Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
To Mercier’s credit, he’d given me the finest jail cell known to man. I was cuffed behind my back, though my restraints were attached to a chain that allowed me to move semi-freely in the cabin. I had a bed, a desk, a chair, and my own little bathroom. Three meals a day, presumably the work of a personal chef on board.
That was where the good shit ended. Aside from the handcuffs, I wore a goddamn collar, connecting a second chain at the back of my neck to my cuffs, preventing me from just sliding my hands down and stepping out of the loop my arms created.
Precisely nothing could be used as a weapon. The chair by the desk was screwed firmly to the floor. Actually, everything was attached to the floor.
I wasn’t given any utensils with my food since I couldn’t use them anyway. Every meal was prepared so that I could eat it like a fucking dog.
I barely had any clothes, just a T-shirt and boxer briefs. And the AC on this thing was no joke. I actually felt cold.
I’d determined I was being held in a cabin near the front of the boat. Or yacht? It had to be luxurious—not very small either, judging by how my cabin went from narrow at the front to fairly wide by the door.
Round windows on both sides, and I estimated my cabin was on the bottom floor, based on how close to the water’s surface I was.
Shortly after the engine began thrumming again, like clockwork, the door opened.
It was Bucko. I’d originally called him fucko, but he hadn’t responded to that, so here we were.
He moved along the wall I couldn’t reach, and he kept a close eye on me as he set the food tray on the desk.
He was so clearly a Fed, about my age, and perhaps Mercier had been telling me the truth. No fucking way was this man ready to go undercover. He was built like a linebacker but lacked the confidence to carry such a frame.
Sitting on the foot of the bed, I flinched forward and went, “Boo!”
I laughed as he plastered himself to the wall again.
Jesus Christ, what could he possibly do for Mercier?
I didn’t know how many were on board. For Mercier’s sake, I hoped it was more than Bucko and the chef.
I walked over to the desk when he reached the door, and I eyed the food on the plate. Bite-sized sandwiches. Finger sandwiches—was that what they were called? Several layers with plenty of toppings. Meats, cheese, lettuce, tomato, the list went on. Cut to perfection.
“Hey, Bucko?”
He sighed and stopped in the doorway.
“Mercier still hiding from me?” I asked.
He hadn’t come to see me once. Not a single fucking time in the four days I’d been trapped in this room had Mercier shown his face.
Bucko nodded at the tray. “He left you a letter.”
Huh?
I looked at the tray again, at the same time as Bucko left and closed the door, and sure enough. There was a folded piece of paper under the napkin. I turned around so I could grab it, and I unfolded it and flattened it against the table. Then I sat down and read.
Crew,
Can a man apologize without regret? I’ll admit I’ve postponed coming down to talk to you because I truly feel bad about how this turned out.
In the end, I had no choice. I’m not the only one sitting on information about Carillo, and I knew it was just a matter of time before Willow found something. I couldn’t risk Elliott turning down my offer.
The truth of the matter is, I would’ve turned it down too. If my son had been kidnapped, no deal in the universe would’ve appealed to me unless it ensured our reunion quicker.
I do believe you would’ve presented a great argument, one many would’ve preferred. Just not if they’re personally affected. We make different choices then. We can’t sit still and do nothing.
One day, I hope you will understand. I know you won’t forgive me. I can’t blame you. I’m incredibly sorry about that. Partly because I’ve gotten to know you a little better these past few days.
I wanted to keep an eye on your family for hints that they may be worried about you, so I’ve looked you up on social media. You’re quite the prolific poster on Instagram and Facebook.
I already knew you were funny and loved your family, but seeing the photos and the banter between you and your brothers and uncles made me sad that I’ll never get to see that side of you. You seem to be a wonderful young man, Crew. And I promise you will be returned safely to your team soon.
Adrien
PS: I didn’t know you were related to Roe Finlay, but now I see the resemblance. My son loves his and Jake Denver’s nature documentaries. In another life, I would’ve loved to talk more about that.