Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
His voice thickened with passion. “I told you the other night that you were the last one. I meant it. I’ve had a flag on the QMB in every police database around Europe, with a few other enforcers in Asia and South Pacific. I’d almost given up on you—especially when we came across a very gruesome scene at the home of the man who purchased you. Along with that discovery, we linked another man, Monty Nilsson, to a past sale through the QMB. I believe, thanks to evidence we found, that you knew him.”
Elder stiffened beside me, seething with fury.
My heart hid behind its ribs, flinching as sordid memories of just how well I knew Monty swelled. The fact that he wasn’t there to kill him when Elder exterminated Alrik, Tony, and Darryl was a sore that never healed.
Q wasn’t fazed by Elder’s rage or my stunned silence, carrying on in his cool, crisp voice. “He’s dead now, just like the rotting carcasses in that house. I doubt you’ll grieve, knowing he died a rather painful death for what he’d done to other women.”
He’s dead.
The one loose end from the bloodbath when Elder claimed me.
Lightness filled my chest. A freedom from things that still haunted me.
“I hope you made him pay.” Elder breathed hard.
“Oh, he paid.” Q smiled coldly. “Just like the others who bought slaves through the QMB. The in-house code to protect the identity of their buyers was useless, but it did take longer than normal to find you, Pim, due to your cut-off location. When we found the decaying bodies, I worried someone had killed them and taken you for themselves.”
He gave Elder a pointed look. “Their deaths didn’t stop me from hunting the potential new owner, though, even with no forwarding clues.”
“Did you report the deaths?” Elder growled. “Did you leave any evidence behind at that bastard’s place?”
Q scowled. “Who do you think I am? Some fucking amateur? We set it alight, corpses included. It’s secluded enough to burn to the ground. Your secrets are safe.” He smiled, teeth sharp. “Who killed them?” His face softened. “There was a lot of blood that didn’t belong to the dead. Was it yours?”
Elder couldn’t control his snarl. “He tried to sever her tongue. Another second and I would’ve been too late.” He squeezed me so hard it hurt. “He wanted to turn her mute.”
Q’s face matched the darkness on Elder’s. “In that case, I hope you made him suffer, not just for the things he’d done, but for all the things he was.”
Somehow, a comradery struck up between the men talking about death and vendettas. “He died along with his maggot friend, but it wasn’t a death they deserved.” Elder looked at me, his eyes black and twisted with memory. “Pim fainted from lack of blood. She was my first priority. My only priority.”
Q clenched his jaw, his eyes drifting to Tess with his own black memories. “I understand.”
Selix came forward, cutting into the graphic conversation. “This is all fascinating, but why exactly can’t we go home? What do you know that we don’t?”
Elder snapped back to the present. “True. Stop wasting time and spit it out.”
“When has information ever been a waste of time?” Q passed a single piece of paper to Elder but not before I caught a glimpse of the black and white image it depicted. “Information is power, as you well know. While you’ve been my guest, I’ve had someone watching your boat. He just sent me this.”
My stomach bottomed out, splattering to my toes.
Oh, no.
“Fuck,” Selix hissed.
“Shit.” Elder’s hand shook, holding the photo of his beloved Phantom with three Chinmoku scaling the sides and shadows of four more on the deck. His fingers dug into the glossy paper, entirely focused on his home. “How did they find us?”
Q licked his lips. “You obviously haven’t taken note of the pleasure spotters online.”
“The what?” Elder shot back. “What the hell do they have to do with me?”
“Everything.” Q pulled another piece of paper from his file—a website print-out called Spot the Special Elitist. “This is just one of the many recreational groups online that spend their days tracking the rich, famous, and their toys. Helicopters, private jets, holiday homes. And in your case, yachts.”
“What?” Elder speed-read the article where an unauthorised photo of the Phantom sat moored in a port I hadn’t been to before. “Holy fuck, that’s Calais.” He squinted at the time on the blog post. “This was three days ago when we docked.”
“They’re rampant little leeches who think they’re having harmless fun—tracking the itineraries of boats and schooners, but in reality, they’re a massive security problem.” Q took the page back, granting the information we needed to know in bullet form. “From what I can gather, they’ve been tracking the Phantom for years—just like they track every other super yacht around the world. They have check-ins and checkouts. They post when you have shipments of supplies and state how many days at sea you were before reaching a new port. It’s a game to them. A stupid, silly game that has spoon-fed your enemies your every move.”