Page 94 of Sighs By the Sea

"Don!" I yell.

"Shut your dirty fucking mouth!" he screams back.

"You can’t do what you want to if you’re dead. Slow down!"

Quicker than I thought possible, his fist flies back, landing on the top of my head with a heavy thud. My vision swims, and I lean against the back seat.

As I struggle to stay conscious, my thoughts turn to Grayson and George. I have to get out of this, have to make it back to them. Gray has to teach me to cook his spaghetti. It’s an odd time to think about food, but it’s the kind of normal I want with him—us cooking together as Georgie watches.

My family. George and Grayson are suddenly my everything. If my team got Vanessa to safety, I only have them to worry about.

The comm in my ear is completely silent now, my team likely scrambling to find me. As the car continues its mad dash through the city, I fight to keep my panic at bay. I need to stay focused, need to find a way out of this. I silently curse myself for walking into a trap, for underestimating Don’s capacity for cruelty. I should have known he’d play dirty.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

His eyes dart back to me, too wide. He’s not himself right now. I don’t know if it’s drugs or fury, but he’s positively unhinged. "I'll fucking bury you, then I'll bury him," he says, his voice devoid of emotion. Cold, hard facts as he sees them.

"You want to kill your brother, Don? You hear how sick that sounds?"

"Not brothers anymore. He fucking ruined me!" He bellows the last sentence, and my blood runs cold. Whatever familial ties existed between Don and Grayson are gone. Only the cold detachment of a desperate man remains.

The car begins to slow, pulling into a nondescript alley and then to a garage door. As it slowly opens, Don turns in his seat, facing me. “Move, and I will kill the bitch too,” he growls. I can only imagine that 'the bitch' is Vanessa. He knows that’s the only thing he can hold over me after admitting he’s going to bury both me and Grayson.

My heart rate picks up again as the vehicle enters the dark garage. This is it, the moment of truth. I brace myself for what’s to come, my eyes darting around, trying to find anything to help me escape. The space is empty except for the car we arrived in.

There’s nothing. No way to save myself. But I’m Maggie, a fighter, a protector. There's no way I survived my hell of a childhood to let some two-timing ex-mob boss get the best of me. I will find a way out of this. For my sister, for Grayson, for George. I have to.

Grayson

My car speeds through the streets of San Diego, my mind a maelstrom of fear and frustration. Twenty minutes ago, I got a call from Maggie, but the line was quiet. I thought I heard voices in the background, but I couldn’t make them out. Though I didn’t want to, I eventually hung up to reach out to Greg. He promised to call back as soon as he had information, but every minute that passes without a call only makes me more desperate. “Come on, Maggie,” I mutter to myself. Driving around the rough parts of San Diego in this flashy car isn’t helping. I’ve gained attention, but no one’s heard of Don or seen any woman being assaulted. Not that I think they’d tell me if they had. I’m grasping at straws.

Suddenly, my phone rings. With a shaking hand, I press the answer button. Greg doesn’t waste any time. “Grayson, we tracked Maggie’s phone from the call she made to you.”

Greg relays the address, and I hang up. Without a second thought, I slam my foot on the accelerator, my car roaring down the road as I type in the destination on my dash. A text comes through—Greg saying the police are already on-site and that he’s on his way. But I don’t care about that. I need to get to Maggie. I drive as fast as I dare, trying my best to keep to the rules of the road.

It takes ten agonizing minutes to reach the address. As I roll up, my eyes scan the area frantically. I spot a young woman sitting on the curb, wrapped in a blanket and flanked by two officers. For a split second, my heart leaps—it looks like Maggie. But no, she’s too young. It must be her sister. Fucking Don. The psycho knew that was the only way to lure Maggie away from me. I jump out of my car and sprint to her, my voice ahead of me. “Where is she? Where’s Maggie?” I know I should be calmer—the kid has obviously been through hell. Her lip is cut and bleeding, one eye swollen shut.

She shakes her head, eyes wide with confusion and fear. “You… you look like him,” she stammers.

I feel a surge of helplessness, my emotions teetering on the edge of despair. “I’m not him. I’m Gray, Maggie’s boyfriend. Where did he take her?” I beg.

Tears leak from both eyes as she stutters, “I don’t know! He didn’t say anything.”

I’m already walking away. When Maggie’s safe, I’ll apologize. I’ll do anything to make up for my callousness, but right now, I can’t focus on that.

Where would my brother go? There are infinite places to hide, but he wants me. It has to be somewhere I’d know about. Maybe he’ll call? Or is he planning something worse? God, my brother is trying to hurt Maggie to get to me again. The thought dries up my mouth.

There has to be somewhere—a place he’d go that wouldn’t draw police attention. Non-descript. Not a crack house or hotel.

“The boathouse,” I mutter. My family has a boathouse on Mission Bay. Small, half-forgotten, buried under layers of LLCs. As far as I know, the police never found it. I never gave it up—not because I wanted it, but because it’s one of many things hidden within the Cardenas Family Businesses. But it would be a perfect hideout for Don.

I dash back to my car, the pieces falling into place in my frantic mind. I swerve onto the freeway as the evening traffic begins to build. Weaving in and out of lanes, my desperation grows with every mile.

The thought of Maggie in Don’s clutches sends shivers down my spine. I have to reach her, have to save her. The idea of trading myself for her plays over in my mind—a dangerous but necessary gamble.

I’d gladly sacrifice myself, no matter the consequences, to keep Maggie from becoming the same shell of a woman that Suzannah is. My family would know I’d want George to stay with her. They’d know. They have to know. I love her. George would be happy with her.

As I speed down the freeway, memories of the boathouse flood my mind. It was a place of childhood adventures—jet skis on the bay, barbecues on the dock, movies outside on a blow-up projector screen. Some of my happiest times were spent there, on the beautiful San Diego summer nights. But now, it’s the potential scene of my worst nightmare. The irony isn’t lost on me—a place that once symbolized freedom and escape could now be a prison for the woman I love.

---