Page 37 of Wayward
“It’s me,” Easton says.
Chapter 16
Dead Weight
Easton
Zane nods at me.
“What else do you know? Because you damn well know more than you’re telling me. You don’t need to protect me. Leaving me and everyone else in the dark isn’t going to help anyone.”
“Zed?Ed?the elder Mr. Z, whatever you want to call him?he wants your family dead. There’s another player, but I haven’t been able to figure out who it is. If you, Rocky, and Emily are dead . . . this person gets everything.”
“Harding.” I want to smash my fist against the wall, but I don’t.
“Your dad’s business partner? I don’t think so. I don’t have Rocky’s book in here, but there are a few pages where he’s trying to figure it out. Harding knew about the laundering, of course. But he’s not the one who started it. At least, that’s the impression I get.” Zane puts his hand on my shoulder. “You’re right. I was trying to protect you. Because knowing your family is in danger and not being able to do anything about it? Bloody hell, if I knewsomeone had it out for my little sister, I’d go batshit mad not being able to do anything about it. And fuck me, I didn’t want that for you. You already didn’t know whether they made it to land. I didn’t want to add another layer of worry.”
Bile rises up my throat because he’s right. My face tightens, and I squeeze my hands over my eyes. But then Haley slides under my arms and up my chest. I inhale, letting her coconut scent surround me. My hands drop to her back, and I pull her to me. “Sorry, right.” I pry my eyes open. “You’re a good friend, Zane. Thank you. I’m sorry my family has wrecked your lives.”
Dante scoffs. “I mean . . . thank you. But this has been pretty fucking awesome.”
“Dante, we’re locked in a closet,” Haley says into my shoulder.
“This is a pretty damn good closet to be in.” Dante laughs. “No really. All in all, this has been a fucking amazing year. Though there are some things I could have done without.”
“Wild boar,” Zane says.
“The rainy season.” Haley peppers the underside of my chin with kisses.
“The fucking pirates,” Sam adds.
“Thayer,” Calvin says.
I’ve already told them a hundred times how the last year was one of the best things that ever happened to me. And I’m the fucking worst thing that has ever happened to them. No matter what happens to me, I’m going to make sure they all come out of this okay. Or at least alive. Fucking alive.
“You know what this means . . .” Haley lifts her head. Our eyes lock.
“No, what does this mean?”
“That Emily and Rocky are alive. Thayer would have said something like you’re the last piece in his father’s way. But that’s not what he said.” She cocks her head.
“You’re right. It’s not proof that Emily and my dad are alive, but . . .”
“There’s hope.” She squeezes me.
“Okay, I can try and have hope.” I kiss the top of her head.
I’ve slept in a lot of horrible places in the last year. On the beach, in the damn damp plastic raft, sticking to the floor, swaying in the ocean and then again with sand rubbing into my face on the beach, the floor in the abandoned hut on the other side of the island, the treehouse, and then on the pull-out cot in the cabin downstairs. But nothing has prepared me for sleeping in a trafficking closet. We decided that two people would keep watch and four of us would sleep.
Z dropped off some fruit and bread a while ago and graciously let us each take a silent turn using his bathroom instead of the bucket. Now I’m leaning against the back wall, and Haley’s nestled between my legs using my stomach as a pillow. I’m pretty sure I’ve slept only a handful of hours in the last few days. But I’m glad to be assisting Haley. My head’s spinning about my sister and dad. And fucking getting us out of here.
Calvin pushes in, Sam too. “The light’s on dirty,” Calvin whispers, shutting the panel behind him.
My heart thuds at the shouting coming from the main cabin. It’s muffled, with the walls and the clothing between there and where we are. But there are at least two male voices. Z’s, I think, and another one, maybe two, possibly three.
I lean over Haley and rub her arm. “We have visitors,” I whisper.
“What? Oh, oh . . .” She moves to her feet. The space is a little wider than my shoulders. There’s light, but it’s tinged red and dim. To not be seen through any cracks, I suppose. The conversation I had with Calvin yesterday runs through my head.
