Page 32

THIRTY-TWO

KEIRA

Madness - Ruelle

H arkin shares the manifest to the TV, enlarging the list to the larger screen so we can all see it. The details he dug up from the last ten years revealed his father’s relationship with the person we’re assuming is the contact Domenico mentioned. There are no names or indicators of who it is, but we know they work out of Mexico. It doesn’t take a genius to know drugs coming from that area are linked to the cartel. This shit just keeps getting worse.

“I can’t believe my dad is involved with the cartel,” Harkin says, slumping back onto the couch.

We gave up on the office and moved to the living room a couple of hours ago. The couch offers the ability to work off each other’s screens while using the TV for anything important. I lean my head on his shoulder, scanning the compiled spreadsheet.

“I mean, is the cartel really any worse than my family's shit? They’ve all got their grimy hands in something, making this world a worse-off place. At least we haven’t stumbled into the skin trade. That’s a silver lining.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure it’s not happening. We just haven’t caught onto it yet.”

“I’d like to remain blissfully unaware of that one if I can,” I tell him.

Drugs, guns, and money laundering are all bad. But at the end of the day, it’s nowhere close to the level of kidnapping and selling women and children. It happens every day. People I knew on the streets disappeared and were never heard from again. Those not already indebted to their dealers were given more rope to lead to their own demise. It’s a fucked-up cycle that keeps the merchandise constant.

“I can’t figure out why they’re bothering with the port. They’ve probably been running with trucks for years, so why the change now?”

“Maybe they had one too many run-ins on their routes. The open water offers a faster route around that?” I say, acting like I know anything about running drugs, aside from what I’ve picked up from TV show dramas.

“Patrick having an in at the docks helps get them imported. But there’s still a whole slew of shit that can go sideways. Unloading the product, getting it across the city without detection, the drop…” Harkin trails off as if his mind is running through all the problems we should account for.

“And that’s why he’s paying us the big bucks, in the form of your father,” I throw it out lightly.

“Are you joking about this?”

But I just shrug, because if I can’t try to make light of this situation, it will drive me crazy. I’m surprised my hair hasn’t fallen out from all the stress this last year has caused. I somehow miss the days when my biggest problem was figuring out where I would lay my head that night or where my next meal would come from. Those were things I could handle. This shit is so much bigger—literal life or death.

“We should finalize the route. I need to send it to Domenico so he can get it to his men.”

Harkin switches the TV screen to the map we’ve outlined. It’s not the fastest route, but it avoids the most points for possible tension. Domenico obviously hadn’t researched the date he chose for the import. Right off the pier, the event space is set for a massive benefit concert. Celebrities, musicians, and the odd local politician are all set to join the festivities. That means the place will be crawling with cops. Then again, maybe it’s the exact sleight of hand we need to pull this off.

“And you’re sure going south is the best option?” I ask him.

“There are fewer cameras going out that way. Plus, it’s the typical route for trucks leaving the docks to hit the expressway. It’d look more conspicuous if they head north straight away.”

“And the cameras that are there?”

“I’ll hack in and scramble them. If you can handle the lights at the same time, it’ll be easier for us to get them through the city and out to the border. Do you think you can handle that, sweetness?”

I throw him an annoyed glare. After everything he’s taught me, lighting the path up green is child’s play. It’s tempting to make the escape route a living hell, cause the whole of NYPD to come down on them, and leave it at that. The problem with that plan is it’d no doubt sign the Greyson patriarch’s death certificate and ours right along with him once the cartel was after us.

“Don’t insult my abilities. You taught me, remember?”

James stomps down the hall, joining us in the living room. He’s been watching both Domenico and Patrick, ensuring they’re both keeping their distance from us. Something’s happened. I don’t like the look of fierce annoyance on his face.

“What’s up with you?” I ask, watching him pull the top off the crystal decanter in the corner.

“You need to call her and talk some sense into her. She’s driving me crazy.”

The composed demeanor he typically sports slips when he throws back the amber liquid and replenishes his glass. My laptop almost clatters to the floor as I jump off the couch, but Harkin saves it at the last minute. I’m across the room and in his face before he finishes his second glass.

“What did you do to her!” I shout, jamming a finger into his hard chest, looking up at the towering giant of a man.

“Do to her? I’ve done nothing but protect her, but now that she’s carrying my child, she thinks I’m smothering her and overreacting. So help me, Keira, you either talk some sense into her, or I’ll force her to go anyway,” he threatens, the words clipped.

I have no doubt in my mind he’ll make good on his promise, but I’m still not sure what the issue is in the first place.

“What are you talking about?”

“I want her gone. It’s not safe here anymore. No offense to you two. I love you like family, Harkin,” he throws over my shoulder, “but Stacey and the baby are my highest priority, and I need them away from you both.”

I step back, and a gasp leaves my mouth. Away from me? But she’s my best friend. If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t know her. I’m about to make this exact argument, but a thick arm wraps around my waist, pulling me back into a hard chest.

“I understand. Keira will talk to her and convince her.” Harkin’s deep voice sounds next to my ear. “Stacey isn’t safe staying here in the city, sweetness,” he whispers for my ears only.

They’re not wrong. We don’t know how this will play out. It could go sideways, and not only would my father be after us again, but we could be putting a target on our backs for an organization much worse. I don’t want her anywhere near this, either.

“Should I go see her?” I look up, finding James’s expected gaze.

“I’ve already had her moved to a safe house in the city. Call her, persuade her to listen to me, and follow my plan. It’s not forever, just until things are handled and everything’s safe.”

Will everything be safe? Can it ever be safe again? Maybe my familial connections are too much for a friendship to bear. It’s not fair to ask that of someone. Especially, when that someone now has their own someone to consider.

“I’ll go call her now.”

I leave the two most overbearing men I’ve ever met in the living room and escape to the bedroom. Stacey picks up the video call on the second ring. Her eyes are puffy and rimmed red again. I don’t love that I keep finding her like this. I can't blame the girl because she’s had her whole world turned upside down.

“Hey, babes. How are you holding up?” I ask, taking in the unfamiliar background.

“He’s insufferable.”

“Girl, what did you expect? You told the man you were having his baby in the middle of our very own World War III. I’m shocked you’re not on the other side of the world by now.”

“He doesn’t get to tell me what to do, K.”

I try to hold in my laughter at her severe, pissed-off face, but we both know the men we chose to be with.

“Don’t!” she bites out, knowing exactly what I was going to say.

I put up my hands in surrender. “Why such a fight? You don’t need to be here, Stace. This isn’t your shit to get involved with. He’s right to be worried. We both are.”

“Oh my god, he got to you.”

“Listen,” I coax.

“You’re my friend. He doesn’t get to use you against me,” she spits.

“He’s not using me against you, but I love you, and I need to know you’re not going to get dragged into this mess if something goes sideways. Can’t you just let him whisk you away to wherever he wants to hide you for a couple of weeks? Think of it as a vacation. Shit, request a beach somewhere and get a tan.”

“I hate you both.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No. I don’t, but you’re both extremely annoying.”

“I’ll take it as long as you’re safe. Call and tell him so he stops stomping around my living room, throwing back whiskey like it's water.”

“Fine. But promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“You two won’t leave me raising this baby alone.”

“Everything is going to be fine,” I reassure her, but I’m not convinced that’ll be the case.

She signs off, and two seconds later, the chime of a phone ringing in the other room sounds through the walls. Good, one less thing to worry about. I flop back on the mattress, staring up at the spinning blades of the ceiling fan. The rhythmic rotation lulls me into a trance, and I start to drift off, or maybe I fall asleep because when my phone vibrates on the mattress next to me, I practically jump out of my skin.

The text is from an unknown number.

I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING. I CAN HELP.

What the hell? I sit up, staring at the phone screen like more information will magically pop through. I should run out to the living room and tell Harkin, but something in my gut stops me. It’s probably not the right call. Everything I’ve ever kept from him has made shit worse, yet my body stays glued to the mattress.

Who is this?

I type out with shaking hands.

THAT’S NOT IMPORTANT. WE HAVE THE SAME GOAL. TAKE DOWN DOMENICO MORELLI.

It’s a trap. It must be. Who would think to send me this other than Domenico himself? I can’t do this. It’s not worth the risk. I throw the phone at the pillows, wishing like hell that the text got lost before it landed on my phone.

The what-ifs start the moment the phone bounces away from me. What if it’s not a trap? What if someone already knows what we're planning? What if they have a way to get us out of this?

I scramble across the bed and snatch my phone back, the screen still lit up and taunting. I shouldn’t. This could make everything worse and negate the promise I just made to Stacey. But my fingers have the words typed out on the screen without my approval, but my thumb hesitates over the send button.

My shoulders rise and fall on a steadying breath. And I hit send.

Tell me everything.