Page 95 of Ship Happens
King sits forward now. “Of course we do. You’ll find there isn’t much we don’t know.”
“Who is he?”
“If you want to know that, you’ll have to ask your mother. In fact, I think you’ll find she has the answers to somanyof your questions.” King drags his finger around the lip of the glass on the side table. “I hear she’s quite cunning.”
“You’re that high up in the bureau, and you’ve onlyheardof my mother?” My eyebrow rises. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“Oh, we’ve spoken a few times.” He smirks and raises his glass toward me. “Do you drink, Frankie?”
“Where are my manners?” Jim stands and fetches another glass. While he’s busy at the side table, King leans forward and speaks softly.
“I apologize for getting you here under a guise, but it really was the best way to give you the insight you need. This decision wasn’t made lightly, Frankie. When you learn who your father is...” He shakes his head and leans back in his seat. “You’ll need friends when you fall from high places, and I was merely setting you up with a soft place to land.”
“Can you stop being so goddamn cryptic and just come out with it? Who the fuck is my father? Why the fuck was I senthere? You say you went along with it, but who sent the order? And if I wasn’t meant to die?—”
“Tell her that part, at the very least,” Jim says as he places the glass into my hand.
“You don’t think it best she hears everything from the nag herself?” King asks.
Jim blows out a breath and drops into his chair. “Maybe not that bit, old man, but it all ties together too tightly to untangle now, doesn’t it?”
I’m not a big drinker, but I’d chug a bottle of vintageBallinger if it were in my hand right now. Anything to ease the burgeoning annoyance in my soul. I tip back the drink and swallow the liquid in two gulps.
“You’re driving the poor thing to drink,” Jim says with a cluck of his tongue.
“I’m glad you two find this so entertaining.” I stand and move to the side table to pour another glass of something strong. “Meanwhile, this is my fucking life. You send me here and completely upend my world, then swoop in and expect it to turn right-side up again.”
“Maybe not right-side up,” King says. “More like giving you a new perspective. You can stroll along a slightly tilted axis while remaining upright, you know. How do you think I’ve managed for so long?”
I knock back another glass, then fill a third. “So you’re a killer too? Will wonders never fucking cease.”
“Does that bother you? Considering your new hobbies, I wouldn’t think it would.” King studies me over the rim of his drink.
A wave of dizziness sweeps through me, and I push the glass aside. I’ve had enough—in more ways than one.
“Whatever. None of this matters. I came here to tell you—” I go to take a step forward and nearly fall when my legs don’twant to cooperate. Gripping the edge of the table, I gather myself and wobble to the chaise lounge. “I came here to tell you I meant what I said. I quit, and I have no desire to continue my employment. I?—”
The room spins, and I nearly collapse on the small couch. I take a seat and suck in a deep breath as I try to appear more composed than I feel.
“I suppose I can give her that much.” King’s voice filters through a haze as a black vignette creeps over my eyes. He leans closer, and his dark eyes become pits I’m falling into. When his voice comes out in a ragged whisper, the words freeze the blood in my veins. “You weren’t sent here to die, Ghost. You were sent as bait.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Maverick
Normies and Sinners alike crowd the upper deck as the helicopter rises from a higher plateau and shrinks before disappearing over the horizon. Everyone else came out to be nosy. I came out to say goodbye.
King was right. The only thing tying her so tightly to this lifestyle has been me. I’d begun imagining her in our world, but she doesn’t belong here. It would be like keeping a dolphin on dry land. Sure, she can breathe oxygen, but she’ll eventually become a dry, screaming, miserable husk of what she once was.
Frankie is a fed. It’s in her blood. I am a killer. It’s in my blood. We were never meant to be.
Ice Pick stands nearby, a beer in his right hand as he leans over the railing and spits on the lower deck. If anyone can understand my heartbreak, it’s him, so I hurry to join him. Misery loves company, after all.
“How you holding up, buddy?” I ask as I slap my palm against his back. “Maybe we could go to the bar this evening anddo a little prowling?” I have zero desire to prowl for anything, but playing wingman doesn’t sound so bad.
He takes a swig of beer and smacks his lips. “No can do, I’m afraid. You remember the brunette that was fighting for me on the beach?”
I nod.
