by Ophelia Bell
“No it isn’t! We’re killing people!”
“People who would’ve killed us without a thought. Like it or not, this is our life, Elle. But Ben and I are going to do everything in our power to protect you from the worst of it, I promise.”
He tugs me across the room, where he pulls me down onto the sole exam table and wraps his arms around me.
“I was afraid I lost you,” I say, sniffling into his chest as I slide my arm around his torso. He winces, and I pull back. “You need to be stitched.”
I try to rise again, but he holds me tight. “What I need is to hold you right now. I was afraid I lost you too. And Ben. And hell, even Drake. The guy has kind of grown on me.”
“We survived.”
“That we did.”
We lie there for several minutes, and he strokes my back until the shaking subsides and I feel like my hands are steady enough to stitch his wound. I find the suture kit and generously cleanse his wound with hydrogen peroxide, then begin to stitch it closed.
When I’m finished and taping a fresh bandage over the wound, I ask, “What do you think they’re going to do with the bodies? And the other boat?”
“If it were me, I’d kill two birds with one stone—put the bodies on the boat and blow it up.”
Sure enough, when we emerge onto the main deck again, we find Drake and Ben carrying bodies over a gangway between the two boats. The chef and his wife look on, neither one batting an eye, though both look like they’ve been through the wringer, despite having no visible marks on them.
Theo emerges from somewhere inside the other boat with a thumbs up. “Engines are rigged to blow when they overheat. There’s enough fuel down there to keep things burning good and hot for a while. Whatever bodies aren’t burnt to a crisp, the sharks’ll take care of.”
I can’t quite believe what I’m witnessing, but I’m also relieved Ben and Baz know what they’re doing, and that Drake’s crew doesn’t seem to care.
With the bodies finally cleared out, the last step is for Theo to drive the boat several miles out to sea, then set a course to keep it going with the engines pushing into the red so they’re hot enough to ignite the fuel. We remain on deck, waiting, while he does what he needs to do. We catch sight of him in the little inflated lifeboat heading our way when the rumble of an explosion echoes across the water, followed by a flash of bright orange fire. It’s still pitch black out, so we can’t see the smoke, but the flames burn brightly for about an hour before they start to fade.
The seven of us watch the macabre sight for several minutes before the chef—whose name I finally learned is Henry, and whose wife’s name is Patrice—slaps his hands on the rail and announces he’s going to go start breakfast.
Both Baz and Ben try to stop him, but he’s insistent, and we wind up trailing after him when the twins give chase, issuing with more vague warnings about not going into the kitchen just yet.
I can’t imagine he’d be squeamish about a little blood after watching bodies being disposed of for an hour, so I don’t know why Ben and Baz are so adamant. Not until we get to the kitchen and he opens the fridge.
He stares inside for a beat at the disembodied head wrapped in plastic resting on the top shelf. Miles Sitnik’s dead eyes stare back at us, and I cover my mouth.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “You didn’t…”
Henry takes a deep breath through his nose, tuts softly, and reaches for the head. “This won’t do. It must be frozen, if you want it to keep.”
46
Drake
Despite the possibility of Gustavo retaliating, we feel freer than we have in ages. We dock in Seattle for a couple days to do some minor repairs, refuel, and restock. Ben also takes the opportunity to mail his special package to its rightful owners. We had to bring Elle’s brother Mason in on the plan, since he’s the one with ties to the intelligence community, and he managed to get us a viable address, and since I own the shipping company we’re using to send the package, we’ll have no issues with customs.
So Miles’ remains that weren’t burned on the boat… that is to say, his head … is now packed in dry ice and wrapped up tight in a cooler flying express all the way to Serbia. There’s no note, but we figure the row of tiny skull-shaped indentations Delgado left on the man’s temple will speak for themselves. Any medical examiner worth his degree will be able to tell the cause of death without seeing the rest of his body.
Mason also informs us that with Gustavo cutting ties to Amador, there’s no longer any danger to Elle or her sisters. Gustavo was only a threat to them while he worked for Amador, and Amador’s next in command is on our side, so even if he was ordered to go after any of Arturo’s daughters, he would never actually follow through.
But this new information we have may be enough to stop that threat entirely. We just don’t quite know what to do with it yet.
“We need to tell my father Gustavo was the one who killed his wife. Amador needs to know too,” Elle says over dinner the night we leave Seattle, continuing our trip to Anchorage, Alaska. “Maybe they’ll make up and the fighting can stop.”
“That isn’t going to stop the DEA from carrying out their op,” Ben says. “Just ask your brother. They’ve been gunning for Amador for years now. Too much is invested in taking him down once and for all.”
“And let Delgado just move right in and take over? Because you know that’s what will happen. They need to go after him!” Elle points toward the bow of the boat, as if Delgado fled just moments ago and not two days prior.
She makes another call to Mason later that night, informing him of Gustavo’s confession. Since Mason was already privy to the secret, he consents to be the bearer of bad news, but agrees with Ben: the op won’t be called off. The government has too much to gain by taking down Amador, even if there’s a new power rising in Mexico City. He tells her Delgado is on their radar, though, and has been since at least the start of the year. He personally made sure the DEA knew how ruthless the man who was once second in command to two different crime lords could be.
The best part, though, is that we have nothing to worry about anymore, which is almost as liberating as the moment I found myself in the midst of an intimate tangle with both Ben and Elle. They’ve accepted me and my desire for them both with open arms. The fact that Baz completely accepted our relationship is just the cherry on top. Watching Elle with the two of them is as captivating as watching her alone, and I do my share of watching over the next week as we make our way to Anchorage.
We arrive just in time for the twins’ birthday, where we throw a small party with the Brizo’s crew. Later that evening, Elle urges us into the theater, where she turns on the big screen. I’m not sure what to expect, though I’m hoping for some sort of erotic display, but a moment later, a video call connects and her brother Sam appears, larger than life.
“Elle?” Ben says under his breath. “What’s going on?”
“This is your birthday present,” she reminds him. “Just be patient.” And then, in a chirpy voice, “Hi, Sam! Did you finish them?”
“I pulled some late nights, but yep. I hope you all like them. Just let me know when you’re ready.”
Elle clears her throat and stands in front of the screen to address us. “Okay, so it’s been a wild ride with the three of you, but we survived. Together.”
She bites her lip and takes a deep breath, meeting each of our eyes. My stomach flips, because whatever this is must be big, if she’s that nervous.
She glances at her feet before continuing. “I know what we have isn’t exactly … conventional … but somehow it works. I love all three of you so much.” Her eyes go glassy, and she gives us a shaky smile. I can’t help but smile too.
“You know we love you too, Elle,” Baz says.
“I do, Baz. I don’t know if it’s crossed your mind, but it’s definitely crossed mine… the idea of making things permanent between us.”
“Elle…” I say, but she raises a hand before any of
us can respond.
“Which is nuts, and not something we can do easily. I wouldn’t want to marry just one of you, but marrying all of you isn’t exactly an option. Not legally, anyway.”
My heart pounds harder, because what she’s saying almost perfectly reflects thoughts that have recently crossed my mind, and glancing at the other two, it’s clear they’re on the same page.
“It’s just a stupid piece of paper, Ellie,” Ben says, his voice tight. “We don’t need that to know we love each other.”
“I know. But I wanted to make this gesture because I want to have something for the four of us to share, to represent the bond we have.” She turns back to face the screen. “I’m ready, Sam.”
“You got it, sis.” He clicks with a mouse, filling the screen with a huge mandala in the style of Pacific Northwest native art. Elle looks up at the design, grinning, before turning back to us.
“Since this is where we’re making it official—if you guys are on board with the idea, of course…”
“Fuck yes we are,” Ben interrupts, then looks at me and his brother. “I mean, I am. You two better be, or we’ll have words.”
Baz and I both offer our heartfelt assent.
Elle’s grin widens. “I asked Sam to design us a tattoo that we’ll all get when we get home.”
Sam’s voice filters in. “My sister’s crazy about you… emphasis on the crazy, if you ask me, but I’m not one to judge. We put our heads together for this design. It features each of your animal essences, as she interprets them. An eagle for Drake, symbolizing power and prestige…” A bright pointer skitters across the screen, pointing out the heavy red and black wings that encircle the mandala. “Bears for the twins, the protectors…” The pointer moves inward to the next circle of bear faces alternating with small black claw marks. “Frogs for Elle, which represent her existence in two worlds…” He spirals the pointer to the inner circle. “And finally, the moon in the center, to guard and protect all four of you.”
My heart is in my throat at the thought she put into this, and the planning. She had to have come up with this scheme a week ago when she asked him to start working on it, and none of us had a clue.
I slowly rise and go to her, looking down into her hopeful eyes.
“You don’t have any tattoos,” she says, “so I wasn’t sure if you’d be on board…”
“I never saw the point before,” I say. “But now I do. If I only ever get one, this is the one I want.”
“It’ll be my only one too, I think,” she says. “Because you guys mean everything to me.”
Ben and Baz stand and join us, flanking Elle as we all stare up at the screen. Baz takes a deep breath. “I’ve been holding out for the perfect back piece. This settles it. Sam Santos, you are one talented motherfucker. So does this mean you approve?”
Sam laughs. “It was the least I could do, and it’s on me. Consider it my blessing. And not that I needed more hardheaded brothers, but I guess Elle could do a lot worse than the three of you.”
47
Elle
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask, attempting to flex my fingers in Drake’s hand. He’s holding so tight it hurts, and we haven’t even made it through the doors yet.
Baz and Ben both stand holding said doors open. The familiar, clean interior of the Humane Society beckons.
“I promised you a puppy as a wedding gift. We’re getting you a puppy.”
He’s the only one who refers to our joint tattoo sessions since we got back to San Diego as our “wedding,” but we all consider it a formal joining, regardless of the fact it wouldn’t be legally recognized. Both Toni and Sam spent a couple hours a day for the past week since we returned working on each of us. Somehow the experience brought my guys and me even closer for having gone through it together. Today’s outing is more for Drake’s sake than anyone else’s, though.
“We can do this another day,” Ben offers.
“No, we can’t. They have rescued golden retriever puppies this week,” Drake says. “Elle wants a dog that likes water so we can take it on the Brizo with us.”
I clutch his hand a little tighter and drop my cheek to his shoulder. “I love you, you know that?”
He kisses the top of my head and sighs. “I didn’t expect this to be so hard. I’m sorry.”
“Whenever you’re ready,” Baz says, crossing his arms and propping his butt on the door to hold it open.
“Dad’s place looked nothing like this, so I don’t know why I can’t just go in,” he says, almost to himself.
“Seeing any living creature locked in a cage is sad, but they said we don’t even have to go into the kennel area to see them,” I say. “Last time I came, I wanted to bring them all home with me. But we’re only choosing one. We have to trust that the rest will go to loving homes. I bet when you see the puppies, you’ll forget all your worries.”
I tug lightly on his hand, and he takes a step, then another. He tenses as if he’s holding his breath when we cross the threshold. The twins step ahead and open the inner vestibule doors for us, then follow us through.
It’s as if a weight is lifted when we get inside. Drake takes a breath and loosens his grip on me a little, but doesn’t let go. I can’t imagine the trauma he endured to put him in this state, though I’m sure it’s nothing compared to the trauma of the captives he ultimately saved. When we got back to work, he shared all the information he had on the women he rescued, and the efforts he’s still making to try to reunite some of them with their lost children. I sense that he wants to do more, but hasn’t settled on what that means.
There are no more secret cameras in the penthouse, but Drake did have new ones installed in each of our bedrooms, and there will be a fifth in the new master suite, which is still being renovated. The place is starting to truly feel like home, and the puppy is going to be the perfect addition.
I step to the desk and give them my name. The woman smiles. “The puppies are in the yard in back, just through those doors and then out through the side. You can’t miss them. One of our techs will help you once you’ve made your choice.”
Drake is stiff when I lead him out the doors into a grassy, sunlit courtyard. About half a dozen golden balls of fur are rolling around with each other amid the dappled shadows beneath a big jacaranda tree, its purple blooms scattered across the grass. They’re corralled within a pen so they can’t run off, but one puppy comes bounding over and hops up with its front paws hooked in the low barrier, tongue lolling.
I glance at Drake when we reach the edge of the play area. He looks bewildered, a slight smile tugging at his mouth that widens when a second puppy galivants over, tripping over its own feet halfway. Its antics cause a surprised laugh to burst out of Drake’s mouth and he steps over the barrier, straight into the maelstrom of wagging tails and fat, furry bellies.
Before I know it, he’s lying down in the middle of them, laughing like a crazy person while all six puppies climb all over him, licking his face.
The twins and I just stand there, gawking for a minute until Drake sits up, a puppy in his arms, happily licking his chin. “You guys get in here. I’m not making the choice alone.”
The three of us join him, much to the puppies’ delight, and we spend a good hour just playing, but eventually, we have to choose. Drake and I share a long look, and I know he’s thinking what I’m thinking. But he also knows it isn’t possible.
I let out a sigh. “We can’t adopt all of them.”
“I don’t think I can take just one, though,” he says.
There’s one curled up asleep on his lap, and another on mine—a male and female pair. The other four are scattered around, napping near the twins, where the pair of them doze in the shade.
“We can take two, though, can’t we?” I ask in a hopeful voice. “We can name this one Scylla and that one Charybdis.” A month ago, I wouldn’t have even asked to take home two. I didn’t consider the penthouse my home, like I do now.
�
��The names are perfect,” Drake says. “But I’m not bringing two home if we’re staying in the penthouse. I want them to have more space. Which is why I started looking at houses in Coronado. Come here, check these out. If you like any of them, we can go see them in person.”
He pulls up a real estate app and shows me a handful of listings for houses that are mind-bogglingly gorgeous, not to mention huge, with more than enough outdoor space to make a dozen dogs happy.
“What about that one?” I ask, pointing at a listing he skipped over. He scrolls back and makes a soft grunt of dismissal. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing’s wrong with the house. I just don’t fancy the idea of owning a place next door to your dad. Arturo owns the property adjoining that one.”
I blink as I let that sink in. I’m not sure why it didn’t register until this moment that my father is rich. But then, so is Drake. Exactly how rich, I don’t know. In all my digging into Drake’s secrets, I avoided looking at his actual finances, but living in an apartment, no matter how opulent it is or how big his yacht is, it’s easy to ignore their monetary value. It isn’t until I’m viewing the list of potential houses he picked out and seeing their price tags that it hits me.
“Elle?” Drake says. “You look pale. Are you okay? You’re not having second thoughts about all this, are you? It’s a pretty big deal, all things considered.”
Closing my eyes, I shake my head as I take a deep breath. “No, it isn’t you, or the idea of us buying a house. I guess I knew you were stupid rich, just not how rich, and I think I kind of didn’t want to know what the number was because I was worried it might influence how I felt. It doesn’t, by the way.”
He smiles and nudges my knee with his. “I never thought it did.”
“It just never sank in that my father might be just as wealthy. Especially if he owns a house like the one he has in LA and that one.”
I point at Drake’s phone. The house he just showed me that’s for sale has an eight-figure price tag, and it’s next door to one that’s easily as beautiful.