Misunderstood Miracles

by Norma Jeanne Karlsson

  “Reagan,” Dermot commands her attention with a menacing tone. “Look at me.”

  “I told you to go,” she replies with no conviction.

  “You’re mouthy. And I don’t take your lip unless you’re naked,” he purrs.

  Oh fuck.

  She spins to smack him again, but he catches her wrist and then heaves her body over his shoulder as she screams and fights.

  “Good luck,” I say through a grin as he waves at me.

  When his hand delivers a brisk swat to her ass, Reagan stops flailing and starts punching. That’s the last thing I see as I close the office door, happy to be done with this.

  For now at least.

  “I don’t want pissed off Kane,” Alannah says sweetly, rolling up on her toes to wrap her arms around my neck.

  “Good,” I purr, nipping her bottom lip.

  I bend her over the desk and give it to her slow until she begs for it hard.

  When we’re done, I hold my woman and think this is the beginning of a new life for us. A life I have no idea how to live, but one I’m excited to experience with new friends, a newly adopted teenager, my woman and my son.

  Live your life with no boundaries.

  Love you, Sorcha.

  The lodge phone rings next to my head and I rip it to my face, annoyed that I’m being woken up.

  “What?” I snarl.

  “We got problems,” Chann responds seriously.

  I hang up on him and spring out of bed. Eight in the morning and I didn’t let Alannah go to sleep until after three. She picked a fight, and she got pissed off Kane for a while and then she got all the rest of me.

  “Alannah,” I bark and she jumps.

  “You scared the shit outta me,” she chides, rolling away from me.

  “Get dressed,” I order.

  She’s on her feet with panicked blue eyes locked on mine.

  “We’re fine. Chann called. Said we got problems. I’m just bein’ cautious.”

  I’m trying to put her at ease while I’m filling with rage. If we’re attacked again, I’m going to lose my shit and make Rambo look like child’s play.

  Just as Alannah pulls a black tank top over her head with ‘Future Fighter’ scrolled across her bump in Kelly green, I tug her out of the room.

  “So now he’s gonna be a fighter and not a nerd?” I ask, nodding toward her belly.

  “Weird question. I don’t know what he’ll be. What’s goin’ on?” she grumbles.

  I can’t help the weird questions. I grew up with Sorcha always saying whatever she was thinking. It’s how my brain works.

  “’Bout to find out,” I mutter against her hair as we descend the log staircase into the great room full of Caelan’s men armed to the nines.

  Shit.

  “What the fuck’s goin’ on?” I seethe.

  “We’ve got company,” Chann answers, handing me an MP5.

  “Go to Devin’s room. Don’t leave until I come for you,” I instruct Alannah before pressing a hard kiss to her mouth.

  She doesn’t argue as she runs to the back of the house where the only surviving vest other than me is sleeping.

  I walk out onto the porch with ten men at my back, Chann at my side. Four black SUVs pull to a stop on the gravel in front of the house and are immediately drawn on. Whoever is in there, doesn’t stand a chance.

  The back door of the second SUV opens, and a man in a black suit slides out with his hands above his head.

  “Mister Rand, we’re not here to cause trouble,” he shouts.

  “I don’t know who you are, but I suggest you get back in your vehicle and go back to where you came from,” I bellow back as a few of the men take aim at his head.

  “My name is Ronan Walsh. I own Sage Development—”

  “Shoot that motherfucker,” I snap.

  The men open fire as he dives back in his SUV, slamming the door on the bullet proof vehicle. They don’t drive away as they’re peppered with bullets.

  “Enough,” I yell over the thunder of fully automatic weapons.

  Bearers come flying out of the house in varying states of undress.

  “What the fuck?” Alex huffs in my ear.

  “Sage Development decided to pay us a visit. This is their welcome party,” I snark back.

  I look over to see Rory trembling in fear.

  “Rory, get back inside with Alannah and Devin,” I order.

  “But—”

  He starts to argue when I pin him with a gaze that says don’t push me right now. It conveys my point as he slips back inside the house. Maybe I’m going to be more of a parent to that kid than I thought.

  The screech of a speaker coming to life fills the air, bringing me back to this fucked up scene.

  “Mister Rand, we’re not here to cause any harm to anyone. I simply want to have a discussion with you. I’m unarmed. You’ll be interested in what I have to tell you. It pertains to your son.”

  I stand motionless, considering the smart move. These are the suits that came for me when I was younger. They were dressed like Ronan Walsh. There’s something about the black suit he’s wearing that’s unique. I can’t put a finger on the difference. Maybe it’s the tailoring. FBI suits are sad, cheap versions of business attire. Sage Development suits look handcrafted. I don’t forget details like that.

  “Five minutes,” I shout. “And if I don’t like what you have to say or if you make any move that I perceive as aggressive, this ends badly for you.”

  Chann nods at two of Caelan’s men and they pull out RPGs. A little anti-tank weapon is a good incentive to behave.

  Ronan slides cautiously out of the SUV, again with his hands held high above his head. Chann nods at another guy who jogs down the stone stairs and roughly frisks the idiot.

  “Clean,” he reports, shoving Ronan in the back so that he stumbles forward.

  He stays on his feet, taking measured steps until he’s at the bottom of the stairs with a handgun smashed in the back of his head and five other weapons pointed at him from my side.

  “Talk,” I grunt.

  “Maybe this conversation would be better suited in private,” he responds respectfully.

  I take a moment to assess him from head to toe. He’s right at six feet tall with a medium build, something he works at maybe three days a week. I’d put him in his mid-forties with a bit of wrinkling around his mouth and eyes. There’s a slight hitch in his gait. My guess is an old back injury. His hair is a deep auburn color that might look brown if the sun wasn’t beaming off it this morning.

  I study his face for a while longer, memorizing the features for future reference. His jaw is square, clean shaven with lips set in a hard line and almost match the skin on his face in color. His nose has been broken, leaving a good sized bump at the bridge, while his cheekbones are low and flat. I’m drawn to his eyes last. It’s almost as though I’m looking in a mirror. They’re the same light green as mine. Down to the dark, emerald flecks. The asshole has piqued my interest.

  “Come on,” I say, nodding at him to follow me.

  Everyone steps aside so that I can enter the house as Ronan is led in behind me. The bearers are concerned and pissed, while Caelan’s men are ready to kill.

  I don’t stop walking until I get to the office and settle myself behind the desk, setting a few guns on the glass top. Caelan’s guy leads Ronan in, barrel still smash to the back of his head.

  “Right outside,” Chann informs me as Caelan’s guy backs away.

  When the door closes, I raise my brows and look over at the clock on the wall. “You’ve got maybe three and half minutes.”

  “Sage Development is not what you’ve been told,” he starts strongly. I give him a bored, disbelieving look as he continues after taking the chair across from me. The same chair where I had to hurt most of my friends yesterday. That starts to piss me off, which isn’t good for Ronan.

  “I began Sage Development over twenty years ago with the goal of stopping world hunger.
It was a silly dream based on the idealistic view of the world through the eyes of a sheltered rich kid.”

  “At least you’re honest with yourself,” I drone sarcastically. “Three minutes.”

  “It didn’t take me long to realize I needed a new direction for my company. There were so many wars at the time. Afghanistan, Rwanda, The Congo, Yugoslavia. Everywhere I looked, war was ravaging some country and leaving destruction in its path with no one to clean it up. So I set about cleaning things up.

  “It began with aid work, but that wasn’t enough. I set up different programs from there. Hands on training for civilians trying to rebuild. It was mostly farming and irrigation, but I felt like I was giving people the opportunity to live.”

  “Two minutes,” I say unmoved by this shit.

  “I ended up in Northern Ireland just before the Good Friday Agreement. I’d spent years in Africa and Eastern Europe watching villages come to life and often burned to the ground. Standing in urban streets was a breath of fresh air. I was distracted that first day in Belfast, enjoying the change.

  “A man pulled a knife on me, demanding my wallet. I should’ve just given it to him, but I felt like I could help him. Still naïve. He stabbed me in the stomach, took my wallet when I fell to the ground and ran off. In a panic, I ripped open my shirt only to find I didn’t have a mark on me. There was no wound, no blood, just my pasty white skin.”

  “You’re a blade,” I state with a little more interest.

  He nods and keeps talking.

  “I didn’t know what I was that day. I convinced myself that he just pushed me down, and I imagined the knife. But it stuck with me, nagged at me. So after a week in Belfast, talking to politicians and making arrangements, I decided I wanted some answers.

  “I went back to the hotel, dug through my Dopp kit and took out my razor. I sat with it in my fingers for a long time, considering what it would look like if I had to go to the hospital with a sliced wrist or arm. So I decided my face was the best place. A nick on the chin is normal for a man and something I could explain away if necessary.

  “With the blade against my jaw, I stared in the mirror. It took over an hour for me to finally work up the courage. And, as I’m sure you know, when I finally sliced my skin, nothing happened. It wrecked me and invigorated me. I wasn’t hesitant anymore with the razor. I hacked away at every piece of skin I could get my hands on.

  “Once I’d attempted to mutilate myself, I needed answers. I rushed to the library only to find it closed for the night. Without quality Internet in those days, I was stuck waiting until morning. I didn’t call anyone. I sat up in my room all night, running my fingers up and down the edge of that razor. Smiling the whole time,” he finishes happily.

  “That’s great for you. I’m glad you had such a fluffy experience learning about your shield. If you wanna trade stories, I’m not your man. Mine aren’t so pretty. And after what we’ve all just been through, I don’t think any of the bearers will take too kindly to your story. Watching your friends get slaughtered is kind of a buzz kill.”

  He ignores my snarky attitude and lays some shit on me. Shit that rocks me to the core.

  “While I sat in my hotel room that night, I started questioning reality. I’d bled before that. I scraped my knees as a kid. I cut my face shaving. There were typical accidents with bloody results that all people have. So I started trying to figure out what had changed. That’s when I thought about my back. I’m sure you noticed my gait.”

  I give him a look that communicates yes along with my waning patience.

  “A few years before I ended up in Belfast, I was in Rwanda. A man entered the home I was staying in and attacked me. He stabbed me in the back while I slept and dragged me out of bed with the knife still plunged inside of me. The family I was staying with was one I had known since the genocide began. A family that was torn apart by war and finally putting the pieces back together.

  “Gahigi heard my screams and ran into the room to find me. He was my friend…one of my closest friends,” he mutters sadly, drifting within his mind a bit before shaking it off to continue. “My Kinyarwanda is awful. I used English and French while I was in Rwanda. I don’t know the details of what transpired between Gahigi and my attacker. They screamed at each other as they fought while I drifted in and out of consciousness. Eventually, the man pulled the knife from my back, slit Gahigi’s throat and left.”

  “Fuck,” I hiss.

  “That’s where my research began. I had been stabbed. I almost died from blood loss. But here I was, sitting in a bathroom with not a mark on me. I spent over a year in Ireland. Going from library to library, only finding tiny clues that I tried to make into a complete picture. I was tired and ready to give up when I found answers. The same answers you’re trying to find now. And those answers were given to me by Davina Slone,” he finishes with regret.

  “Get the fuck out,” I seethe. “That cunt is dead. I enjoyed every second of draining the life from her body. If you’re here to weep for your friend, I suggest you make a quick exit before you meet the same gruesome fate she did.”

  “Davina Slone was never my friend. She was my captor, just as she was yours.”

  “What?”

  “I’m Two,” he answers.

  “Holy fuck,” I huff, scrubbing my palms over my face. “Deacon?”

  “He was One.”

  I’m up on my feet pacing now. This is fucked. Completely fucked, and I don’t know whether to trust him or put a few rounds in his head. They both seem like shitty options.

  “I know this is a lot to take in. I have something for you,” he says, reaching down to his feet.

  I’ve got the barrel of my 1911 to his head before he knows I’ve moved.

  “Easy,” he tries to soothe. “I have a flash drive hidden in my shoe.”

  I don’t move my gun, but I nod at him to get fucking going. Sure as shit, once his shoe is off, insole removed, he retrieves a tiny flash drive. He hands it to me as I shove my gun in the back of my jeans.

  “What is it?” I grunt.

  “It’s the beginning. I’ll leave you with it. I’m staying at the InterContinental in the Presidential Suite. Whenever you’re ready to talk, give me a call.”

  He climbs to his feet and extends his hand toward me. I stare at it for a breath before pressing my palm to his.

  “I’m sorry for the losses you suffered this week. I hope this information can help you all begin to heal, if just a little bit,” he says sincerely.

  “Why did you wanna talk to me alone? The other bearers deserve this information as much as I do?”

  “You’re the first one I tried to save. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to. But there’s part of me that’s glad I didn’t. Because without you, none of the people here with you would have survived.”

  This is too much for my brain to compute.

  “Chann,” I bark and the door instantly flies open, three men with guns drawn as Chann strides through the door. “Take Ronan back to his SUV.”

  One of Caelan’s guys grabs him and roughly shoves Ronan toward the door.

  “Hey,” I snap. “I didn’t fuckin’ say touch him, did I?”

  The man has the good sense to look embarrassed as he shakes his head.

  “To his SUV. Unharmed,” I clarify. “Ronan, if I find out you’re fuckin’ with me, I’ll make your life a living hell until you beg me to end it.”

  He nods with a small smile on his lips.

  “I appreciate your time,” he responds easily as he’s led away.

  “What the fuck was that about?” Chann asks the moment the door shuts.

  “Check this for viruses or tracking or whatever the fuck else could be on it,” I demand as I shove the flash drive in his hand, not answering his question.

  He takes it from me and settles himself behind the desk, opening the laptop. I leave him to his work and go in search of my woman and the bearers. Whatever information I’m about to learn, they’re just as entitled to it.
I’m not any more important than they are. And I’m sick of being singled out as though I am.

  I knock on Devin’s door before announcing, “It’s me. Alone.”

  The door swings open, and Devin’s wide frame fills the space, ready for a fight.

  “We good?” he asks, scanning the hallway.

  “Yeah. We all need to talk though.”

  He nods, letting me pass before leaving his room. I find Alannah and Rory on the bed, him curled up against her like a child as she strokes his white hair.

  Her big blue eyes lock on mine with worry and anger.

  “It’s okay,” I assure her.

  “He’s terrified,” she growls, looking down at Rory.

  The shit he was fed about Sage Development is haunting him.

  “Hey, bud,” I say softly, settling myself on the edge of the bed.

  His black eyes blink open and peer at me from Alannah’s chest where he’s snuggled in.

  “Everything’s okay. You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you. Trust me?”

  “What if somethin’ happens to you?” he whispers.

  Ah, shit.

  “I’m pretty indestructible, Rory. I don’t plan on goin’ anywhere for a long time.”

  I lean over and brush my lips across Alannah’s before rubbing the bump. As always, I receive a hardy kick in return.

  “Let’s go. We’ve got shit to talk about and I’m hungry,” I encourage, hopping up and extending my hand to Alannah.

  Rory sits up and allows my woman to slide off the bed before following her. He almost looks lost now that he’s not in her embrace, so I pull him under one arm, while I pull Alannah under the other.

  They both smile up at me, and the weight around my heart lessens. Whatever we learn isn’t going to change what we’ve built.

  I won’t let it.

  We all ate breakfast together, while I explained what Ronan told me. I didn’t spare any details. The bearers’ reactions to the story were similar to mine. Confusion, irritation and distrust, lined with a sliver of hope.