Shark Bait

12. Who is Troy Mongomery?

TWELVE

WHO IS TROY MONGOMERY?

SHARK

Troy Montgomery was born in a small town near Nashville, Tennessee, to Carl and Nancy Montgomery, a sheriff and a veterinary nurse respectively. The couple has been married for thirty years. They’ve got six children: five boys and one girl, Troy.

Her social media profile goes back years, and in nearly all her videos and images, Troy carries a guitar as if the thing were glued to her.

Alessio plays a video of a young Troy dating back ten years ago, so from when she was nine. She’s wearing a peach dress with brown cowboy boots and is sitting on a couch playing a guitar in her living room. Next to her sits an older boy who looks just like her. He’s also playing a guitar.

They’re performing a country song when she starts belting out something that sounds more like alternative rock. He laughs as she sings and plays, but becomes serious as she carries on.

After the song is over, he says, “I’ve never heard that one before.”

“That’s ’cause I just made it. Duh.”

I chuckle and point to the screen. “Sassy.”

The boy widens his eyes. “You mean to tell me you wrote that?”

She nods, and the boy playfully elbows her. “You lyin’.”

“Not lying, Levi.” From the pocket of her dress, she pulls out a bunch of papers. She starts laying them one by one on her lap. “See?”

Liam puts away his guitar, scoots closer, and starts reading. He looks up at young Troy, and from the way she smiles, I can tell she’s happy he’s impressed.

“Those lines are real good, sis. Denver, come here, check out Troy’s lyrics.”

A young man wearing dirty jeans and a red checkered flannel shirt walks over with a bag of potato chips. He munches as he reads the papers on her lap, offering the other two some chips.

“That’s the oldest brother,” Alessio says.

“How do you know?”

“He’s generously sharing his chips.” Alessio gives me a look, daring me to question his guess based on bias.

Denver sits on the other side of her. He hums, then drums his fingers on his thighs, and I guess that’s a cue for Levi and Troy to pick up their guitars again. The two play her song while Denver sings.

There are hours and hours of videos like this one. The last video shows Troy being sent off to college, where she will study music. She was barely eighteen.

Alessio leans toward the screen and points at the date of the last video. “Late August of last year.”

“Clueless freshman,” I say. “Small-town girl looking for fame.” An easy target.

We scroll through the comments and see one from only a few months ago. I miss you, it says. It’s from a business account called Hazed, which Alessio clicks. We’re taken to a profile of a band named Hazed with hundreds of thousands of followers.

This is bad.

Alessio’s jaw tightens as he scrolls and finds a video of grown-up Denver singing the song Troy wrote many years ago. He adapted parts of it to fit his brand of music, which sounds as if an alternative rock band and a country band had a baby. The chorus is about his sister and how badly he wants her to come home.

Although touching given their circumstances, that’s not what gets our attention. Troy’s brother is playing the song in front of a dark hall full of people holding up lighter flames.

“An arena full of people,” Alessio says.

I know what he’s saying without saying it. A band that plays to thousands means Troy is a high-profile kidnapping victim, and we are at an alarming risk of exposure. For our family to remain functioning in the underground world of wealth and power, secrecy is essential.

Alessio looks up, and even though I’m the one hovering over him while he’s researching Troy, something I normally do for him, I feel pinned. Or maybe stabbed in the jugular. I imagine he’d enjoy stabbing me right about now.

“You know you are a hitman and I’m your employer and we operate in secrecy, right?” he asks. “Emphasis on secrecy.”

“Mmhm.” I’m staring at the screen. That’s a damn good song.

“You know you’re one of the most wanted hitmen in the universe?”

We’ve moved from most wanted in the world to most wanted in the universe.

“I like the idea of universe. Multiverse.” Spread my arms. “Even bigger.”

Alessio is quietly simmering. It’s just a matter of time before he punches me in the face.

“Miroslav,” he says, unamused. “I’m running out of ideas on how I want to end you.”

“You want to borrow some of mine?”

Alessio reaches into his pocket, digging for the key to the drawer he locked his gun in.

I dangle the key in front of him.

He swipes at it, but I snatch my hand away. “Give me a few days. I’ll come up with something.” I toss the key on his desk and rise to stretch. My neck cracks. I groan and crack it again. Much better.

“I consider her an existential threat to our family.”

I throw up my hands. “I didn’t know her brother was a rising pop star.”

Alessio closes the computer with slight force. Not slamming it, but close enough. “Now you do. What are we doing about it?”

“I’ll think in the shower.”

“You do that.” He rises. “Meanwhile, Valerina will order Troy a wedding dress.”

“Alessio, no.”

“Yes.”

“Give her a week.”

“You are marrying her tomorrow, or I swear you won’t make it past breakfast.” He grabs my shoulders and pulls me into him so our foreheads are touching. “Please, please,” he begs. “Marry her. If she takes our name, I will protect you both.”

I just wanted to give her more time to adjust to me and to whatever our new life will be like. To be fair, I also wanted to give myself some time as well. “For fuck’s sake, Alessio, I met her yesterday. Give me a week.”

“I understand what you’re asking, and the answer is no.”

“One week,” I try again, even though I know Alessio is not one whose mind dawdles between this and that. If he doesn’t mean it, he won’t speak it. Besides, he begged, and it’s hard to refuse a begging Alessio, because nobody gets to see this man beg.

“Tomorrow,” he says and exits the office.

I watch him retreat into the kitchen, where he picks up little Leo and hugs him tightly, comforting him while glaring at me. Alessio is torn between ending my life and letting me bring a high-profile and high-risk woman into our family, which, if you haven’t figured out by now, is a tiny criminal organization made up of a handful of us. With Alessio at the helm, we rule most of the underworld without the underworld knowing it’s being controlled.

It’s very difficult to keep our secrets if we make mistakes and recruit the wrong people who could then turn around and expose us. Alessio doesn’t keep his enemies closer than his friends, but he’s keeping Troy under his roof with his sister and nephew. I think it’s a calculated risk, one he’s taking because he thinks if he doesn’t keep me under his watch, I’ll flee with her.

I can’t say that he’s wrong. I’ve considered escaping with her.

I hop up to sit on his desk and swing my feet, staring at Alessio’s new hardwood floors. Even the floors mock me. They’re polished, whereas I’m…worn out. Old. Being thirty-eight to her nineteen is an age gap that makes me uncomfortable. Also, it makes me want to take care of her, claim her, own her, piss on her like some dirty old street dog.

I look up to see that Alessio’s coming back toward the office. He opens the glass door and peeks inside. “Forgot to tell you. If you run, I will chase you to the ends of the earth.”

And there you have it. “Why are you so obsessed with me?”

“I mean it, Shark .”

I chuckle and join him outside. “How did you know I was considering running away?”

“Because you’re in a pickle.”

“Don’t like pickles. They’re like a bunch of little dicks trapped in a jar.”

“Plus, they’re sour,” Alessio says. “And you like sweet things.”

True. Alessio remains in the main house as I make my way into the courtyard, past the pool, and through the blue doors of the guest house.

I find Troy in the bedroom, sleeping on her side. I lie down behind her, but I don’t spoon with her because I wouldn’t want to sneak up and touch her. I don’t know the extent of what she endured with those men on the yacht. But I’m close enough in case she wants to scoot back into my body.

People often say that opposites attract, but I think, in the case of Troy and me, like attracted like, our cracked parts grabbing onto one another in hopes they could fuse together and make us whole again.

I want to fuse with her.

In more ways than one, which makes me feel dirty, and not in a good way since she’s only nineteen to my thirty-eight. A good, wholesome gentleman would leave the room right now. He most definitely wouldn’t take a piece of her blonde hair that’s splayed over the pillow and sniff it. And he certainly wouldn’t get hard thinking about holding her pregnant belly while thrusting into her from behind.

That’s why gentlemen never end up with the girl.

With a smile, I sniff her hair again.