Page 83 of Any Means Necessary

“This is only the beginning,” he states, pressing a kiss to my forehead. We stand in our embrace for a nice long moment. I can’t remember ever enjoying someone’s company like this. After several minutes, he finally speaks, his deep voice vibrating over me. “Let’s get home, we have an early morning tomorrow.”

The helicopter ride back across the city feels much shorter than the first one, but maybe that’s only because I’m more focused on making out with Callum than I am watching the night skyline passing outside the window.

Damn, I feel giddy like a teenager with a crush.

When we fall into bed together, the flirting and teasing for the evening is over. This time is slow, sensual, and feels exactly how I imagine making love should feel. I fall asleep with one thought on my mind.

Could this possibly be love?

Chapter Thirty: Lexie

Anticipation flutters through me as we make our ascent. Take off goes smoothly, but my anxiety has nothing to do with our flight. It’s our destination that has my nerves in knots.

Callum says they tracked the girls to a shipping container headed to Columbia. I overheard him talking to Roscoe about making a deal with the freight worker to have them reroute the shipment, but they got greedy and switched up the loading records.

Three freighters are currently on their way to Columbia, but he’s not sure which ship Lottie is on. And the ship determines which port we go to. By the determination on Callum’s face, he has a plan to get the information he needs.

As soon as the seatbelt light turns off, I connect my phone to the plane’s wifi. The moment my phone is connected to the internet, messages are flooding in. They’re from Ronnie, telling me to call her as soon as possible. Pressing the phone to my ear, it only rings once.

“Oh my god, Lexie! I’ve been trying to call you for the last hour,” Ronnie gushes.

“My phone was on airplane mode,” I explain, sitting forward in my seat. “What’s going on?”

“I have a friend who’s hooking up with a guy that works at Rikers,” she starts, her mention of the prison making me perk up. “She says that Carl Suco was attacked on his way to the showers. It was brutal.”

“How brutal?” Hearing the name of the truck driver responsible for the busload of first graders has white hot rage flashing through me all over again.

“He was stabbed with a shiv at the base of his spine, and one of his eyesockets was shattered. He’s never going to walk again and he’s permanently blind in his right eye.”

Adrenaline floods through me with a wave of satisfaction. Good, a man like him doesn’t deserve death—that’s too easy. He’ll live the rest of his miserable life in pain and suffering like he’s inflicted on so many others. I hope he never knows a minute of peace or comfort again.

“Do they know who did it?” The violent gratification barely registers in my mind as it’s welcomed openly by my thirst for vengeance. My gaze flickers across the plane, and gets caught in Callum’s passionate stare. He’s looking at me intently, and something tells me he knows who I’m talking about right now.

“No, they said it was in a blind corner. Whoever did it got away clean, and I can’t say I’m mad about that.”

“Me neither,” I admit. “It’s crazy how that happened though.”

Is it?

“I know.” There’s movement on the other end of the call. “Hey, I gotta go. But I just had to tell you.”

“I’m glad you did. I’ll talk to you later.” Ending the call, my eyes meet Callum’s again. “Carl Suco was attacked in prison. He’s going to live the rest of his life in pain.” There’s something in the air between us that makes me feel like I’m not telling Callum something he doesn’t already know.

“Sounds like he got what was coming to him.” Callum’s statement is vague and telling at the same time. “People in places like Rikers don’t take too kindly to someone who hurt kids. I have a feeling that’s not the only time he’s going to run into problems.”

He did this.

I don’t know how, and I’ll probably never know exactly who, but somehow Callum exacted a ruthless justice on the monster behind my nightmares. He’s not the one I see when I close my eyes, but he’s the cause of it all.

“Good.” The word sounds an awful lot like thanks coming out of my mouth. “He deserves everything he gets.”

***

I vaguely remember my life before back rooms and men tied to chairs were common occurrences. When we’d stepped off the plane in Colombia and drove through the colorful streets it almost felt like a vacation for a short moment. The house Roscoe drove us to was large, nice, and almost completely empty—a foreclosure I’m guessing. It’s pretty secluded, tucked away in the jungle by a long, private drive.

I’d been sitting at the kitchen counter for a few hours by myself when Callum reappeared to collect me. He lead me across the house to the back door, through the overgrown backyard with the half-empty green pool, to a detached two-car garage.

Walking into the garage feels a lot like deja vu. Just like walking into that night club, the scene that greets me is shocking. Roscoe and Callum aren’t the only men in the room, now there’s one more. But he’s not a guest, he’s a prisoner.

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