Page 17 of Forbidden Girl

Just then, a shout in the distance, “Please!” Both Ben and I turn toward it. I don’t have time to rationalize or bark directions to him, my feet just carry me in the direction of the frightened shriek. I’m moving fast, faster than I’ve run in longer than I can remember. I toss a look over my shoulder and see that Ben is barely keeping up. Before I know it, I’m rounding the bend into the first row of parked cars. There’s a gray pickup truck blocking Alistair’s Porsche in its space, and a man is shuffling boxes from the dolly into its bed. A second man is pointing a gun at my crewman’s head.

My instinct is to scream at the gunman, but on second thought that could startle him into pulling the trigger. Instead, I reach back and yank my gun from its holster. In one swift motion, I flip the safety off, aim at the guy’s leg, cock the hammer, and pull the trigger. I never grasped how loud it is—the chemical reaction of gunpowder igniting, which forces a bullet from a barrel. I’ve shot guns before—a dozen times at the firing range—but I wore sound-dampening headphones then. Unhampered it sounds like an M-80, the deafening boom echoing all around me, off boats, and out over the calm water. And that smell… pungent, an odd mix of burned sugar and graphite.

The bullet hits its mark. The man yelps as a torrent of blood turns his dark blue jeans a sickly purple-red; the sight of it causes a surge of nausea in me. He drops his gun on the loose gravel and wraps his hands around his thigh. Ben thunders past me full speed ahead, undeterred by the sudden violence.

The other thief slams the truck’s tailgate closed and hurries to help his accomplice, shoving him into the truck through the open driver’s side door. Ben almost makes it to the pickup in time, but thief number two manages to scramble his way behind the wheel again. Door still ajar, he stomps on the gas pedal and takes off. Air resistance forces the door to close as the truck speeds out of the lot.

I catch up to Ben, who’s already interrogating the crewman. Looking at him now, shaking with fear and adrenaline, it hits me that I don’t even know his name. He’s probably just some random day laborer looking to make a quick buck and John took him on for the voyage. He could’ve been murdered for a couple of boxes of who-the-fuck-even-knows-what.

“Are you okay…?” I ask, leading for his name.

“Damien,” he says. “Yes.”

“Ben, did you recognize those guys?”

“I didn’t get a good look.”

“Me either. But they knew we’d be here, so they must know who we are. Get Damien back to the boat. I’m gonna call my dad.”

My father doesn’t sound the least bit surprised to hear of the hold-up or the fact that I put a bullet in a man’s leg. Cool and collected, he replies, “You did what you had to, don’t worry about it. Did they get all the boxes?”

“What the hell, Dad? Did you set me up?”

“Don’t ever say anything like that to me again. You’re the only person on the planet I give a shit about. Now answer me, did they get all the boxes?”

Well, it isn’t an “I love you” but it’s as close as he’s ever gotten. “All but one.”

“Good. Open it.”

I put my phone down on the hood of Ben’s Mustang and rifle through my pockets for my folding keychain knife, forgetting for a moment that I didn’t come here in my Jeep. Shit. Instead, I use Alistair’s Porsche key to cut through the packing tape on the last remaining box and swoosh the flaps open. Inside I find tightly packed bottles of ibuprofen. My rage is unbridled; I yank the phone up to my ear and scream, “Are we trafficking for CVS now? Are you out of your goddamn mind? I fucking shot someone for generic Advil!”

He is unbothered by my anger. “We have a rat. Someone’s been telling the Calloways when our shipments come in.”

The Calloways… Panic climbs my ribcage like the rungs of a ladder. It could be me, however unwittingly. I told Jules I had to be here today. No. She wouldn’t. “Do you know who?”

“I have an idea. That’s why I sent you. I trust you.”

“Who is it?”

“Alistair.”

What? “Did you say?—”

“Yes.”

My eyes lock on Ben, his figure emerging from the dock in the distance. If his father betrayed us, my father will rain down his wrath on the pair of them. He’s a follower of Shakespeare more than he is of Christ—the sins of the father are to be laid upon the children. “Do you have any proof? And are you sure it’s the Calloways?”

“Yeah. The Porsche. They only target cargo I send Alistair to receive. He reports scuffles or that the goods were missing before he got there. There are never any problems for anyone else, just him. Days later the shit is on the market and Teague Calloway’s the one hocking it.”

I see. He didn’t set me up, he set up Alistair—and Jules’s family. He’s going to start a war. This is the catalyst he needs. “Al’s not back from his trip yet, is he?”

“No. He’s still in New York with Celia. He parked his car in our garage, and I sent them in luxury, a nice stretch limo to a room at the Waldorf. I told them to take a few days, catch some shows, have some gourmet meals. There weren’t any shipments on the agenda until next week, so he jumped at a vacation on my dime.”

I think, You dastardly no-good fuck, but I’m not sure if I mean my father, Alistair, or both of them. If either of them could scheme to betray the other without a care… This game is ugly. I want out. I never wanted in. All the laws I’ve broken, all the violence I’ve done and been subjected to at my father’s behest. And now there’s a man—not innocent, but still a human being—somewhere out there with a bullet in his leg because I put it there. I know now, without a doubt, that I’m going to have to kill someone someday. Or I’m going to be killed. “I shot one of Calloway’s men. I don’t know who, it could’ve been Teague.”

“That would be a problem. He’s not just a hired hand, he’s blood. Get home now. Bring Ben with you.”

No! I am not leading the lamb to slaughter. I refuse. “Ben stays out of this, understand?” I’m shocked at my tone, so firm and unmoving. With that single sentence, I’ve jumped into perilous waters. I’ve got to tread lightly or risk becoming shark bait. “Our problem is Alistair, not his kid. Please, Dad. I’ve never asked you for anything, but I’m asking you to let Ben go.”

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