Page 44 of Rising from the Ashes

Slowly sauntering toward him, I can hear my boots grind against the wet concrete, as I aim straight for the spot right between his eyes.

“You don’t own these docks anymore, Dad.” I sneer, pulling back on the drawstring at him. “I suggest if you don’t want to start a war, you forfeit this battle.”

“Calista, have I ever been one to give up easily?”

Right as I’m about to release the arrow, I hear the crack of a gun go off, followed by a spark flash in front of my face as the bullet shoots through the carbon fiber arrow, splitting it in half as it falls to the ground.

Looking to my left, I see one of the mercenaries running toward me. Instead of firing another shot, he lands a right hook against my temple as he approaches. Stumbling backward, my back falls against the door of the crate where the women are being held. Shaking my head, I try to catch my bearings and stand back up. Reaching into my pocket, I slide my fingers through the cold metal holes of the brass knuckles. My back up plan in case I needed an extra level of protection. Before he can see the glint of the metal, I put all of my body weight behind the swing of my arm as I smash my right hand into his cheek bone.

His head whips to the side, blood flying from his mouth as he stumbles backward. With a grunt, his back hits the corner of a smaller shipping crate as he rolls on to the ground onto his back. Looking around, I have lost sight of my father and Shado.

Anger begins to flourish inside of me, looking at this man lying before me, thinking about the women sitting in their own piss in that metal container.

Standing over him, I begin to repeatedly punch him in succession across his face. Rotating the brass knuckles with my other hand. As I continue to beat this man’s face to a pulp, all I can see are the faces of Silas and my father. With each hit, the anger burns stronger as I scream in frustration out into the night.

Strong hands tightly grab onto my upper arms, pulling me backward, “Cal!”

As he whirs me around, I come face to face with Shado. “Calista!”

He’s ripped his mask off and peers over my shoulder at the man lying half-dead on the ground behind me.

“I-I don’t know w-what came over me.” I lean my head into his chest, my body shaking with anger.

I look up at him. “They’re in there. They’re so scared. How could he?” Tears begin stinging at my eyes, “How could I not kill him? I let him get away!”

My voice is pleading, as if I’m almost begging for his forgiveness because I know I should have killed my father when I had the chance; regardless of Everly’s direction.

Before Shado can respond, a woman walks up in a white coat, “I’m one of Olivia Wilson’s colleagues,” she says softly, ignoring the blood that is splattered across the entire front of my body, “I am here to get the women the medical attention they need.”

“I thought we were meeting you at the drop-off site?” I ask, cautiously.

“Everly decided it would be harder for you and Shado to transfer the women. So, my team and I decided it would be best that we take them from here.”

“W-Where are you taking them?”

“Edinburgh General. Detective Carson will make a press release regarding the trafficking and the drug heist, in hopes to put a target on Silvestri’s back. We want civilians to be aware but not afraid to call in any tips.”

“You want him in jail? So, what? So, he can just be released?” My aggravation is apparent as Shado grips my arms a little harder.

“Let’s get them free, okay?” He says, gently, nodding toward the container.

He begins to take a step forward and I stop him, “Let me do it. I don’t think seeing a man is going to help their situation right now.”

Nodding, he steps aside, standing post near the container to make sure me and the physician are safe while freeing these women.

Entering the container, I bend down next to one of the women. She flinches when I kneel next to her. Knowing I probably look scary with my mask on, I peel it off my face and pull the quiver of arrows off of my shoulders, setting them to the side.

“I’m here to help you. You’re safe now.”

“Sei coperto de sangue,” she mutters in Italian.

You’re covered in blood.

I must look like a monster to these women, even though I am one of them. A victim of a physical assault that will haunt them for years. My heart aches.

I look at her, trying to wrack my brain for what little Italian I remember from my upbringing.

“Sei al sicuro,” I reassure her, “Prometto.”

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