Page 19 of Volatile Waters

“Not a chance. I paid for her. The deal is done.”

Is this so? Harold failed to share the profits. “You’re making money off her?” I leaned forward and retrieved the gun tucked in my pants. He was not to profit off our investment.

Ignoring my weapon, he winced. “Jesus, you sick fuck. No.”

These Americans kept baffling me. “Then why the attachment?” I tapped the barrel of my gun to his wife’s picture. “And no more games.” Mr. Summers studied the men around me, growing impatient for my cue.

He exhaled. “Whit is part of the image I have developed.”

My brows scrunched. “You are kidding, no?”

His jaw locked. “I have future plans in politics. I’ve spent thousands on our presentation. PR has made sure the public sees what they all wish for—the ‘perfect’ family.”

My upper lip snarled. “So, this is not a moral issue of selling her or wanting to save her life from me?”

A hand with a diamond wedding ring waved through the air. “Absurd.”

Resting my gun in my lap, I mumbled in disgust, “No attachment to little Whitney.” Mrs. Thompson had been correct. This kid was a mere pawn in a political game. I couldn’t help but feel she was a distant kindred spirit of mine. Father’s game wasn’t political in the public’s eyes, but we dealt with politicians and had agendas that would be far more lucrative than any goal Mr. Summers may have set for himself. And my own father was willing to risk my well-being to further his objectives. Hence, where I was. It was then that I realized another clue as to why I had been sent to America. Father didn’t want anyone else knowing of his connection to Whitney. That is why I was instructed to remain quiet if apprehended. He knew I was facing a strong opponent in Mr. Summers.

I had a job to do, and I wanted it done efficiently so I could return home, no handcuffs. Re-staking my claim on Whitney wasn’t a concern—we abducted people all the time—but I also needed her false documents.

Looking past Mr. Summers and out the window, my attention was rerouted when catching a glimpse of a girl around the age of eleven running down a wooden dock, headed toward the lake. She was celebrating. “I finished my homework!” My chest tightened as I recognized who I was seeing; a younger version of Seafoam in a little yellow bikini, wild red hair flowing in the wind. In my mind, I heard Seafoam whisper, “Shh… you will be okay…” and felt phantom hands from the past take hold of my virgin dick.

Splash!My sight focused on the noise—Whitney disappearing in the blue water.

Resurfacing, the little Whitney said, “Timothy, did Reether tell you…”

Her voice faded as Mr. Summers opted to play another dangerous game. “Whitney was brought into this country with falsified documents.”

I’m well aware. I shrugged. “Your point?”

“They lead back to your organization.”

I hadn’t even had a chance to request the documents, yet I was now faced with words that were a full out threat to my family. Not a wise strategy for Mr. Summers. It activated my instilled way of life and the need to protect it. In America, the land of the fat and selfish, I sat up straight, my trigger finger tightening.

As Mr. Summers gloatingly smirked, not understanding who he was attempting to intimidate, I gained my composure and took another gander around the office for more intel, because this man had made Father nervous. I wasn’t going to take his power lightly. On a shelf, I found what was needed. I pointed my gun to a picture frame. “Strapping son you have. Timothy, is it?”

Sweat built on Mr. Summers’ upper lip in no time at all. Anger that he was failing to hide radiated from his whole body.

Now, I was getting somewhere, so I stood because this meeting was coming to an end. “I would hate for your perfect image to be tainted if your daughter and son were to disappear with no logical explanation.” In a relaxed manner, I stretched then sighed, knowing I would have the last word. “You have two days to get your lies in order and hand her and the documents over.” Heading for the office door, my men following me, I said, “If I must return, the visit will be far from pleasant.” With my gun, I knocked Timothy’s picture from the shelf. It hit the floor. “Have a good afternoon, Mr. Summers.”

Almost to the SUV in the driveway, Adrian mumbled, “Your father and Uncle would be proud, Yury.”

That was pleasing to hear. I felt pride in my chest.

Loading into the vehicle, Kirill asked, “Now what? Just wait?”

Seated, I pulled a device from my pocket. “And listen.” Turning it on, I heard Summers yelling curses and throwing things in his office.

In amazement, Adrian peered over his shoulder from the front passenger seat. “No.”

As we drove out of the expensive neighborhood, where we knew security detail would be in place soon, I explained, “I placed a bug on his wife’s picture frame.”

Everyone appeared astonished except for Kirill. He grimaced, probably knowing he would never lead because he was more muscle than brains.

Over the device, we could hear Mr. Summers’ fingers punch numbers into a phone on his desk. Then he growled, “The problem we hoped wouldn’t arise just rose. From hell! They want me to hand over the documents and her. Of course, I’m not giving her to them! I have an image to… What? Yeah, you do that. Call that fucking drug dealer and tell him to get these assholes off my back…”

Knowing who the “asshole” was, I rubbed my chin. “Who is he speaking with?”