Chapter 9 #2
Several weeks ago, there had been a fire at the Port of Seattle, where investigators found containers of kidnapped women along with drugs and weapons that were smuggled from overseas.
Not long after that, the Ward stables, where Lina had been investigating the trafficking ring, also exploded and caught fire.
More than a dozen women were there as well.
I’ve been attempting to get an interview with the rescued women since the incidents but have been blocked at several turns.
Someone, no doubt Dashkov, had completely annihilated Elias Ward’s shipping containers down at the port. The ones that hadn’t been blown to smithereens had been holding the women and illegal contraband.
They had to have come from Elias’s stables, which meant that one of them might have seen Lina. When the stables also blew, I tried to find Lina, or someone who had seen her. Again, I’d been blocked at every turn for a chance to talk to any of them. I even used my father’s name.
That had not gone over well.
“Should have known he was dirty,” I sneer. “Especially with a name like Monty.”
Dashkov chuckles. “He’s not as dirty as you think,” he tells me, nodding his head in thanks to his wife as she hands him his plate. Yum, BLT sandwiches. My favorite. “Monty is actually a very good cop.”
“If you say so,” I snort, making a grab for a few slices of bread. Seamus smacks my hand away. “Hey.”
The asshat doesn’t bother to respond. He simply sweeps my plate away and grabs the slices of bread himself to begin layering a sandwich. My sandwich. I want to remark about how I can plate my own food, and I’m not some child, but one scathing look from him stops my complaint dead in its tracks.
Great.
“I do,” Matthias continues, amusement written across his face as he watches my frustration mount at having the twins make my food.
My inner feminist is fuming, steam rolling out of her ears and everything.
Are they going to hand-feed me too?
But there is a small niggle in my brain, the one that softens at the thought of them caring for me.
I’ve never had that before. Growing up, I learned to do things for myself.
Sure, I was taken care of, but I was never held or loved.
The small gesture, however misogynistic I think it is, warms something inside of me. Something dangerous.
“Good for you,” I huff. Impatiently waiting to eat. Sue me. I’m hungry. If they want a docile prisoner, they should have taken someone else. “But any cop who’s willing to take bribes and squirrel away misdeeds for cash isn’t a good cop.”
“Says who? You?”
“Everyone?” That doesn’t come out as confident as I hoped.
“And who is everyone, little one?” Dashkov raises an expectant brow at me.
“Your politician father and his friends? Those men and women are just as corrupt as some of my police officers. More so, if you ask me, since they don’t need the money.
Most of them have less regard for who they are screwing over than Monty does.
Believe it or not, he was worried about your safety. ”
Doubtful.
“He swore an oath to uphold the law.”
“So did your father, and those he holds in his grasp like Polly Pockets,” he points out, taking a bite of his sandwich.
My mouth waters. “Monty needed the money to pay for his son’s chemotherapy.
Something his insurance refused to cover.
Now, I’ll admit I have some shady cops who do shady shit on my payroll, but Monty is not one of them.
Sure, from time to time, he might pass along information he finds relevant.
Might steer an investigation away from me, but he’ll never mistreat innocent people, nor will he plant evidence or put drugs on the street where they don’t belong. ”
That’s amusing. I also find it amusing that he is painting my father as the bad guy. The villain in his story.
“What do you call what you did to Elias Ward, if not evidence planning? Those women were in containers that were too clean to have been there long. And he may not put drugs on the street himself, but he knows you do. He’s still complicit.”
Matthias smiles. It is scary. Like a predator smiling at his prey.
“We didn’t plant those women or guns. We simply relocated them.”
“Elias had another set of storage containers at the port listed under an alias,” Ava speaks up before I have the chance to begin my rebuttal.
“The women had been held in those containers for nearly a week without food or water. We knew that if we wanted Elias to take the fall, we had to move those assets where they could be linked back to him.”
“Thought of that plan herself.” Seamus smiles proudly at his sister before he leans over to whisper in my ear. “You can eat now, wildcat.”
Thanks for the permission, jackass. My inner bitch bristles.
Grabbing the loaded sandwich with two hands, I take a large bite, making a show of showing it in my mouth, sneering when his eyes dance with amusement at my childish behavior.
The table grows silent as everyone eats, too consumed with devouring their lunch to bother with any more conversation or banter.
The food is a culinary masterpiece for being something so simple.
The mixture of herbs and spices mixed with the mayonnaise assaults my senses.
The crisp smell of bacon and freshly baked bread makes me understand the true meaning of food porn.
The potato fries are freshly cut and perfectly fried, served with a side of ranch.
I can’t remember the last time I actually enjoyed eating. Dinner in my house was a formal affair, and my food was often restricted for “image” purposes.
The silence surrounding the table isn’t awkward or stifling, and once everyone finishes up their plates, a low hum of voices begins to rise.
Nan, who has been sitting quietly next to Dashkov, is currently chatting up the twins’ sister in quiet conversation, while the burly Russian sips his drink, pretending not to listen to the pair.
On either side of me, the twins are shoveling food into their mouths like it is their last. My eyes fall on their father. He glances up from his plate, his gaze flitting to mine before shifting to Ava, who asked him a question too low for me to hear.
“We need to solidify a plan for the gala,” Dashkov speaks up, pushing his plate away. Within moments, the server clears it from the table. He leans back in his chair more comfortably, an ankle resting on his knee.
“We’ve already gone over the plan.” Seamus glares at him. “Several times.”
Talk about tension. None of the Kavanaughs seems particularly fond of the Bratva leader, even though he is married to their kin.
I wonder idly what the story is between them.
The Irish and Russians have never been allies before, and it has me wondering if Ava is the reason behind the sudden alliance.
Although, it is puzzling because I’ve never heard of Liam Kavanaugh having a second daughter.
Dashkov nods his head. “Yes, we do, but we’ll need to alter them now that your twin resembles Mike Tyson with that nose of his.”
Ava snorts.
“Can’t say he didn’t deserve it,” I grumble under my breath. Ava cackles from her chair, hand bracing itself on Matthias’s shoulder. The surly Russian also seems amused. Or his lips are having a minor seizure.
It is anyone’s guess.
“Moving on from whether my son deserves his black eye and broken nose.” Liam rubs at his temples and sighs. “Matthias is right. Kiernan won’t be able to attend the gala with his broken nose convincingly as his brother. We will have to think of a better strategy than one posing as the other.”
“His crooked snout won’t be easy to cover,” Ava teases. Kiernan lifts his gaze to glare at her. “But a little concealer will cover up his bruising.”
“I won’t be wearing any of that girly shite.”
Down girl.
Damn, he is even hotter when he is mad. The slight deepening of his native accent has my body shivering and my thighs clamping together beneath the table. Who knew I had a thing for accents?
“Actors wear it all the time.”
“Do I look like a fucking actor to you?”
“Of course not,” Ava admits. Kiernan shoots her a smug smile. “Actors are way better looking than your ugly mug.”
His smug smile drops like a bomb.
Biting my lip, I do my best to hold back the laughter, hoping neither twin will notice with their attention fixed on their sister. Kiernan’s large hand squeezes my thigh under the table, telling me he didn’t miss it.
“Enough, you three.”
“Three?” Seamus’s eyes widen at his father in mock disbelief. “What did I do? I am literally just sitting here.”
“Reason enough.” Liam winks at his son. “Now, let’s get down to business.”
“To defeat the Huns…” Seamus finishes in song. Everyone at the table shakes with laughter, including me.
“The lord gave me idiots for sons.” Liam shakes his head.
“We don’t need them both at the gala anymore,” Ava speaks up, graciously accepting a cup of coffee from one of the attendants.
“Would you like a cup of coffee, Bailey?” Ava asks, her brilliant green eyes finding mine.
“Yes, please.” I smile at her gratefully. The attendant nods at me before taking my empty plate and retreating to the kitchen.
“They make the best coffee here.” Ava smiles. “Nan says they get their coffee from a small farm in Guatemala that hand-picks their beans to make sure they roast just right.”
“Our sister is a coffee nut.”
Ava shrugs. “Just a little. But what I am really into is information. And you, Bailey, have all the information we need. Don’t you?” The sweet smile she’s adorned throughout lunch drops faster than a guillotine. In its place stands the smile of a shark that smells blood in the water. My blood.
“I don’t understand.” I glance from one twin to the other, eyes wide, but they give nothing away. Their faces are nothing more than stoic masks, unrelenting.