56

Callahan
“Not who you expected to see?” Fernando Mancini asks but the words don’t make sense.
The crew found the tracker not fifteen minutes ago. I know because the signal went dead, but we followed the dimly bobbing light in the distance.
It’s the first time I’ve seen Fernando Mancini in person since the night he murdered my family.
He’s older now. A little softer around the middle, a little more worn, but by no means not a threat.
Especially not when he has Portia by the arm, the gun in his hand digging into her temple.
I can’t look at her though. Can’t think about how bruised and tattered she looks.
How naked and vulnerable.
I need to keep my eyes on him.
“Drop your weapon or I kill her in a heartbeat.”
“I have no intention of shooting you. I plan on using my hands,” I say, setting the pistol down.
“No, not good enough. Into the water.”
“Take the gun off her.”
“I don’t think so.” He cocks the gun instead.
Antonio comes into view in my periphery. Fernando’s eyes shift to him.
“Both of you. Pistols in the water.”
“Mother fucking – ”
“Antonio!” I order.
“I won’t let him.”
“Drop it.” I pick up my gun and throw it overboard. It barely makes a sound.
“Calla – ”
I glance at him. “He has Portia.”
Antonio’s gaze shifts from me to Fernando and back. He drops the gun into the water.
“Good boys.”
I take a step toward him. I wasn’t sure what I’d feel when I saw him again. Wasn’t sure if all the rage over the years would burn me up, take over, turn me into a beast that’s just caught his prey.
It doesn’t though. And I don’t know if it’s Portia at gunpoint that has muted that beast. That’s at least tempered it for now.
I take another step and hear someone from the other boat call out to Fernando. Tell him they need to move.
“You’re going to miss your ride,” I tell him as the boat teeters beneath us and the larger one waiting on him moves slightly farther out. “Let her go. You’re not taking her with you.”
“I’ve had my fill of her already,” he says, expression cocky, his words making my hands fist.
I force myself to breathe and take another step. He’s lying. It’s what he does.
He backs up a step to match mine but he’s out of room.
“Fernando. Let’s go!” a man yells from the other boat.
Fernando turns around, drags Portia a step.
I charge him. I’m almost to him, only an arm’s reach away. I know I can grab him. I know it.
But he does something I don’t expect.
He raises an arm to shoot his pistol into the air. Portia screams, and a moment later, he shoves her hard and she goes toppling over the side of the boat.
In that split second, as her body tumbles overboard, I’m frozen in place.
I can have him. For years I’ve been living with one purpose. One goal. To kill Fernando Mancini.
No. Two goals.
To find out what he said to my mother and then to kill him.
But he’s grinning like the fucking Joker, running to the other boat.
Portia bobs on the water’s surface just once. She can’t save herself, not bound as she is, and the water swallows her scream as it swallows her body.
– | – | – | – |
Portia
It’s freezing. My god. How can it be so cold?
I’m kicking but my arms are bound and I’m sinking. Just sinking.
My arms are completely useless.
It’s so dark below me. Inky black. I’m a strong swimmer and I’ve never been afraid of water. But tonight, I’m terrified. The open sea, the darkness of it, overwhelm me as the little bit of the light from the boats above fades too fast.
I have a few seconds, I think, before my lungs force me to breathe. Force me to take in air when all they’ll get is water. Icy cold sea water.
Then I feel him. One powerful arm banding around my ribs and pulling me up with him. He’s a strong swimmer too. Stronger than me. He’s fully clothed and he’s hauling me up with him. How did he even find me down here?
As soon as we break the surface, I open my mouth only to suck in air and salt water. I choke on it, coughing, my nose and throat on fire.
“It’s all right. I’ve got you,” Callahan says.
I’m not sure what’s colder, the water or the air? I still can’t move my arms but I’m thrashing against him, kicking wildly, desperately.
But he holds tight, keeping me above the surface. “You’re safe.”
Another set of hands close around my arms and I’m hauled up into the boat. A different one than the fishing boat that’s bobbing, now deserted, not too far away.
I’m on my belly throwing up water. How much did I swallow in those moments I was under? It was moments, right?
Callahan is beside me, hand on my back.
After what I hope is the last of the retching, I lay my cheek on the floor of the boat. This one doesn’t stink like the other one.
I feel something cold at my back then, at my wrists. I try to pull. away, but Callahan shushes me and a moment later, my arms are free. I rub them, right hand around my left wrist first, then the other way, the skin raw.
Callahan’s hands touch my shoulders and then he’s wrapping something warm around me. A blanket.
I look back at him as I hold onto the blanket. He’s soaked, his eyes locked on me, watching me so closely. Antonio comes into view behind him. He’s soaked, too, and staring at me. Did he go in after me, too?
“Callahan,” a man says, drawing my attention.
Callahan drags his gaze to the man.
I follow it to his uncle who looks a little worse for wear.
“We can catch up with them,” his uncle says. “Get that bastard and finish this.”
“No,” Callahan shifts his gaze back to me.
“What do you mean, no? He’s closer than he’s ever been!”
“No,” his response is quiet, slow. He doesn’t look away from me to answer but bends down to lift me into his arms. “Back to the island, everyone,” he nods to another man. He walks us past his uncle, into an interior room and closes the door.
I realize I’m shivering. That noise is my teeth clattering.
“There’s no tub,” he says in that way of his, that abrupt, awkward way he has. It makes me wonder again how much he’s been around people. It’s not that he’s uncomfortable. Not at all. He just doesn’t waste words and doesn’t seem to care how he comes across.
He sets me on my feet and reaches around me to run the water in the small shower. He tests it then, looks at me, takes the blanket from me.
I shudder.
He walks me into the shower and turns me to face him.
Hot water runs over me, washing the salt from my soaked hair, warming my body. It also makes the welts on my skin and my raw wrists burn. I want it though. I need the heat. I need to get what just happened off my body.
I watch him look me over and I wonder what he’s thinking. He looks so pained. I guess I don’t expect that.
He reaches a hand out, drenched button-down stuck to him. It’s what he was wearing at the wedding, I realize. God. It feels like years have passed since then. He runs a finger over the topmost welt. I hiss in a breath and he draws back, inhaling tightly himself.
His eyes are a midnight sky when they meet mine. “What else did he do?” his voice is hoarse and low, tortured.
Words bubble up inside me and it’s like my throat is filled with sea water again.
What else did he do?
Where do I start?
When the tears come, I drop my head. When his big hand closes around my neck to pull me into his chest, I don’t resist. I don’t want to. I don’t have any energy left.
As strong as I’ve been all these years, as much as I’ve fought, where has it gotten me? What has it gotten me?
People die around me.
People die because of me.
Women and girls are violated, their lives destroyed because of me. Because of who I am. Because of my family.
My brothers may have started this, but it doesn’t exempt me from blame. It doesn’t exonerate me. I didn’t fight hard enough because if I had, I wouldn’t be standing here now. I wouldn’t be wrapped up in this man’s powerful arms if I’d fought hard enough. In no way do I deserve this comfort. Not when I know what’s already happened to the others and what they will still endure.
All these years I’ve thought of my freedom. I’ve thought of Nathan’s freedom. How selfish am I? How selfish when I knew all along what they were doing, and I did nothing.
Nothing apart from a ridiculous, pathetic hunger strike.
The woman who accused me of being one of them, she was right. I am.
I am responsible.
I don’t deserve to be alive tonight.