Chapter 26 Rhys
Rhys
Rhys rested his elbows on the roof of the hired car, his head hanging between them.
The docks were a never-ending maze of shipping containers and office buildings, dotted with just enough of Chomsky’s staff to make things difficult.
They’d parked downriver, on the grounds of an abandoned industrial estate.
It wasn’t perfect; from here, all he could see was the tops of the floodlights behind a wall of shipping containers.
He checked his watch. Again.
“Do you think we’ll even see it from here?” Rhys muttered. “We could have missed it.”
“I guarantee you we won’t miss it,” Jensen tried to placate him. “Roman knows what he’s doing.”
He released a heavy exhale. “I don’t have the patience for this.” All he wanted to do was head straight to the coordinates, but Roman had insisted on a plan.
Cutting the phone cables. Sending up a thermal drone. Identifying the fire assembly point. Setting up the distraction.
Rhys knew it was the sensible option, but fuck, Penny’s absence was like a physical ache, and he hated it. He wouldn’t be right again without her. He tried not to think of what would happen if their plan failed.
Warren came to stand beside him, their shoulders brushing as they stared straight towards the docks.
Rhys wanted to tell them all how much it had meant to him that they’d come when he’d called. The last time he and Jensen had attempted something like this, the two of them had ended up in prison for a decade.
Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced over at Warren. The man he’d come to love as a brother.
Prison wasn’t an experience he was keen to repeat, but he didn’t regret meeting Warren. Nor did he regret the offence for which he’d been imprisoned in the first place: murdering the headmaster who’d abused his little brother.
“We know which room she’s in,” Jensen reminded him, his Scottish accent curling his speech. “All we need to do is wait until Roman’s cleared the site.”
Rhys sent him a hard glare. “I would love the chance to run into one of Chomsky’s men.”
“It’s not for your sake. It’s for he—”
In the distance, a sickeningly high-pitched scream tore the night—and his chest—in two. It was a scream of agony, stretched until it was taut and brittle and ragged, but he knew in his gut who it came from.
Penny.
Rhys didn’t think. He listened to his instinct.
He bolted across the abandoned industrial estate, leaving Jensen and Warren in his wake.
Empty warehouses rose on either side of him, their car parks littered with overgrown weeds and concrete barriers.
Rhys dodged them all, following the route Roman had given them—one that would lead directly to the building Penny was being held in.
His next move was a left turn. It would take him to the riverfront, where he’d be able to slip onto Chomsky’s premises without detection.
Another sound rolled through the night in a thunderous roar, but this one he was expecting: Roman’s diversion. A small explosion to draw Chomsky’s security away from Penny’s location.
A few minutes ago, he would have felt relief, but now there was only rage. Rage because someone had hurt the woman he loved, and rage because he hadn’t arrived soon enough to stop it.
He loved her.
The realisation slammed into him like a wrecking ball. He didn’t just want a future with her, he fucking loved her—and right now she needed him more than ever.
Rhys tore down the path to the river, passing beneath the colossal metal legs of a crane before emerging onto Chomsky’s section of the docks.
His heart pounded as the building Penny was being held in appeared in front of him, half concealed by a row of shipping containers—but then he heard something.
A feminine noise halfway between a gasp and a cry, followed by a muffled male snarl and a splash.
He caught a glimpse of Warren and Jensen a few feet behind him, but he didn’t wait for them to catch up. The row of shipping containers blocked his path to the rest of the waterfront, so he simply grasped the locking bars of the one closest to him and hauled himself up onto its roof.
And then he saw her.
Rhys didn’t know how he got down from the shipping container, nor did he remember crossing the wide expanse of the loading yard. All he recalled was realising that Penny was down on those stone steps with Chomsky—and a seething, murderous fury exploding from him as he tried to reach her in time.
At the last moment, Chomsky finally noticed Rhys’s presence, but it was too late. Rhys violently tackled him, sending the two of them flying into the Thames.
Rhys surfaced first, swiping his sopping hair away from his face as he saw, with a sickening jolt, that Penny was still lying motionless on the stairs, her head still submerged.
Not worrying about Chomsky, he swam to her in an instant, lifting her out of the water just as Jensen and Warren appeared above them.
“Don’t let him escape,” Rhys spat, resting Penny on the stairs, the Thames lapping at their skin.
He didn’t look behind him as he gave the order, trusting that Jensen and Warren would do as he asked.
Thumping Penny on the back, he turned her on her side just as Jensen jumped into the water.
“Come on, Pen.” His voice broke. “Please. Please don’t leave. ”
The seconds stretched out before him, each one more soul-destroying than the next. Water dripped from his hair, mingling with the salt of the tears on his cheeks.
“Penny, please,” he croaked, his hands shaking. “Please.”
And then—
Penny lurched forward into a violent coughing fit, gasping for air. She clawed at his shirt like it was all that tethered her to life itself. Her eyes found his the moment she opened them, their panic turning to relief.
“You’re safe,” Rhys told her, changing from thumping her back to rubbing it in long, soothing motions. “You’re alive.”
“You’re here.” Her words were breathless.
Rhys didn’t trust his voice, nodding his head as he cradled hers, wiping away stray drops of water from her brow.
He swallowed, hoping it would clear the lump in his throat.
His limbs shook as he took in her condition.
What did they do to you, Pen? She was a mess.
A black eye, a bloodied forehead, her hair slicked back by the filthy Thames water. “I got your email.”
She hyperventilated in quick, tremulous little breaths. Tears lined her eyes, threatening to fall imminently. “I didn’t think it sent. I thought I was…”
“It sent,” he reassured her, trying not to go to pieces in front of her—she needed him in this moment, now more than ever. “And I didn’t have any plans for the evening, so I thought I’d come along.”
Penny’s watery laugh was just about the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. She took his hand, pulling it between her breasts—right over her heart. “Thank you,” she whispered earnestly.
“I told you once, didn’t I? I’ll always come for the people I love, Penny. Always.”
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t know I was included in that group.”
A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “I think part of me has loved you since the moment we met. Do you remember?”
Penny’s laugh was tinged with embarrassment. “I shouted at you and threw your business card in your face.”
“Mmm.” Rhys thought back on the memory with fondness, shifting her in his arms—but she let out a gasp of pain at the movement, clutching her elbow. His eyes sharpened. “What’s wrong?”
“My elbow is broken. Possibly in more than one place. The first time was when Bielak shoved me in the boot of the car, and the second was a minute ago. Chomsky wanted information on you, so when I refused to give it…”
“That was why you screamed?”
She nodded.
There was a sickening quench in his gut.
He would rather she sold him out than this.
Rhys looked around. A few feet along were another set of stone stairs, and a trail of water on the ground led to Chomsky, his arms behind his back.
A bloody gash streaked along his cheek like a shooting star.
Warren and Jensen, the latter dripping wet, stood on either side of him, with Chomsky pinned to the floor in the prone position with his arms and legs tightly bound.
“What are you going to do with him?” Penny asked, her voice lowered to a whisper.
Rhys let his hateful glare linger on Chomsky for a few seconds more before answering. “The decision is yours. If you want him to be handed over to the police, then I’ll do it. If you want him to be handled…” He gave her a meaningful look. “Then I’ll handle it.”
He expected her to baulk. Taking a life had always been a line she wouldn’t cross, but he was staggered to see her gaze harden with a newfound resolve. “Do it.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” Her voice was low. “Do it.”
He blinked, shifting his features into something resembling a teasing smile. In the background, he heard Chomsky snarling at Jensen and Warren.
“Do you remember how much grief you gave me over being a murderer?”
“I know.” Penny brushed her palm over his jaw. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t understand then. Sometimes we need to make our own justice.”
“And you won’t judge me for it?”
She shook her head, flicking water droplets over him. “I would have done it myself if I had the strength.”
Rhys leant in, brushing his lips over hers in a featherlight kiss before standing. He lifted her with him, carefully escorting her up the stairs. Immediately, Chomsky began to speak, but Warren’s quick kick to the mouth cut him off.
Out of the corner of his eye, two figures emerged from behind a row of shipping containers, right as Chomsky spat out a tooth. Rhys’s heart rate spiked for half a second, but instantly calmed when he recognised Aldous and Roman.
Jensen was the first to speak. “How’d it go?”
Roman kissed his fingers in an exaggerated chef’s kiss. “Couldn’t have gone better. They’re all locked in shipping containers, dead or otherwise. Signals jammed. With any luck, they won’t be discovered for a while.”
Again, Chomsky opened his mouth, blood smeared around his lips, but Warren silenced him with another kick. “Take the hint,” he muttered angrily. “Shut the fuck up.”
Jensen cleared his throat. He looked down at their prisoner. “What’s your plan for him?”
Rhys gestured for Jensen to keep Penny steady, waiting until his cousin had an unwavering arm around her shoulders to let go.
With a disgusted slant to his mouth, Rhys kicked Chomsky’s loose tooth into the river, ensuring he heard the little plop as it fell into the river.
“I’m going to do to him what he tried to do to Penny. ”
Without hesitation, he grabbed one of Chomsky’s bound legs and dragged him over to the steps, hearing his jaw slam against the stone as they descended.
The man protested, kicking and writhing and shouting for his life, but Rhys had heard it all before.
Chomsky had signed his death warrant the moment his men had come for Penny.
The water lapped at Rhys’s ankles, then his knees, until he was hip deep in its murky cloak. He didn’t give his victim any time to prepare, shoving Chomsky’s head beneath the water as he flailed wildly. His movements quickly became urgent, with bubbles rising to the surface.
Until they didn’t.
Slowly but surely, the strength was lapped from Chomsky’s body, but Rhys felt more invigorated than ever—because he knew that, once and for all, he’d protected the woman he loved.