Page 68 of Rising from the Ashes

“Your place is on the way to the docks. We can grab it then,” he says as he grabs his Glock off the coffee table next to Shado’s.

CiCi walks up to him. “Where do you want me?”

He presses a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Home with our daughter. I’ll be home before dinner.” He winks. Despite her best efforts, a sad smile plays across her face.

My stomach turns at the guilt she must feel.

Before walking out of Drake’s living room, I glance at CiCi. “This isn’t your fault. It is my father’s and he will pay for what he’s done.”

She nods frantically, blinking back tears, looking relieved that I don’t blame her.

“Let’s move,” Drake directs as he shuffles me and Quinn out of the door like he is herding cattle.

Chapter twenty-one

Calista

The drive from Drake’s estate to the docks is a blur. I know we stopped at my safe house to grab my bow, but my mind feels like it is in a cloudy haze. Arriving at the docks, I know I need to focus my thoughts on the task at hand.

Finding Shado.

Saving Shado.

Drake pulls his black armored SUV behind two large shipping crates. The sky is a dusky pink as the sun has not quite set yet, but the docks are eerily quiet as we exit his car. Strapping my bow to my back, I scan the area for any of my father’s men guarding anything that may lead me to Shado.

Drake makes a signal for us to stake out the area where the shipping crates are settled, and he proceeds to check the perimeter. Quinn follows close behind me, clutching the pair of brass knuckles I gave her. Despite her lack of training, her powerful punch could still do some damage with those things wrapped around her fingers.

As we round the front corner of the shipping crate, two men move to my right outside of my periphery. Turning to face them, I swiftly draw an arrow back and shoot in their direction. It penetrates the man’s abdomen and he lurches forward falling to the ground. The second man charges after us and to my surprise, Quinn strides forward. Before he decides to draw his Glock, she uses all of her body strength to upper cut him straight in the jaw, knocking him backward onto the ground. Leaning over him, she lands one more punch to his right temple. His neck twists as his head bounces off the hard concrete.

She turns around, smiling proudly, “Tell Everly I pirouetted him to death.” She giggles.

I smile as I catch up to her. “Keep your head on a swivel. I don’t like that there aren’t multiple guards around. It feels like a trap.”

“That or they think we went to the tunnels instead,” she offers.

“Maybe, but I still don’t like it.”

Looking in the direction the men were coming from, I notice the door to the same portable building Allister Craye once occupied is cracked open.

Nodding in that direction, I cautiously crouch down in between the shipping crates and maneuver through them like a maze. If there is someone lurking nearby, I don’t want them to catch us or put Quinn in any more danger.

A wave of nervousness washes over me as we approach the door, and a sinking feeling takes over the pit of my stomach. They wouldn’t just leave the door open for me.

He’s here. They’re here somewhere.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment trying to prepare myself for what I am about to walk into.

Opening my eyes, I gently press my hand against the door and step inside the dimly lit room.

This time, instead of a desk in the middle of the room, there is a man hanging. His arms are above his head and his wrists are wrapped tightly in chains that are connected to a hook in the ceiling. His feet are barely dragging the ground. The jet black hair and intricate tattoos that are etched into the flesh of this man’s arms let me know exactly who it is.

Shado.

Behind me, Quinn steps inside and lets out a loud gasp. She covers her mouth as I can hear her trying not to retch.

I motion for her to stay where she is as I walk quietly over to where he is hanging.

Aside from my steps on the floor, I can hear a dripping sound coming from somewhere inside the room. As I get closer, the sound grows louder. Looking down, I notice a small pool of dark blood forming on the ground. The drops of blood are coming from his mouth. As my eyes rake over him, I count the marks. He has a deep wound over his right eye that looks as though they hit him across the face with brass knuckles. Someone sliced the corner of his mouth open to his cheek. My eyes fall to his neck where there’s a small laceration running across his carotid artery as if they were threatening him.

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