everything that happened following our meeting. The last thing I need is to be distracted by thoughts of a deceitful, dark-haired thief.

I pass the row of containers and some heavy machinery used to load the huge containers onto a ship until I find a break in the row. Pulling into the small area that’s just wide enough for one car to drive through, Kingston follows, and we get out of the vans.

“Load up, boys. Who knows when these assholes are going to show.”

Kingston joins us at our van, and we open the false floor of the interior before opening the cases that contain everything we would possibly need. Each of us don a vest and several handguns with extra magazines strapped to our sides. I slide a knife at each side and double check each of the guns before putting them in the holsters.

“Like Columbia?” Sawyer asks, and Liam nods.

“You know, I really wish you would explain what the hell that means. Not all of us have been working together for the last ten years,” I grumble as we get back into the van, and Abel shuts the doors behind us.

Liam smirks at my obvious irritation then proceeds to explain what we’re in for. These guys have an organized system in place, and I respect that. Once he finishes with his explanation, he leans back against the wall of the van. “But you know it could all go tits up, so be on your toes.”

“That’s reassuring,” I tell him, and the group has a nice little chuckle at my expense.

“That’s life,” Liam replies with a casual shrug.

Sawyer’s eyes are locked to his computer screen when he says, “Incoming.” He expands the view of one camera, which is pointed at the containers less than a hundred feet from where we’re parked. A large white van stops in front of one container and parks before two men jump from the front. The first thing I notice is the nice clothes they have on, not jeans or coveralls you would expect from any run-of-the-mill delivery service. The next thing I notice is the shoulder holsters. Definitely not delivery men, then.

One of the men walks to the container and opens the heavy metal door, while the other heads to the back of the van and opens the door. Two more guys jump out before Sawyer switches the view on his computer screen to the opening of the back of the van.

What I see next makes my blood run fucking cold.

Nova’s best friend, Harper, is being dragged from the back—and she’s followed by the bane of my existence herself. What the actual fuck? The terror on their faces is plain as day through the computer screen, even in the dead of night. The other girls that are being hauled out after Harper and Nova wear similar expressions. Every muscle in my body aches to charge out of the Sprinter van doors and get Nova and Harper away from here as fast as humanly possible.

“I know both of those girls,” I say through a clenched jaw.

Liam’s head whips toward me. “Keep it cool, Cillian. We stick to the plan and everyone makes it out.”

My head jerks in a nod as my eyes stay glued to the screen.

“Sawyer, how many girls?” Liam asks. There’s an urgency in his voice, either from the adrenaline coursing through all our bloodstreams or because he can tell I’m about three seconds from jumping out of this van and killing every last one of these motherfuckers.

“It looks like six more, but I don’t have the best angle. I’m not sure if anyone else is in the van with them.”

“I’m not waiting,” I grit out.

Liam nods. “Alright. Let’s try not to have another Argentina, yeah?”

I roll my eyes as Abel opens the doors, and the six of us hop out on silent feet. We crouch low, each of us with a weapon in our hand, and make a right at the end of the row, heading toward the storage container. The four assholes are too preoccupied with keeping the squirming girls under control, so they don’t notice us quickly approaching them, ready to make them wish they’d stayed the fuck out of this business.

“Tony!” one of the guys calls and immediately reaches for the gun in his holster. Before he pulls it out, the sound of a suppressed gunshot comes from behind me and the man falls to the ground with a bullet between his eyes. Three of us duck behind one huge forklift while the other three dive behind a mobile crane for cover. When I peek my head around the corner, I spy Tony looking to his dead friend and then to where we’re hidden. He grabs Nova and dives to the other side of the van. Another man grabs Harper to use as a human shield, but she stumbles when he tries to drag her back into the van, giving me the opportunity I need. I expertly aim my gun, and the bullet hits the piece of shit in the chest before he crumples to the ground and blood pools around him. Two down. One of the men is inside the container, taking shots at us from behind the heavy door. Each shot goes wide since he’s only reaching his arm out and firing. Fucking amateur.

“I’ll kill every last one of these girls if you don’t let us leave,” Tony calls from the other side of the van. “Let us go and you can have them. No bitch is worth this.”

“Farina know you’re willing to trade his money for your life?” I call to the man holding Nova at gunpoint behind that fucking white van.

I don’t socialize with the Italians other than Alessia’s family, but I’d be an idiot if I didn’t know exactly who Tony Castalenti is. He’s made a name for himself within the organization as being a fucking ruthless psychopath. He was making his way up to a capo when his predecessor met an untimely demise under suspicious circumstances. Of course, that isn’t something to be looked at too closely in the Farina organization. The old man made it to the top by stepping over a few dead bodies himself.

Tony peeks his head from around the van then quickly hides himself again.

“Cillian Doyle. You’re a long way from Boston.”

“I could say the same about you.”

I hear Tony curse. “Goddamn it, you stupid bitch. Try that again and I’ll shoot you in the head.”

“Cillian!” Nova yells.

“Well, would you look at that? Seems the girl knows you, Cillian.”

Goddamn it, Nova .

“Let them go, Tony. That’s the only way you and what’s left of your crew won’t leave here in body bags,” I call.

I feel Liam’s eyes boring into me from where he’s standing behind me. Hey, I said I’d try to leave at least one alive, not that it was a guarantee. But if this fucker hurts Nova, all bets are off.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Tony walks around the back of the van with Nova in front of him—a gun pointed at her head. “I think you know exactly how this is going to go. You’re going to let me get inside the van, and I’m going to take off. Or I’m going to put a bullet in your girlfriend’s skull and see where the chips fall.”

Nova’s gaze meets mine, and a million thoughts run through my head. Tony is perfectly capable of killing every last girl here and sleeping like a baby. Me? I don’t care how fucking pissed I was about her bailing. If she no longer walked this earth, I would feel the loss in the very depths of my soul. And isn’t that just the mindfuck I don’t need right now?

Tony has to know there’s no way he’s getting out of this alive. It’s all bravado, right? But am I willing to take the chance?

“Okay, Tony. Leave the girl, and I’ll let you go.”

Tony smirks. “Actually, I changed my mind. This one comes with me. I like her fight.” He runs his nose along the side of her cheek, and bile threatens to erupt from me.

Nova winces and looks at me for a split second before she pulls her feet off the ground and drops to her knees. Before Tony can latch on to her again, she punches him square in the dick and he doubles over in pain, losing his gun as he falls over. Nova grabs the gun and points it at the man behind the container door, then fires three times in quick succession. The girls are screaming, and Nova freezes in fear. Tony stumbles to his feet, and I point my gun at him, but before I fire off a shot, he’s slithered behind his van. As I’m running to where Nova is sitting on the ground, stunned as she stares into the container at the man she shot, I hear the van start and see Tony in the driver's seat. He ducks low as he peels away from the scene. Son of a bitch. I fire into the van, but I have no way of telling if anything hit him as I watch the taillights disappear around another row of storage containers.

“Let him go,” Liam says. “We’ll catch up to him later. You can trust me on that. We need to help these girls and get out of here.”

Nova is still crouched on the ground. She’s pointing the gun at the still body she shot before I made it over.

“He killed one of the girls right in front of us last night. Or maybe it was this morning.” Her stare is focused on the man, but I’m not entirely sure she’s seeing him or reliving her experience.

Hendrix jogs over and bends where the man is lying in a pool of blood.

“He’s still alive.”

“You didn’t kill him, Nova. You can hand me the gun. You’re safe.”

She finally looks at me, her eyes clear for the moment. “No offense, Cillian, but I don’t know the meaning of that word anymore. I’ll hold on to this if it's all the same.”

My jaw clenches, but I nod. If that’s what she needs to feel safe, then fine. This team of guys and I only saved her life for Chrissake.

Harper comes running over to Nova with tears streaming down her cheeks, and for the first time tonight, I see something other than terror on Nova’s face.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Nova coos in her best friend’s ear when Harper practically falls into Nova. “It’s over.”

God, how I wish that were true. Unfortunately, with Tony recognizing me and then getting away, this shitstorm is far from done.