Page 94 of Penny for Your Saints

On my way back to the marina, I pass several bait and tackle shops, a handful of mom-and-pop seafood restaurants, a shop that sells skimpy swimsuits, and a whopping seven boat rental agencies; cracking open the tops of several nips of flavored vodka—slurping them down between drags of my cigarette; depositing each empty in a new, passing trash can.

By the time I get to the metal benches overlooking the harbor, I’ve got more than a respectable buzz on.

I flop down on the bench, my vision wobbling slightly—my legs just ever so unsteady, as if I’m already on the boat.

Even though I’ve been doing my damnedest to not think about it, all my brain seems to want to do is to serve me the memory of Louise’s rejection the other night on repeat.

My body flares with heat as I remember being inside her; that proximal elation of the bonding happening around me. How badly I wanted to just dive under the wave of our connection and disappear deep into that ocean of passion, desire, safety—harmony.

So why didn’t I? Why did I keep myself locked away again?

There’s a shrill ringing in my ears and my chest tightens.

I hold my head in my hands and press my forehead to my knees, doing my best to stave off the spiral—the complete loss of control, my budding scream.

For a few interminable moments that seem to stretch on for an eternity, I am certain I will fly apart; bits and pieces of me—my mind, flung to the farthest reaches of the cosmos.

Then everything stops. No pressure. No pain. No screaming noise, no struggle for breath—stillness, quiet.

I lift my head from between my knees—my eyes drawn to the docks, to the men wearing conspicuously average clothing suddenly surrounding the yacht like an army of ants encircling a new source of food.

Fuck me.

My phone is already ringing when I move to pull it from the pocket of my jeans.

“Frank!?” Quentin snaps on the other end of the line.

“Q,” I answer, but before I can respond further—he is word-vomiting at me.

“Where the fuck are you!? Louise is in danger. We have to get back to the boat right now!” he yells frantically.

“Q, I’m going to need you to listen to me—and listen to me very fucking carefully,” I growl low, my hand moving up slowly to cup over my mouth and the receiver. “I am already at the marina. They’ve got the boat surrounded. I’m willing to wager they’ve already got her inside and are working on the extraction.”

I hear muffled shouting, then the sound of Sébastien’s voice—having wrestled the phone away from Quentin.

“It’s that witch from the recording—Lowry, and her lackey—Compton! Louise is in danger—we need to get to her this instant, Frank—start the breach. We’re coming around the corner to give you back up any moment!”

“You aren’t listening,” I seethe into the phone. “There isn’t going to be a breach—we can’t handle this smoke, we need to retreat and regroup and figure out how we’re going to—” the line goes dead, and behind me I hear the squeal of tires.

Caz nearly puts the van up on two wheels as he screams into the parking lot—the van parked at a lazy angle as all three of the Saints explode from the vehicle.

I put my hands up—my palms meeting Caz’s chest as he bounds toward me.

“Alright—how are we going in? Who is taking point?” Caz blurts out.

I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt as I snap my gun from my holster and strike Caz in the back of the head with its heavy metal butt.

Just as I’d hoped, Sébastien lunges to grab Caz before he hits the ground. It’s broad daylight and I don’t want to draw too much attention—lest the army of ants down on the docks take notice.

“You see that down there?” I hiss, doing my best to keep my voice down despite the urgency of the situation. “We can’t fuck with that. That’s way above our paygrade and Louise’s too.”

“Putain—you fucking piece of shitcharcuter—” Sébastien fires off a string of curses I don’t understand, but he doesn’t argue.

“The only way we can fix this situation is to retreat, regroup—get more resources and a plan to get Louise back.” I try to make Quentin see reason.

“What do you mean—‘get her back?’ She’s still right there in that boat, Frank. We haven’t lost her yet. We won’t lose her if you can stop being such a fucking coward,” he snarls.

“We won’t make it, Q—none of us,” I plead with him.

---