Page 24

Mia

“What the fuck is he doing here, let alone with Carl?” Dillon asks acidly.

“That’s my dad.” I say it like he doesn’t know, like he hasn’t seen the dossier or has never heard of him. I say it mostly for myself, because I am beyond confused. And I’d rather live in the blissful ignorance of confusion rather than face what the truth might be. For however little time that may be.

Dillon is radiating a calmness that is more terrifying than any outward rage can ever be. I touch his arm, needing a moment of stability, and his arm is a solid plank under my hand.

Carl looks between the two of us, his eyes widening only slightly when they land on Dillon. He’s put two and two together; Dillon isn’t just a handsome face in a suit accompanying me tonight. Carl knows Dillon won’t let the past slide.

Carl mouths something to my dad, and he nods in agreement.

“Dillon. Go. Collect the cuff, before he does.”

“Like hell I’m leaving you,” he cusses. He takes my hand firmly in his and tugs. “Come on.”

We take off at a pace that makes the arches of my feet ache, but I keep up with Dillon regardless.

A framed sign says Client Services. Dillon barges through the door, eyes darting.

“There,” I say a little breathlessly. A man is packing the cuff in a metal suitcase, oblivious to the fact that there are two parties vying for ownership.

Behind us, the door slams open. It’s Carl. His nostrils flare with disgust when he spots us, eyes landing on the case that’s now in Dillon’s hand.

A beat passes, indecision on Carl’s face. He’s desperate for the cuff. But he’s at a disadvantage. He doesn’t stand a chance against Dillon, and the three of us know it.

“Come on,” Dillon says urgently. “We need to find your father.”

I agree, following him again. I look back over my shoulder. Carl is nowhere to be seen.

A corridor connects the main auction room from where we just exited. It’s empty, save for a man at the other end. My dad.

The only thing that comes out of my mouth as we approach is, “Dad?” Every fiber of my being knows why he’s here. I’ve already connected the dots. But that doesn’t mean that I want to believe it. In what world does a devoted daughter want to admit that her father—the one she’s desperately worked to save—is a…liar? It’s like I’m in an alternate universe, flipped on my head. I hate that with every passing second, every nervous twitch from my father, the reason for his attendance tonight becomes more obvious.

“Mia,” he says with a tight smile. He has the audacity to lean down to kiss my cheek, but I turn my head, denying him. He clears his throat. “You’re supposed to be back in New York…”

I scoff. “Aren’t you as well?” I cock my head forward, waiting for an answer. An answer I’m hoping will explain his reasoning for not only being at a black-market auction, but one where the cuff took center stage.

He snaps his spine straight. The blue in his eyes diminishes as they turn to slits. Like a predatory cat.

“Actually, I’m right where I’m supposed to be. Can’t say the same for you, hun.”

The way he calls me “hun” is so effortless. Like it always has been. It always spread warmth throughout me whenever he’d use it. Casually…in deep conversation, signing a birthday card. There’s a moment where that warmth begins to wash over me, but as quickly as it comes, an iciness replaces it. The two sensations cancel each other out, and I’m left not knowing how to feel. He stands in front of me, familiar. But he shouldn’t be here. And though I know in the depths of my stomach why he’s present, I don’t want to believe it.

“I don’t think you get to call me that anymore,” I retort, pulling myself to my full height, matching him.

“Whatever you want.” He searches my face, eyes darting back and forth. The loving gazes I’m used to getting are replaced with a cold detachment.

I don’t know this man. I don’t recognize this version of him. And I don’t want to know this side of him.

I steel myself. “Tell me the truth. Why are you here? Are you and Carl associates?” My heart is beating uncontrollably. My mind has already reconciled the worst-case scenario, and my body is reacting accordingly.

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yes.” When I look at him incredulously, he continues. “But…it’s not what it looks like.” His words are like tiny razors against my skin, cutting shallow, but leaving a nasty sting.

“Explain, then.”

“The cuff is worth millions. And, there was a misunderstanding with a powerful client and if I didn’t find the cuff, well…he’d kill me.”

“Finding it?” I say rhetorically. “You mean me finding it? Because you certainly didn’t.”

He crosses his arms now. “I had no choice. You were the only one who could’ve done it, Mia. They were pressuring me, and I didn’t see another way to get you to agree to find it.” His salt and pepper hair picks up the light as he shifts his stance.

I inhale a sharp breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. Ire rises in me like the tide. “Let me get this straight: you staged your own kidnapping to force me to find something that may not have existed?” My mind is swirling. The room fades from view and all that’s left is a sharp image of the man I once knew. The man that used to comfort me when I skinned my knee. The man that has been a guiding pillar of wisdom and strength to me. The man who I spent my entire life venerating. Until now.

“I had to make a choice.” The razors have turned to knives, and the cuts grow deeper.

I think of the past week. Of the gauntlet we all went through. Of the shooting at the beach in Colombia. The kidnapping in Granada. The armed men at Gastria Castle.

“What—you or me, is that it? You got yourself so deep that the only choice you had was to choose your life over mine…and you chose instead to concoct this elaborate plan? And Carl…? How much did you pay him for his services ?” I say icily. “I hope you were able to stay in the black, or break even at least.” There’s nothing but venom behind my words. Nothing but a bitter taste that coats my tongue like I’ve chewed on a white tablet of off-brand Tylenol.

He says nothing.

I take a step toward my father. My finger accusingly pushes into his white dress shirt. “He left me for dead ! Sealed in a coffin.” And then the full implication hits me like a brick wall that has crumbled upon me. “My life was expendable to you. You didn’t care. Have you ever?” I whisper, taking a step back.

The precursory sting in my nostrils soon leads way to moisture pooling in my eyes, threatening to spill, unbidden.

He scratches at his chin, eyes downcast. “You’ve always been dramatic, Mia…” he says. It tells me everything I need to know.

I don’t want to cry, I don’t want to show him the hurt and the power he has over my emotions right now, but it’s inevitable. My own father has just admitted to using me as a pawn to save his own life. To hell if I survived.

Perhaps somewhere there is a misguided individual that could forgive their parent for such an egregious act, but our familial ties are not enough to save us. How can they be? How can I pretend to care for my father when I’ve been nothing but expendable to him?

I can hardly look at him. As I blink, sending those tears over the edge, they’re stopped. I open my eyes to see they can go no further than the hand that rests against my cheek delicately. Dillon . How numb am I to not even feel his touch?

“I hardly call fighting for your life while being entombed dramatic. But I guess it’s all semantics to someone like you.”

My father takes a deep breath. He eyes the small silver case that Dillon has in his hand. The cuff.

“The bodyguard, right?” he says, gaining a little more confidence. He looks between myself and Dillon and I’m suddenly seventeen again, having my latest boyfriend meet my father under a scrutinizing glare. “Or is it ‘lover’?” he tacks on.

Dillon doesn’t miss a beat. “You can call me Taylor Fucking Swift if it helps you sleep at night. But I appreciate the compliment.” I catch a wink he throws at my dad. It angers him more. A deep crimson escapes his collar, stopping when it reaches his cheeks.

“If you’re quite done—”

“No, I don’t think that we are, Conrad .” Dillon says my dad’s name like he’s chewed it up and spit it out. With great distaste. And I kind of love him for it. “We’re all smart enough here to realize that you will never set foot in a jail cell. Must be nice to buy your way out of anything…” His jaw tics at the truth of that. “You’ll no doubt elude the Croatian authorities as well. But beyond failing to sell the cuff,” he says, hitting his stride, “you get to live with the knowledge that your daughter outsmarted your pathetic plan at every turn. She did what you couldn’t. Mia was the one brilliant enough to figure it all out, and,” he emphasizes, “the only one with the balls to fucking do it. So, while you sit at your executive desk in some high-rise, looking down on all the people you deem are beneath you, know that you’re there because you’re only a fraction of what your daughter is.”

I’m speechless.

My dad gulps. He opens his mouth, no doubt with another excuse.

“I’m not finished.” Dillon’s delivery is as sharp as a blade. My dad shuts his mouth obediently. “It may not be today, tomorrow or the next day, but your punishment for what you did to her is coming. I am going to fucking ruin you, do you understand me?”

I’ve seen my father among corporate giants and moguls. Their intimidation factors never ceased to deter him. But he shrinks in front of Dillon. He crowds my father and I hear a strangled intake of breath come from a man who is nothing but browbeaten.

A surge of relief and pride hit me. And then guilt. The betrayal is real. It’s life altering. But a small part of my brain is saying but, he’s your dad . And it’s true. He always will be. But I’ll be damned if that means he’ll ever have a place in my life going forward.

I squeeze Dillon’s arm, conveying my appreciation. But it’s twofold: we need to get the hell out of here.

My dad attempts a wildcard. “You can’t ruin me. I have attorneys and—”

Then, a frighteningly vengeful smile plays across Dillon’s face. He cuts my dad off. “Your attorneys can’t save you from my wrath.” My father audibly swallows. “And if you ever contact Mia, I will personally see to it that you are physically never able to do so again. Do I make myself clear?”

All my dad can do is nod.

Then, violently, he’s shoved aside.

“Get out of the way, Conrad,” Carl says hastily. “The cuff belongs to us .”

He raises the gun in his hand. There’s a tremble that threatens Carl’s grip.

Dillon shoves me to the side, out of the line of fire. “It’s funny that you think that,” he says calmly.

Carl narrows his gaze, impatience flicking between Dillon and the case in his hand. “Hired mercenaries. That’s all you are.” Above his perfectly coifed mustache, a thin line of sweat breaks out. “Now, hand over the cuff.” His arm is outstretched, and he points the gun at the case like Dillon doesn’t realize his meaning. Idiot.

“Oh, the one Mia found? This one?” he asks, raising his hand.

Spittle flies from Carl’s mouth. “Don’t take me for an imbecile, boy!”

“But you are,” Dillon laughs. “You never hold your gun like that because it’s too easy to disarm someone by doing this—”

Dillon rushes forward. His momentum propels him into Carl. The weight of the case comes down on his arm with a crunch, knocking the gun to the floor. It slides away from the two of them.

My father’s on his knees. I scramble behind the skirmish that’s taking place between Dillon and Carl. Dull thuds and wet punches fill my ears as I close in on the gun. It’s inches away, but I’m not the only one. My dad and I reach for it at the same time. The handle is in my direction and my fingers slide around it easily. I’ve never held a gun before. Never felt its weight in my hand. Or the coolness of the steel against my palm.

I stagger upright, not sure what to do. It feels wrong to wield it, especially at my dad. Dillon needs no assistance; Carl lies bloodied and almost unrecognizable in the hallway. The blood drips from his face, disappearing behind his ears.

Then I see the silver case. It’s splattered with crimson, making it look like a mixed media Jackson Pollack piece. My dad has righted himself. And he moves toward the cuff.

“Dillon. The cu—,” I shout.

He turns too late. The handle slips into my dad’s grasp. He takes off running.

I don’t think. I toss Dillon the gun and reach down to remove my heels. Then I’m off, chasing after my dad. After the cuff that has taken one hell of a journey since being unearthed.

“Mia!” I hardly hear Dillon yell my name.

I’m out of the corridor, into the tepid night air. I follow the path of people who have been shoved and are now wearing their drinks. My dad’s a deck below, lagging as he tries to push past guests.

I gain on him. The teak flooring is warm under foot. I notice a boat pull close to the yacht, its red and green sidelights twinkling on the water’s surface. I lose sight of it when I take another set of stairs downward.

“Stop!” It’s a stupid thing to shout. He won’t, and everyone is too alarmed to impede my dad’s escape.

He reaches a door at the stern. Turning, he gives me one last look. His smile is smug. My dad turns the knob. It doesn’t budge. The case is clutched to his chest. His free hand works the door handle, but to no avail.

I slow my step, realizing that he’s cornered. It’s a dead end for him. To his right is the railing. Behind him is a wall that blocks the stern from the main decks. He hugs the case to himself tighter, realization dawning on him.

“It’s over,” I say, catching my breath. I hold out my hand. “Give me the cuff.”

“I won’t.” His breath is ragged, and his shirt is stained with sweat.

I take a step toward my dad who now just resembles a cornered mouse. I pity him. “Give it to me,” I repeat.

He looks over my shoulder, shaking his head. “I’m as good as dead without it.”

A warmth spreads across my back. Fingers splay its width. And when a thumb rubs up and down, I feel the stickiness of drying blood on my skin. The heat from his palm tells me Dillon’s got my back. He always has.

“Mia.” I don’t turn to look at him. It’s not needed. He lowers his voice so only I can hear. “You’ve got this.” Those three words cause goosebumps that replace the burn from his touch.

I close the gap between my father and me. “Hand it over and we’ll let you go.”

There’s distrust in his eyes. The cerulean hue that is so much like mine, stares back at me. Once again, I reach my hand out. Waiting.

Then, he hands me the case. No one is as shocked as I am. I look upon the man that I share blood with. The one that raised me after my mother’s death. I don’t see remorse. I don’t see the love for me that was once so evident. All I see is desperation. It makes it easy to turn my back on him and rejoin Dillon.

His own face is a mask. Unreadable. Stoic. Bloodied. But Dillon rakes his eyes up and down my body, searching for injuries. Concerned with my wellbeing. And when I step into his embrace and he snakes his hand around the back of my neck, I exhale. Because the cuff isn’t the only thing I found. I found a man that can stand beside me. And most importantly, one that’s strong enough to stand behind me.

“Both secured,” I hear him say into the comms. And to me: “Ready?”

I shake my head against his chest, his jacket falling open. I’m ready to be done with this night. I’m exhausted.

Turning, I catch movement on my right. The door that was locked swings open. Carl emerges looking like his right cheek has been turned into ground beef.

Dillon tenses beside me. Something flashes across his eyes. I recognize it as shame, but it morphs into amazement as quickly as a lightning strike. Carl should be down for the count, but he’s managed to fight his way from unconsciousness.

His voice is slurred when he says, “The cuff. Now.” He turns his head and spits. Blood stains the deck. I think I see a tooth land in the splatter.

The door opens once more, this time with two security guards. They go for Carl, taking him by the arms.

Dillon sighs. “It’s over, old man. Get some medical attention. You look like shit.” He tugs my hand, signaling for us to go.

I take one last look at the man who had no qualms about putting me in an early grave. The memory makes me shudder. I wouldn’t wish that experience on anyone, but I wouldn’t be mad if Carl was served with a strong dose of karma.

“He’s right,” I say. “You do look like shit.”

Dillon turns his back to Carl. Carl wriggles out of the grasp of one guard, stooping low. And my blood runs cold.

At his ankle, Carl retrieves a small gun. The crowd turns to mayhem. The shrieks and cries fade around me. Dillon’s voice sounds like I’m underwater. My surroundings blur and I see nothing else but what I selectively focus on.

My left hand releases the case. I don’t hear the thud that should accompany something of its weight.

I don’t think, just reach. Sweat swipes across the back of my right hand. A grooved grip bites into my palm. A handle. My fingers curl around the unfamiliar solidness. I don’t have time to think. I yank it free of the shoulder holster. Dillon’s gun .

My left hand joins my right, cradling the base of the handle. It steadies my aim.

And then, I pull the trigger.

My hands fly upward from the recoil. I’m dazed. My ears ring and the only things that register are Carl’s slumping form and my father fleeing.

Relief floods me with a surge that’s strong enough to knock me down. It’s visceral. It reaches each extremity of my body, down to my toes. Perhaps I should be racked with remorse at my actions, but I’m not. It’s the notion that Dillon is safe, and myself in turn because I reacted on an impulse. I saved our lives by taking another. Maybe, somewhere buried deep down inside me is a woman who is racked with guilt. Right now, though, she’s nowhere to be found.

I am done with Carl’s brazen attempts at killing me.

My eyes are drawn upward. The stars have come out, brighter and stronger the further we are from shore.

Adrenaline courses through my veins. I could run a marathon if I wanted to. But I could also collapse. I don’t know what to make of it. My legs buckle under me.

“—Mia?” It sounds so far away.

I turn belatedly. Dillon is striding over with Carl’s gun in his hand. He tosses it overboard, reaching for the one in my hand. It’s holstered within seconds. He falls to his knees. His hands cradle my face. His thumbs rub across my cheeks.

I’m unblinking. Unfeeling.

But it’s his touch, the gentle glide of his finger pads, the sureness and steadiness as he holds me, that slowly begins to thaw away the numbness.

My hand comes to his forearm, and I hold on to him like he’s the only thing grounding me to Earth.

“You’re in shock.” His voice is clearer now.

I nod, knowing the truth. Words are still too hard to manage.

“Come here,” I hear him say. He shifts until he’s sitting. Then, with a possessiveness, he pulls me into his lap. His arms cocoon around me. And I feel safe.

Because I finally am.