Page 34 of Delta (Alpha #12)

I spend the long train ride dozing and thinking. Reflecting, really—something I generally make a concerted effort to avoid doing.

I've never had anyone stick by me like Bryn has.

I mean, my mates in the service, obviously, but that's different.

We trained to be a team. We had no choice but to learn to trust each other.

We killed and bled side by side, suffered the hell of war together.

This whole experience with Bryn…it's all new.

I don't run from fights, typically. If this was just me on the lam from that festering pustule Roberto Pugli, I’d go after him.

Invade his fucking house and burn it down around him.

Kill as many of his goons as I could before they put a round in the old brainpan.

I've never much cared whether I lived or died.

In a way, it's probably what made me such an effective operator.

I was willing to take risks that other blokes might not, simply because there's never been a single soul on this godforsaken planet who would mourn me if I ate a bullet.

Even my mates in the service would look at it as just another soldier dead in the line of duty—they'd be sad a bit, maybe tip a pint in my memory once a year.

I'm not reckless, mind you. I like being alive. I like life. I like sex and good booze and a good eight hours’ sleep.

I like a scalding shower in the morning.

I like a basket of fish and chips from my favorite chippie.

I like a long morning run along the Thames.

But when I'm out there, on mission downrange, all of that vanishes. My focus becomes singular. Accomplishing the objective is the only thing that matters.

This ain't that. Bryn ain't another lad from the service. She is the objective. But she's also someone who sees me. Hears me. Understands me. Even though it's been a matter of days, she sees my fucking soul in a way no one else ever has. And it's freaky. Disconcerting.

She forgives me. It might be an overstatement to call what I did the ultimate betrayal, but not by much. And she just…let it go. Got mad and let me know it. But she still heard me out. Demanded the truth from me, and when I gave it to her, she listened. She understood.

She forgave me. She doesn't seem to hold it against me, either. I mean, in my experience, it's still likely she'll trot it out when she's cross with me. But she don't seem the type for that. Hopefully not, at least.

I don't deserve her.

Not after all the shit I've done, not with all the blood on my hands and the skeletons I've got jam-packed in every closet, cabinet, and nook, and cranny of my rotten soul.

She stirs, and slowly slumps lower and lower until she finally gives a wordless, grumbling snurk and topples down to lay her head on my lap.

And here we are, on a damned train again.

Barcelona. Sunny, hot, and beautiful.

It's hard to enjoy it, though—for the last few hours, I've had a gnawing sense of unease in my gut. At first I thought we were being followed, but I've used every trick I know to spot a tail and haven't seen the same person twice in our hours of playing tourist. So it's not that.

I ask Bryn if she feels anything weird, and she just shrugs and says no, for once she's feeling hopeful.

I can't fucking shake it.

Finally, I decide to check in with Eliza's grandparents—I have a voicemail I've set up so they can leave a message if they need to get ahold of me. I had it set up to send an alert to my mobile, but Bryn yeeted that out the window somewhere between Lyon and Lisbon.

I lead Bryn to a bench beneath a massive palm tree near the beach. "I need to check in with Eliza," I tell Bryn. "I've a bad feeling I can't shake."

I pull out the fancy mobile Alexander gave us and dial into my voicemail box, input the password. I’ve one new message.

It's Richard, Rachel's father. He's frantic, nearly incoherent—left not an hour ago. "Rush! They took her. They took her. She's gone, man, she's gone.. She's bloody gone. Eliza…oh god, oh god, she's bloody gone, Rush. Oh god, oh god."

My heart freezes solid in my chest even as incandescent rage boils in my veins. "Fuck me bloody," I snarl under my breath. "I'll bloody murder the cunt."

Bryn rears back at the savagery in my voice. "Rush? What's wrong?"

I don't answer—I can't. I dial Richard's number with a shaky finger. It rings once.

"Rush?" It's Evelyn. “Is that you, boy?"

You, boy. Fuck, I hate that phrase. I ignore that and focus. "Yeah, Ev, it's me. Tell me you've found her."

"Oh, Rush, it was awful. We were sat to lunch and these horrible men just…

" she whimpers. "They crashed the door in, smashed everything to bits, and-and-and…

" she pauses, sobbing. "They put guns on Richard and me, didn't they, and told us to sit down and shut up or they'd kill us slowly.

They just took her, Rush. They took Eliza.

Put a bloody black bag over her poor darling head and just…

left with her. She was crying for you, Rush.

Crying for her daddy as the men carted her away like a sack of potatoes.

We couldn't do a damned thing, Rush. Oh god, I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry, Rush. She's gone. I don't know—oh god.

I don't know who or why. If it's money they want, we'll—we'll sell everything we have, I promise you we will, Rush. "

"Ev, Ev—stop!" I have to shout to get her to shut up and take a breath. “It's not your fault, Evelyn, it's mine. This is about me. You've done nothing wrong."

"What's it about, Rush? What've you done? Don't those bloody monsters know she's a dying child?"

Hot bile rises in my throat, presses against my teeth. I can't answer, can't breathe—I shove the mobile at Bryn and stagger to the nearby trash bin and vomit into it.

When I return to the bench, Bryn is speaking. "…promise you we will do everything that can be done to bring her back safely. I know you don't know me, ma'am, but I come from a very wealthy and powerful family. We will move heaven and earth for that girl."

The rage, guilt, horror, and worry are a tangled knot in my throat, making me dizzy.

Fuck, not another goddamned panic attack—I'm outside myself, almost, observing me having the mother of all panic attacks.

All the ones that have come before seem like the mini-quakes that come before the big one that brings down skyscrapers. It feels like a heart attack.

"—eathe…Rush. Breathe. In through your nose." I hear her voice, see her face wobbling and blurry.

The ground is hard under my hands and knees, grit sticking to my palms. An ant crawls at the edge of my vision.

Why did I think he wouldn't do this? What kind of a fool am I that I didn't take precautions to keep my girl safe?

He'll do horrible things to her just to fuck with me, to hurt me. He probably doesn't even want anything from me, he just wants me to suffer.

"No, no, no," Bryn says, and I realize I've been talking aloud, ranting. "She'll be okay. You'll see. We'll get her back."

"You don't know him, not like I do."

Instead of arguing, she rings the sole contact in the sat phone. "Uncle Lear, hi. Not good, unfortunately. No, I'm fine. But my—Rush, his daughter. Pugli took her, Lear. From London, right, Rush?"

I shake my head. “No, erm…South—Southampton."

"You hear? Yeah, okay. We're in Barcelona.

What do we do, Lear? She's sick. She's dying of cancer.

YES! Exactly—that's exactly the kind of monster this motherfucker is.

He kidnapped a dying six-year-old girl to get at Rush and me.

I know I caused this whole situation, but—" she sniffles.

"I need everyone, Lear. Fucking everyone .

I don't care what it takes. I'll answer for it.

Yes, it's my fucking fault! I ran away. I stuck my nose in shit that had nothing to do with me.

I caused all of this. Call in fucking EVERYONE .

And let me put this as plainly as I can—Roberto Pugli dies.

We don't stop until I personally see his fucking corpse with my own two eyes.

" A pause. "Yes, perfect. Have Dad call me.

Thanks, Uncle Lear. Yeah, love you too. Bye. "

Less than thirty seconds later, the mobile is burbling, and she answers it.

"Hi, Daddy. Yes, I'm fine. No, I’m not—Dad, listen.

No, you don't understand—SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN TO ME, GODDAMMIT!

" She lets out a harsh breath. "Pugli kidnapped Rush's daughter…she’s six.

No, her mother died. Dad, Jesus, stop with the irrelevant questions.

She's got leukemia and that fucking evil monster had her kidnapped out of her home.

YES! Exactly. Sick or not, he stole a child.

Yeah, that's what I fucking thought. And if you won't mobilize literally every asset we can field, I'll hunt him down and murder him myself or I'll die trying.

Yes, I mean fucking EVERYONE , Dad. The uncles.

Cuddy. Raze's crew. Call in every favor you're owed.

I'll do whatever it takes to cover the cost—no, I just… it's my fault, Dad. Yes, it is!"

I snatch the phone from her. "Harris, it's Rush."

"Rush. What does he want, do you think?"

"For me to suffer. I double-crossed him to save Bryn.

I…fuck, I should have known he'd do this.

I guess I…I thought if he had even a smidge of humanity, he'd leave a dying child out of it.

It's one thing to use her as leverage to get me to do what he wants.

That's indirect and I hate him enough for it as it is.

But this? This is a step too far, mate. I know I don't have any right to ask your lot to help me, but I am.

Please, please help me. Not even me, help my daughter. She's an innocent girl, sir."