Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Wade
My office overlooked the ocean, one wall made of glass, designed for exactly these moments when I needed to think clearly and let the water settle the restlessness in my blood.
The desk was mahogany, expensive and understated, currently covered with Marie's evidence spread across its surface like pieces of a puzzle I was determined to solve.
Six men sat around the room. My security specialist leaned forward, studying the transcribed receipts with professional detachment. My logistics coordinator was already sketching entry points on his tablet, and my tech expert had his laptop open, fingers flying across keys.
The others each had their own specialties, each dangerous in their own right, and each loyal enough to drop everything when I called.
My iPad sat propped on the desk, angled so I could glance at it as we talked.
The screen showed Marie's guest bed in perfect high definition through the security camera feed I'd pulled up the moment I'd left her sleeping.
She was still there, a small, safe shape curled under white sheets, her hair spread across the pillow.
I'd learned this particular habit from my sons. They had something they called their “iPad Gang,” where they’d quite literally stalk their wives while out together. They'd all inherited my protective streak and turned it into something more focused, more consuming.
Jovie was the only one who'd come out semi-normal. Though watching her with Avery made me wonder how long that would last. My granddaughter had inherited something fierce from both her mother and grandfather—a combination that was going to make our lives very interesting when she got older.
But right now, I had more immediate concerns.
"We're not doing this legally.” I stated it as a fact, not an opinion, and the men nodded in understanding. "The men on these receipts deserve execution, not trials. Trials mean lawyers, delays, and the possibility that they walk free. I won't allow that."
"Agreed." My security specialist studied the names again, his expression darkening as he recognized several. "What's the timeline?"
"Twelve hours." I glanced at the iPad again, checking that Marie was still sleeping. My brave girl needed rest, and I needed the certainty of action. "I promised her twenty-four, but we’ll do it in twelve.”
"That's tight," my logistics coordinator winced. "For an operation this size, with this many targets—"
"Then we work fast." I cut him off, not unkindly. "Money isn't an issue, resources aren't an issue. I want blueprints of every floor, room, and exit. I want personnel lists, guard rotations, and client schedules. Everything."
My tech expert was already typing. "I can get most of that remotely. The Orion's security is good, but it's not that good. Give me three hours.”
“Two.” I met his eyes, and he nodded his acceptance. "I want men inside before we move. Maintenance staff, security, kitchen. Anywhere we can place someone who won't draw attention."
"Already have three potentials," another said. “I can have them in position by tonight."
"Good." I turned to Thomas, who'd been standing quietly by the door. "I want Kyan and Alastair on the next flight out. Tell them I’ll give them what they’ve been waiting on for immediate deployment."
Thomas nodded, already pulling out his phone. Kyan and Alastair were two of my best—young, hungry, and violently efficient. They specialized in work that required precision and discretion—work that ended with problems disappearing in a pool of blood.
This is what we did. What we’d been doing for decades when legal channels were too slow or too compromised. What I'd taught my children when they'd needed to operate outside the law to protect what was theirs.
The only difference was my sons preferred the hands-on approach—personally handling threats, personally ensuring justice was served. I'd always been more strategic, more willing to orchestrate from behind the scenes.
But for Marie? For those women she'd left behind? I'd get my hands dirty if I had to.
I walked to the evidence spread across my desk and picked up the plastic bags containing hair samples, each one labeled in Marie's handwriting. Lena. Sophia. Katya. Nineteen names, nineteen women whose lives depended on us moving fast and moving right.
"These need to go to forensics immediately," I handed them to one of my men. "Cross-reference these with missing persons databases, domestic and international. I want to know who they are, where they came from, how long they've been gone."
He took the bags carefully, treating them like the precious evidence they were.
I moved to the window, looking out at the ocean while my mind worked through logistics and contingencies. The water was calm today, turquoise blue, the beach below soft white sand. My private beach, where no one could bother me, where I could—
I froze.
Marie was on the beach.
I knew her immediately. The white cotton shirt, my shirt, was bright against the sand, and she moved toward the water with steps that looked unsteady. Her hair caught the sunlight, and her pants were already dark with seawater as she waded in.
I didn't excuse myself or explain; I just moved. Down the stairs, through the glass-walled living room, and out onto the deck. My feet hit sand, and I kept going toward the water's edge where she stood.
She was ankle-deep in the Caribbean sea, her face tilted toward the sun, eyes closed. The white cotton shirt clung to her frame where the ocean spray had touched it, and her bandaged arms were held wide, as if she were trying to embrace the entire ocean at once.
Tears tracked down her cheeks, catching sunlight, mixing with salt until she looked like she was made of water and light.
The word beautiful wasn't enough. It wasn't adequate for what I was seeing.
She looked like something out of mythology—a sea nymph finally returned home, a siren who'd found her voice again, a creature of water and freedom.
The light painted her skin dark gold, turning every tear on her face into diamonds.
And something in my chest, that hollowness I'd carried for decades without acknowledging, started to fill.
Started to feel complete in a way it never had before, not with power or money or any of the countless women who'd passed through my life.
This was watching Marie experience pure, unfiltered joy after years of darkness, and knowing I'd helped give it to her.
I approached quietly, trying not to make sounds in the sand so I wouldn't startle her. She turned slightly, saw me, and her expression shifted. Acceptance, maybe, that I'd caught her breaking my instructions to rest.
“Hello again, darling.” I stopped beside her in the water and reached out to stroke her hair, my fingers gentle against braids that were still matted in places.
Her skin was still warm from the fever, a reminder of her fragility. "You're supposed to be sleeping."
"I couldn't." Her voice was quiet with tears and emotion. "I woke up and saw the ocean, and I just needed to feel it. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." I kept stroking her hair, watching her eyes flutter closed at the touch. "Would you like to go further in? Not just stand at the edge?"
Her eyes opened, dark and hopeful and still wet with tears. "Can I?"
"Of course you can." I smiled at her, at this beautiful woman who asked permission for things that should have been hers by right, even right after doing what I’d told her not to. "Let me help you."
I scooped her up bridal style, holding her against my chest like she was already mine. She made a small sound of surprise, and her arms wrapped around my neck instinctively.
“Oh, your clothes.”
“It’s alright.” I didn't care. The button-up shirt I was wearing would dry, and if it didn't, I'd buy another. What mattered was giving her this moment. "You just rescued yourself and soon the other women. The least I can do is carry you into the ocean."
I walked into the water, feeling the sea embrace my legs. The loose fabric of my shirt billowed slightly, and my pants soaked through. I kept walking until the water was at my waist, until she was fully supported by my arms and the ocean.
"Deeper," she breathed, breathless. "Please."
I adjusted my hold and tilted her back slightly in my arms. "Tilt your head back for me. Let the water catch your hair."
She obeyed, and it was breathtaking. Her head fell back, braids spreading across the water's surface like dark seagrass, floating and drifting with the gentle current.
Her body relaxed in my arms, trusting me to hold her, trusting the water to embrace her. She looked like a mermaid, floating in my arms with the sun on her face and tears tracking down her temples.
I held her there, one arm under her shoulders, the other supporting her knees. I kept her safe while she experienced this moment of absolute freedom, of coming home to the element that had been stolen from her.
Her eyes opened slowly, and she looked up at me. Her dark gaze traced the contours of my face intensely. She studied my eyes, my jaw, the way the sun was probably highlighting the silver in my hair. Her expression was open, unguarded, and full of something I didn't dare name yet.
I moved one hand from her back to her face, cupping her cheek. My thumb stroked across her cheekbone, wiping away tears that were immediately replaced by new ones. She leaned into the touch, her eyes never leaving mine, her lips parting slightly.
I let my thumb trail down. Down her jaw, her neck, feeling her pulse under my touch. Then lower, across her collarbone, the wet cotton clinging to her skin, skimming over the curve of her breast, feeling her breath catch, her body beginning to shiver despite the warm water.
Then back around to support her between her shoulder blades, holding her steady while the ocean moved around us.