22. Summer
Chapter 22
Summer
I gave it two days. All it did was delay the inevitable.
There is no question. “I have to leave,” I mumble to myself face down in the exceptionally soft down pillow.
Sitting up, I commit the stateroom that’s been my haven for two whole days to memory. The nautical-themed lamps that sit on the mahogany nightstands, or the meticulously stitched blue sailboat pillow propped in the upholstered chair in the corner by the massive windows. Even the drawing of Deuce that Aoife drew for me before breakfast yesterday.
Sunday, the crew took us back to the marina, and I said my goodbyes to Kieran and Aoife while they headed home with the promise they’d be back for dinner Monday night.
The boat sways with a continuous rocking that’s both calming and unsettling. It doesn’t help my already churned stomach to roll and dip. I spent most of the day yesterday contemplating what Kieran offered, and while I’m sure he has some connections in his position, if I’m found, he won’t be able to do anything to prevent them from dragging me back to use me. Perhaps punish me for running. If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that they aren’t happy I ran away with their agenda.
I meant what I said when I told Kieran that I don’t want him involved.
I know I have to leave.
It takes me forty minutes to gather up my backpack of meager things, take a quick shower—because there’s no telling when my next will be—and gather Deuce.
Looking out the windows from my stateroom, I glance at the Aquarium and smile. “Maybe in another life,” I whisper.
With one hand, I pull my bag up and over my shoulder, then reach down to grab the pastel drawing of Deuce. I fold it into quarters and slip it into the back pocket of my light-wash jeans. As I do, my maroon knit sweater catches on a back rivet, pulling a thread loose.
I stare at the crisp white pages of the blank lined notepad sitting on the desk. Pursing my lips, I flick the smooth barreled pen, and it propels in several circles before slowing.
I’d planned on writing Kieran a note. Aoife, too. But that feels like the coward’s way now that I’m standing here. I swallow the emotion choking my airways and set my pack down.
At least I should see him, right? He offered to help me with zero questions asked, so it’s probably the grateful thing to do.
I turn, pull my coat over my sweater, and run to the bathroom. I’ll go to the pub and say goodbye, then come back and gather my things. It’s best I leave from the Harbor anyway. They’ll never expect me to hitch a boat ride, but I can almost guarantee they’ll have men at the train lines now that they’ve discovered me in Boston.
With a final glance in the mirror, I pull half my hair back into a claw clip and shamelessly dab on some Chapstick before exiting my room. I pass Cara, who’s been a sweetheart the past two days. She’s made sure I’ve had fresh towels and linens, also washing my leggings and undergarments for me since I only have a few pairs to cycle through. In fact, most of the crew has been overly welcoming. Not once have I been given a snide look as I explored the yacht yesterday, nor have I heard comments about why I’m here. Kieran must’ve made sure he explained the situation.
Cara smiles. “Stepping onto the back deck for some fresh air?”
“Actually, running an errand. Uh, I’ll be back quick.”
She furrows her bushy eyebrows, the dark brown such a stark difference to her bleached blonde hair.
Unsure whether Kieran mentioned anything about my predicaments or whether or I’m supposed to leave or not, I say nothing and offer her a wide grin that causes the muscles in my face to twitch.
“Do you need me to call you a car?”
“Nah. I’ll be all right. Thanks!” I dart down the ramp to the pier before I chicken out.
With my scarf wrapped around my neck just in case, I briskly walk to a bus stop, trying hard to act casual as I get on it and make my way to Beacon Hill.
* * *
My hope is whoever thinks they’ve spotted me is now under the impression I’ve left the city. Honestly, I’m not sure even I believe that, but if there’s one reckless thing I do before I tuck my tail and run, it’s say thank you and goodbye to Kieran.
Still, I exercise caution, taking two different bus routes and doubling back before landing a few blocks away from O’Brien’s. A block into my walk, I pass a corner convenience store, and when I can’t shake the idea from my mind, I enter.
It’s an old corner store, made up of four little aisles, the white shelf paint now a rusted copper. The woman cashier at the single checkout offers me a smile as I walk toward the candy section looking for a pack of Skittles.
It’s the only parting gift I can leave Aoife, and I hate that I’m going to miss her so much.
Scanning the shelf, I grab the biggest pack they have and make my way to the register.
“Just this?” the woman asks as she pulls the candy across the barcode scanner.
“Yes, please.” I dig into my pocket for the couple of one crumpled dollar bills.
I stiffen, a prickling sensation scratching at the base of my neck. My heart jumps, increasing with every creepy feeling.
No .
Glancing up, I scan the mostly empty store. A teenager wrestles to grab a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch from a top shelf, and the squeaky wheel of a cart I can’t see grates my ears, but still nothing. No one.
“Ma’am?” the woman questions, holding out her hand for my cash.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
When she gives me my change, I grab the Skittles and dart for the door, leaving the stifling store. Outside, I gulp down the sharp air and pocket the candy, then hustle toward O’Brien’s.
Several shops away, I slow, catching a distorted glimpse of someone following me in the reflection of a parked car mirror.
The pub’s wooden doors are so close, but my attention is drawn to another man on the sidewalk past O’Brien’s. He’s bald and in a black suit, hands tucked into his pockets and standing completely still.
I jerk to a stop, squinting at the man. From this far away, he looks vaguely familiar. Holding his stare, I take two steps back only to realize he’s nodded his head at something behind me. Over my shoulder, two more men approach from behind.
What was I thinking? What was I thinking!
I throw myself into a run, sprinting for the pub. I should’ve listened to Kieran, should’ve told him. Perhaps even stick to my plan of writing the damn note because now I’m compromised.
My opened coat blows back catching on the light breeze, and I turn my head to see the two tall men in suits chasing me. But the man in front of me walks forward, like he has all the time in the world, never taking his eyes off me except to flick his gaze to the doors I’m focused on.
The dull sunlight that morphs behind the gloomy clouds plays tricks, casting shadows to emphasize the man ahead of me, and it’s like slow motion as I cringe seeing the glint peering back at me and the curve of his mouth.
Is this it? Is this the time my past ghost catches up to me? Run, run, run. I think back to that night seven years ago. Run for your freedom.
The palms of my hands connect with wooden doors, and I grapple with the handle as I struggle to keep upright on wobbly legs. For a moment, I wonder if I’m about to run up in on a bunch of people having lunch before I remember it’s too early for that. I pull at the door, and it opens as two sets of hands claw the air for me.
Bolting inside, the lights are off, but a figure jumps up from behind the bar.
“Summer?” Lizzy freezes as she grips a whiskey glass and a bar towel. The doors creak behind me, and her expression changes from surprise to panic as a palm grabs for the back of my head.
I gasp, letting out a wail full of seven years of terror. “Please!”
“Hey! Hey!” Lizzy jumps over the bar, her black bar apron catching on a barstool, and it topples to the floor with a thud.
I try to yank away, but flinch when a tense fist tightens in my hair. My legs slip, and I let out a shriek.
“What the hell! Get out of this bar. Let her go!” Lizzy yells, as one of the tall men who was chasing me keeps her from me.
The pain abates, replaced by someone yanking my arms behind my back. I struggle to see and whimper when the bald man digs his fingers against my cheeks, forcing my lips to compress and pucker. His grip on my chin jerks my face sideways as he angles my head to fully look at me.
Shaking, I meet his stare, taking in the prominent nose and dark sporadic eyebrows raised with his smirk in silent victory.
“Ahhh … we’ve finally got you.”
“Let me go, please. I-I don’t know you,” I blubber.
Running footsteps sound from the back hall, and Cormac, and another guy, come darting to the dining room, guns drawn.
It’s nothing short of confusion, as Cormac looks at me then to the guy holding me.
“Marco? What the bleeding hell is going on?” Cormac mutters, lowering his weapon.
“Please, help me. Please?—”
“Get yer bleeding hands off of her!”
My heart picks up speed and I let out a shaky sigh at Kieran’s voice as he rounds the corner. His face is red, and his nostrils flare as he approaches.
But the man holding my face, Marco, and the lackey securing my arms behind me, don’t let me go.
Marco lets out a provoking laugh while Kieran comes to stand several steps away from me. “Afraid this one is out of your jurisdiction, Kieran.”
I stiffen at the familiarity between these two, and that’s when I slowly register the guns on both men behind him. Or the way this man doesn’t seem worried about being able to yank me out of here. My stomach drops. Oh god. Ohgodohgod.
He’s … is he?
“Pretty sure this is me bar.” Kieran gestures around, a smug look of irritation pulling at his expression.
“She’s coming with us. Straight to New York.”
Kieran chuckles an unbelievably stoic and quiet laugh that sends a shiver down my spine. “Ye will not be taking her anywhere. This woman is not involved in this life. Release her.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.” Marco drags a finger under my chin, forcing me to raise my head and stare at Kieran. I want to scream. Seven years of hiding and the promise of a life in Boston, all undone in a single moment. “This here is Isabella Buscetta.”