Say the Word(144)

Miri nodded. “I know you will, Lux. But… hurry.”

I wrapped my arms around her once more and this time she hugged me back.

“Stay strong, Miri. I’ll find you, again. I promise.”





Chapter Thirty-Seven





Now


I cried all the way to the forward deck, tears blurring my vision as my thoughts lingered on the girls. I’d closed the container when I left so the men on the bridge wouldn't spot the open door, but couldn’t bring myself to bolt it again. If a guard noticed it was unlocked and was alerted to my presence on the vessel… so be it. I refused to leave those girls without even a chance at escape.

When I reached the bow and climbed the stairs to the upper deck, I was so focused on reaching the gangplank, I didn’t see him until it was too late.

The Neanderthal.

He charged me with a grunt, aiming to pin my body between him and the thin, waist-high railing that wrapped the edge of the deck. He didn’t see the gun in my hand. Or, if he did, he figured I wouldn’t have time to fire it.

He was wrong.

It was instinctual. His life, or mine.

I lifted the gun to eye level, cocked back the pin with my thumb, and squeezed the trigger.

As kids, each Forth of July, Jamie and I would walk down to the lake, plop our butts in the sand, and eat sticky, melting popsicles as fireworks exploded in the air far above our heads. They were distant, beautiful explosions of light and color, burning into ash long before they ever returned to the ground. I remember wishing more than once during those hot summer Independence Day celebrations that they’d blast those fireworks just a little lower, so I might see their vivid sparks up close.

Tonight, I saw my childhood wish fulfilled.

The flare exploded from the end of the barrel like a compact firework, its brightness scorching my retinas and forcing my eyes closed. The harsh smell of smoke and gunpowder hung heavy around me, but it was quickly overtaken by an even more disturbing scent — the stench of singed flesh.

My eyes opened into slits when I heard the Neanderthal’s scream of pain. I watched in horror as the large man clutched the gaping, smoking wound in his abdomen, stumbling backward with uncoordinated steps. The blood drained from my face when he hit the edge of the deck and toppled backward in free-fall. There was a beat of silence, followed by the loud bang of a body landing against the cargo deck far below — the grisly thud sent chills up my spine.

Soon after, I heard the sound of men yelling on the bridge and the pounding of footsteps as they raced down the rows of shipping containers toward me on the forward deck. I looked to the gangplank on my right, which would lead me to safety, before glancing down at the spare flare round still tucked into my bloodied neckline.

I had to leave, now, before they caught me. But there was one last thing I had to do first.

Overtaken by a sudden sense of calm, I loaded the round into the still-hot barrel, cocked back the pin, and raised my arm straight into the air. The sound of the shot hurt my ears as I pulled the trigger and blasted the flare a hundred yards into the night sky, a hovering, vibrant signal of distress that would, hopefully, bring aid to the girls on this ship. It was the least I could do, if I was really going to leave them behind while I fled and sought help.

Once the round was airborne I spun around, finally ready to make my escape. Breathless, I raced toward the gangplank… and straight into a waiting set of hands that clamped down on my forearms like a vise. My eyes flew to the man’s face and I felt my heart sink when I saw two startlingly green eyes staring back at me with an amused look in their depths.

“Lux,” Andrew Covington whispered, his eyes sweeping down my form. “It’s been a long time, my dear. And, I must say, you’ve looked better.”

“Not nearly long enough,” I grumbled, twisting in his arms as I struggled to free myself from his hold.

He laughed. “Oh, come now. Don’t be a poor sport. It’s so unbecoming.”

“What’s unbecoming is a grown man who plays lackey to his wife,” I spat back at him. “How pathetic are you, Senator? When was it that you found out about your wife’s extracurricular activities?”

His eyes grew flinty with anger and his grip tightened on my arms.

“During your first term? Your second?” I goaded, unable to help myself. “How emasculating was that moment, when you discovered your wife held more power than you ever would?”

“Shut up,” he growled, walking me backward. “Shut your whore mouth.”

I fought against him, trying to strike his hand with the empty flare gun still clutched in my fist, but he wrenched my arm in a painful twist that made my fingers spasm and unclench. The gun clattered to my feet as he pressed me up against the railing. One of his hands came up to wrap around my windpipe in a crushing chokehold. Lifting me by my neck, he cut off my air and forced me onto my tiptoes. When he leaned in closer, I felt the upper half of my body bend backward over open air and knew, if he were to push with only a little more force, I’d flip like a playground see-saw and plummet into the icy waters far below.

A fifty-foot drop.

I might survive, but I doubted I could swim to safety in this dress without swallowing half the ocean or being dragged to the sea floor.

“I should’ve gotten rid of you a long time ago,” Andrew muttered. “You’ve been a thorn in my side since you were seventeen.”