Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 104729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
That’s the thing about Michael. Ever since our war began, no one has seen him. He was like a fog, hovering close but just out of reach.
Cristian leans forward. “Cut her finger off.”
My hands hit the table. “No. She won’t be harmed. We don’t have to harm her to get what we want. Her father will leave his rock if we give him enough rope to hang himself.”
“You want to let him know where we are.” His brown eyes are wide in shock.
“Yes.”
“But—”
“No buts. We won’t hurt her; he will come. And because it involves his feelings, he won’t risk her. No war has to bring him to us. It’s almost too easy. He can trade himself for her.”
“Think he will?” Cristian asks.
I think about that for a minute. To ask that question would imply he didn’t love her, but to keep her hidden so well for all these years means my plan will work.
I won’t need to hunt for him. He will come to me willingly.
* * *
The next day comes before I know it. I spent most of the night not sleeping but talking logistics. We have a fairly large shipment of guns on the boat. We need to transport them to Caracas and make a pickup. Then I can handle Phoenix. The problem being, however, what to do with her.
She’s a slippery little thing, one who will use the opportunity to attempt escape. We won’t be there for a week, though, which will give us plenty of time to get her father to come.
Once on land, we can make the trade—one feisty little bird for a dead man.
That’s what he will be. I’ve already taken his guns. This last shipment I plan to intercept will be the nail in his coffin. He owes money to corrupt men as is. But I’m fair. Although I should torture him for my brother, I’ve grown tired of this war.
We’ve been on the boat for two days now, and the waters are choppy as we cross over toward South America.
As I walk down the hall, I hear a noise coming from Phoenix’s room. The first thing I notice as I make my way into her dark stateroom is the bed is unmade, the second being that it’s empty. Scanning the room, I hear the grumbling again. It’s coming from the bathroom.
“Dove.” I walk toward the door. Lifting my hand, I knock. She doesn’t answer, so I push it open.
The sight before makes me inhale deeply.
She looks so pathetic curled over the toilet. Since she wasn’t sick yesterday, I thought she would be okay, but the waters are rocky even for me, and I live here.
I move closer. Her hair hangs in her face as she gets sick all over again.
I step up behind her and reach my hand out as she continues to be ill.
A part of me can’t believe I’m doing this, that I’m holding her hair back. But seeing her like this touches a place in my heart. I don’t want to care, and I don’t. But one thing I enjoy most about Phoenix is her attitude, her spirit, and now she has neither. It’s not fun when we don’t spar.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asks, lifting her head to look me in the eyes.
“I can’t have my bait dying before I use her?” I respond, ever the asshole.
Phoenix scoffs into the toilet. She must be done because she gets up quickly, and my hands slip out of her hair.
“Where are you going?” I ask, standing up as well.
“To bed.”
“I’ll get you some medicine. Don’t stay inside when you’re sick.”
“Leave me alone. I don’t need your advice.” She walks away from me but doesn’t make it far before the boat hits a wave and rocks abruptly. She groans loudly as her hands reach out to steady herself on the wall.
“Go upstairs. Can’t you just listen to me. What the fuck are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking you trying to help me is rich.”
“I might be an asshole, but I’m not that big of one.”
“Only a murderer.”
“Yep. Only a murderer. Go up to the sundeck. Fresh air and the horizon will make you feel better. I’ll grab you some medicine. It’ll take about thirty minutes to kick in, but as long as you take it for the next few days, you won’t get sick, and you’ll get your sea legs.”
“Where are we going? Why can’t you just let me go?”
“Unfortunately, that’s not in the cards for you right now.”
“My presence is still needed?” She groans.
“It is.”
“Whatever.” She scoffs as she wipes her mouth and walks past me.
Even sick, she’s stronger than most, an interesting and somewhat upsetting notion. Because to do what I’m going to do, I can’t feel anything for her at all, and every second I stay with her, I’m finding it harder and harder not to like her.