Page 123 of The Wrecked One

Wyatt had a phone to his ear before I’d finished talking. “Not going to let that happen. The Air Force, with the help of the Emiratis, will block and intercept any missile strikes. And we’ll find the bloody ship The Collective has out here with those kinds of capabilities and fucking destroy it, too.”

“Nothing like playing a game of Battleship while trying to stop one of the most formidable threats we’ve ever faced,” Gwen said, typing fast as Wyatt relayed the new information over the phone, presumably to Admiral Chandler, the Secretary of Defense.

“Keep in mind,” Jessica said, setting aside her laptop and standing, “for all we know, that ship could belong to the Iranians. Or hell, the Saudis. We have no idea how deep their level of corruption goes, but I wouldn’t put it past The Collective to have a captain of a naval vessel out in these waters on their bankroll.”

Before Wyatt could respond, Gwen nearly dropped the laptop as she announced, “I broke through. Their comms should be working again!”

Not even two seconds later, Jude Ambrose—Charlie Team’s lead sniper—hollered down, “Teddy and Easton are here, and they have the care package.”

47

MYA

I was two seconds away from blurting, “Anything yet?” for the twentieth time since comms had gone live again a few minutes earlier, but the sight of my father starting to wake up inside the cabin stalled the words in my throat.

My mother—that word barely existing in my vocabulary anymore—was out cold on one of the beds in another cabin. The door was locked from the outside, so even when she came to, she wouldn’t be going anywhere.

But it was my father in front of me I was itching to have words with.

Teddy and Easton had remained up top, working to reach out to Falcon and the others while the two guys from Charlie Team continued on overwatch.

Wyatt was up on deck, on the phone with Admiral Chandler. As much as he wanted to head back to the island, the admiral had ordered him to stay put.

So, it was just Gwen, Jessica, and myself babysitting the evil asshole who shared my blood.

“He’s waking up,” I announced, anger fueling me forward, bringing me closer to the chair he was tied up in.

God help this man if anything happened to Oliver, or anyone on our teams. No, scratch that. I didn’t want him to have any help. Just let the devil drag his dark soul down to the depths of hell where he’d roast alive for all of eternity.

“Mya.” Jessica took hold of my arm, pulling me back. It took me a moment to realize I’d been in the process of snapping, lunging for him. “We need him alive.” She let me go once I shifted back to stand-down mode. Just barely, though.

“I wasn’t going to kill him.” My shoulders fell, and I pivoted toward Gwen, wishing I had someone like Wyatt as a father instead. “But I have a ton of questions and more than a few choice words for him.”

“Is that you? Are you okay?” Dad’s strangled voice scraped over my skin like rusty nails. “I wasn’t sure if you made it.” He slowly lifted his head, not fighting against his powerless and weak position. Hands behind his back. Ankles bound to the chair legs.

“How could you work with these people? You’re a judge, and you actively sided with evil, with wicked people.” Tears dampened my face at the utter disappointment in the man who’d had a hand in raising me. Someone I’d once looked up to, taken advice from. The same guy who’d played along with my desire to hide puzzle pieces so I could solve the clues to put the whole picture together in a more exciting way. And now . . .

“I never meant for you to be part of this. It was why I never wanted kids. I wanted the blood line to end with me. I’ve been trapped in this role since I was born. Inherited a responsibility I didn’t want,” he rambled out. “But my plan since I was in college had always been to end them. Take them down one day.” He released a ragged breath. “But your mother and her stubbornness . . . she wanted an heir. I tried to thwart her efforts to have a child the best I could, but she found a way around me.” He’d spoken so fast despite the drugs in his system, only to hang his head as if they were now overpowering him again.

I stared at the puddle of water around his black socks, his clothes still soaking wet, trying to wrap my head around what he’d confessed.

“I tried to keep you away from them. From all of it. And then you told us you were taking a job with FYVM, and your mother forced my hand the way she did decades ago,” he said somberly.

Forced your hand? “What the hell are you talking about?” My dad may as well have been speaking Italian to me.

When he didn’t continue, only lightly mumbling, I decided to go a different direction.

“Did you know what Hugo ordered those men to do to me in Thailand? Were you part of that? Did you steal the information about our trackers from the Archer family?” I rattled off more questions than he’d probably answer.

He grimaced. “I didn’t know about Thailand until it was too late.” He worked his head up again, locking eyes with me. I’d played enough hands of poker with him over the years to know he was being honest. “I did damage control the best I could so the rest of The Collective wouldn’t figure out you were a threat to them.” He paused for a moment, letting everything sink in. “If the Sorens were marked for death by The Collective, then you would be, too. I had no choice but to help the Sorens once I learned you’d been hunting the very people I’d been forced to work with my whole life, but I tried to . . .”

Tried to what? I blinked, attempting to make sense of his words again.

“It was your mother, not me, who gave the Sorens Steve’s name after you visited us for Fourth of July. It was her last-ditch effort to work her way into the Soren family. Put the ‘mess’ of what happened in Thailand behind everyone so we could all move on without The Collective ever knowing anything. I was against it.” He angled his head, drugged eyes fixed on me. Was there truth serum in whatever Teddy or Easton had shot him up with? Or was he having some kind of come-to-Jesus moment figuring his time was limited?

Before I could respond, a bright light outside the cabin window caught my attention. Concern about Falcon and the others had me forgoing the heavy conversation to have a closer look. “What’s happening?”

“The Air Force is working to block and stop every missile they can, but they can’t take out the naval vessel where the attacks are originating from.” I jolted at Wyatt’s voice from behind me.

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