Page 4 of Cassio (Belles & Mobsters 3)

“Just in fucking time,” the co-pilot shouted. “Those bastards were shooting at us.”

“Thank you for waiting,” I told him. He probably saved all of our lives by waiting. “Let’s go.”

His eyes shifted to the girl in my arms, taking inventory of her state.

“Fucking sick bastards,” he muttered with fury.

I should have put her in her own seat and buckled her in, but she shook so bad, I didn’t have it in me. So I buckled us together. Maybe I was going for the award for the caretaker of the century? Fuck if I knew, but nobody had ever brought out this protectiveness within me before. I was protective as hell of my little brother, but that didn’t even scratch the surface of this feeling. It was fucking scary as shit.

The pilot glanced back and saw us violating the safety by sitting together, but the moment his eyes traveled over her, he remained silent about it.

“The prime minister’s daughter?” he asked, shock coloring his voice and disbelief in his eyes.

That’s right!

No wonder she looked familiar. She was the British darling, a little celebrity in political and social circles. She had been in the U.S. news a lot. Her mother was the daughter of an old political family that had connections to the Irish mafia. I bet it was how this rescue mission came to be.

“Butterfly, can I check your shoulder?” I asked her in a low voice. Callahan didn’t give me much of a description but the butterfly birthmark was one clear designation of our rescue target. Shame on me for not checking before now. This was how much she rattled me.

She met my eyes and again I felt oxygen drain out of my lungs. How was she doing this to me? Giving me a curt nod, I unbuttoned the top button only of what used to be a white blouse to her uniform, then peaked at the back of her shoulder. Yes, there was a butterfly birthmark there.

“Thank you.” The fact that she let me do that spoke volumes to me. Either she trusted me greatly or she feared me greatly. Neither was good. I buttoned her shirt back up and held her tight as we left the wretched place behind.

As soon as the helicopter landed twenty minutes later, we continued towards my luxury private plane that was waiting for us. Callahan sent a message two days ago asking permission to wait with the girl’s mother in my plane. We had been in the field for the past two days, studying the ins and outs of that fucking hole and the guards’ schedule.

Fuck, that should have been my clue this girl was important. Callahan never left the U.S., and now he was in the Middle East with the mother of this girl. What was the story here?

As I climbed down the steps with the girl in my arms, the wife of the prime minister came out meeting us halfway.

“My baby,” she cried out, her trembling hands reaching for her. Her mother was pale, the terror written all over her face. I imagined the days and nights since her daughter’s abduction were a nightmare. I recalled stories of the several miscarriages blasted all over tabloids before they finally had a daughter, an only child.

Her daughter looked nothing like her mother. Her mother was in her forties, had dark hair, dark eyes, and olive tone skin. Actually, recalling the image of the prime minister, this girl didn’t look anything like her father either.

Callahan showed up at the door of the plane, his eyes on the two women. His face was an unmoving mask, although I detected anger boiling underneath it all. He met my eyes and nodded. The acknowledgement of his debt.

No wonder he didn’t have qualms about undefined debt. The prime minister would owe him a significant favor, probably a lifetime of favors, for this.

“Baby,” she whispered, tears spilling down her face. Her fingers traced her daughter’s bruised face. “It’s Mom.”

Her daughter opened her eyes, searching out for her. My eyes traveled to Callahan, and for a fraction of a second, his gaze shattered as he watched mother and daughter.

“Mum,” she cried out in a low, shaking voice.

“Let’s get in and get going,” Luca told her mom, delaying their reunion. He was right, we had to leave this country as soon as possible.

Glancing down at this young girl, I spoke softly. “There is a full bathroom here. Want to get cleaned up?”

“Y-yes, please.”

With her mother on my tail, I strode into the back of the plane where the luxury bedroom was and went through the door to a full bath with a sauna in it. To this day I never understood why I was persuaded to buy a plane with a full blown bathroom and sauna, but I was thankful for it now.

I slowly sat the girl down onto the closed toilet lid and her mother wrapped her little body into her arms.

“I am so sorry, baby,” her mother murmured against her hair. “I am so sorry.”

“Your mom will stay here so I can talk to the pilot and get us going,” I was careful to keep my voice soft and low. “As soon as we are in the air, we’ll get the shower going.”

She nodded, just barely. Her face was a striking mixture of blood and bruises against her fair skin. I wanted to go back and bomb the place, make all those men that made her hurt like this pay.

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