HIS VIRGIN VESSEL: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (War Cry MC)

by Nicole Fox

  Which it was, but Dad hadn't allowed for at least one of these thugs having a brain.

  "Dad!" Risa squealed as an arm snaked in to grab her and hold her round the throat, a gun to her head. Dad struggled to re-aim, but Risa had been hauled in front of the window, as a human shield for her attacker.

  "No." Dad still wasn't shouting. His voice sounded almost confused, as if all the sense had gone out of his world. It was horrible to hear. He knew what was going to happen next, and I guess I did too. I undid my seatbelt, so when another man reached in to grab me, there would be nothing to stop him.

  "No!" Dad yelled, but did not fire. He knew he couldn't.

  "You do anything, and your other daughter's brains are going to be all over your back seats!" Yelled the harsh voice, underlining the horror in which my father now found himself.

  The last thing I saw, as I was yanked out through the broken window, was the frustrated anguish on my father's face.

  # # #

  I didn’t know how long we drove. I was tied up and blindfolded, bundled onto the floor of a car, with no concept of what was going on around me. I wasn't even sure if I'd been awake for all of it. I might have passed out from stress or fear, or perhaps they drugged me. The truth was that it might have been days later, for all I was aware when the blindfold was pulled off. I don't think it was days - probably just a matter of hours - but that sense of displacement and confusion was enhanced when I blinked in the sunlight and peeled my sticky eyelids open to see water all around. We were on a boat.

  "Welcome, Miss Dugas." The greeting came from a man seated in a large chair on the deck. Objectively he might have been described as 'handsome,' but there was something about him that wouldn't allow the adjective, as if his nature had distorted his features. You couldn't look at the man without being repulsed. "My name is Frank Rassi. I believe you've heard of me."

  "What have you done to my dad and my sister?!" That was the single question that had beat in my brain throughout this ordeal. I had no idea how that standoff had ended.

  Rassi laughed. "Nothing. What sort of fool would I be if I started hurting the people near to you? How could I control you if they were dead?" He shrugged. "By force, I suppose. I could order one of my men to beat some obedience into you. And that would work. But it's a lot of effort, and nobody likes seeing a pretty face all bruised and bloody. Well, some people do, but they’re strange, twisted people. I hire them quite regularly. It's good to have employees who enjoy their work and don't get squeamish about it. But I digress. Your father and your sister are fine, and will remain so if you do as I say."

  "What do you want me to do?" It didn't really matter. Whatever it was, I would do it to keep my family safe.

  "Nothing, really," Rassi said, gesturing vaguely with a tall drink with an umbrella in it. "Just don't try to escape."

  "I don't understand." Why did I matter? I was nobody. How did having me here help?

  "I believe you know Asa Covert?" He did not wait for me to answer, but continued. "I can't tell you how delighted I was to hear that he's behind bars, where a thug like that belongs. He's made business very difficult for me in more than a few towns in the area. Having him out of the way ought to have been a dream come true. But his 'War Cry,’" Rassi used contemptuous air quotes, "are continuing to resist. He continues to exert an influence, even in his absence." Rassi took a long sip of his drink. "With you as my guest, I think that influence can be put to good use. And, with War Cry out of the way, I will be free to continue my legitimate business interests, unencumbered."

  "So, I'm here indefinitely?" I asked, trying to at least seem brave.

  Rassi waved a dismissive hand. "Of course not. Once Asa is tried and put in general population in a jail, having him killed will be quite easy. The inconvenience to you should be temporary and minimal. So, cheer up."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Asa

  They always said that what got to you in prison was the boredom and monotony. I thought that was partly right. What really got to me was that the boredom and monotony gave me time to think. It was impossible for me not to worry about what was going on outside. About what was going on with my case, with Rassi, with Joseph and War Cry, and, of course, with Corinne. I tried my best to find out, but I was still kept in the dark. Agents Quint and Hamlin were still trying to break me, and isolation was a good technique. By giving me no information, they allowed my imagination to run riot. I could see the smoking ruins of Fiona's bar in my mind's eye, the corpses of my War Cry comrades, and some of the images that my subconscious summoned up of Corinne had me shaking in a cold sweat when I awoke from the nightmare. Your brain could sometimes be your own worst enemy.

  As the days passed, any optimism I might have been able to cling to had slowly dissipated. I was going to jail for a long time and would never see Corinne again. Making my mind up to that should have helped. By banishing hope, I should have been able to settle into grim, but resolved acceptance. But banishing hope is a hard thing to do, and the bad dreams continued to come.

  It was from the midst of one such dream that I found myself shaken awake one night. I tried to leap up - years of instinct telling me that I was under attack - but strong hands held me, silenced me, and dragged me to my feet, out of my cell. What the hell was happening?

  My first thought was, of course, that Rassi had found a way to get to me, and I was about to be taken outside and shot. But something about that didn't add up. For starters, Rassi's boys would surely have just put a bullet in my head as I slept. Why go to all this trouble? It was not impossible that Rassi would want to see me first, to gloat, nor was it impossible that I had information he wanted and that there might be a deal to be struck. But then there were the men who kidnapped me. If you spent any amount of time around the criminal element, you got a sense of them, and I would have bet all the money I had that these guys were not mobsters. There was a silent efficiency to them. They seemed to communicate fluently, yet wordlessly. They moved like jungle cats through the corridors of the station. As we reached the outside door, a bag was placed over my head, and, shortly after, I was dumped into a vehicle of some sort. We drove for, I guess, the next hour or so, in total silence. Of course, I had questions, but it wasn't like I was going to get answers, so I decided to prove that I could play the dumb act as well as my captors.

  What the hell was going on?

  The vehicle stopped. We got out. After a few minutes of walking, I was forced down into a chair and the bag was pulled from my head.

  I had resolved in the darkness and silence to be unsurprised by whatever the outcome was. No matter what happened, I would play it cool. But I suspect I blew that, as the first faces I saw were those of Brian Dugas and Porter Crucero.

  "Hi, Asa," said Porter.

  "Good trip?" Brian inquired.

  "Bumpy."

  "Water?"

  "Please." I drank gratefully. "Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?"

  "War Cry busted you out of jail."

  I shook my head. "No way was that War Cry."

  Porter shrugged. "Well, sure, you know that. But tomorrow it's going to look pretty much like War Cry did it."

  I frowned. There was obviously something going on here that I did not fully –grasp. In fact, I did not grasp it at all. "I'm going to need a little more than that."

  "Rassi has Corinne," Dugas said, hard and simple.

  Only then did I notice the ugly wound on his forehead, still healing. I suspected the man was barely holding himself together.

  "What do you need me to do?" I asked.

  "When a sheriff's daughter gets kidnapped," Dugas continued, "Even assholes like Quint and Hamlin have to pay attention. They gave us permission to put this into operation, on the understanding that you'll be back in their custody at the end of it."

  I nodded. That didn't matter remotely.

  "We've made it look as if War Cry sprung you," Dugas explained. "Now that Rassi thinks you're back on the scene, he's
going to be trying to get a message to you, to use Corinne to put the screws on you. You're going to tell him you want a meeting."

  I nodded again.

  Dugas eyed me steadily. "You understand there's a chance that he may just put a bullet in your head and have done with it?"

  "Yeah," I said.

  "For what it's worth," Dugas continued, "I don't think that's Rassi's style. He's a man who does the absolute least necessary. He's going to want you and War Cry out of the way, without going to war over it. If he kills you, then he knows War Cry will retaliate against him. My guess is he'll want to do a deal."

  "War Cry leaves town, and he lets Corinne go."

  "Exactly."

  "You want me to make the deal?" I wasn't one-hundred-percent sure what the end game was here.

  "You think that'll help?" Dugas asked.

  I shook my head. "Hell no. Rassi's got no reason to trust me. He'll want to keep his hold on me even after I leave town, just to make sure I don't come back. Maybe he'd let Corinne go, and maybe not. But, either way, she'd be living with a permanent death sentence, just waiting for it to be carried out."

  Dugas inclined his head slowly. "That's pretty well what we thought too. As long as Rassi is out there, then Corinne’s not going to be safe. And there's a whole bunch of other people to be considered, as well."

  You had to admire him for trying to be a good cop, even when he was a distraught father.

  "So, I lead you to Rassi?"

  "You wear a wire," Dugas went on. "When we've got what we need to put that scum away for the rest of his life, SWAT will go in, guns blazing."

  "Sounds safe."

  Dugas's eyes flicked up. "Is that a concern?"

  "Not remotely."

  "Because I don't want you doing this if you can't..."

  "I'm doing it."

  Dugas nodded. "I figured."

  "What now?"

  Dugas shrugged. "Wait. I don't think it'll take Rassi long to get in touch."

  # # #

  Although it wasn't part of Dugas's instructions, I told the rest of War Cry what was going down and my role in it. I could tell that not all of them were completely happy with helping the police, but the idea of taking out Rassi, once and for all, was clearly one that resonated with them. Since I had been out of the picture, the mafia's grip had been extending, more businesses had been hit, and friends had been targeted. If this was the best way to end that, then they were onboard.

  As Dugas had thought, it didn't take Rassi long to get in touch. A message arrived that afternoon, with just a time and a place, and the words, 'Come alone,’ heavily underlined. I kept the rendezvous and, for the second time in as many days, had a bag placed over my head and was dumped into the back of a car.

  "Frisk him," said a voice - the last sort of voice you want to hear saying things like that.

  I was glad that the bag on my head hid my expression. Technology these days is something incredible. I remember when a wire was a bulky thing taped to a person's chest. You couldn't miss it. Now, the same job can be done by something that can be stitched into the lapel of your jacket, but is still powerful enough to pick up every word said. It even doubles as a tracker, as well. Still, when you're wearing a wire, and you hear the word 'frisk,' your heart still does a few calisthenics.

  "He's clean."

  God bless technology.

  It was a long drive, but I daresay that they took me in a few circles to make sure I wasn't memorizing the route. Finally, we arrived at our destination, and I was marched inside, where they removed the bag from my head. We were inside what looked like an abandoned warehouse, but not one I recognized (you get to know abandoned warehouses pretty well in my line of work). There were ten mafia thugs standing around, all armed, and a further four flanking Frank Rassi, who was seated in a large chair in the center of the room. Rassi has always struck me as a guy who takes care of himself, but, I swear, I'd never seen him standing up. The chair seemed to go with him wherever he went, like it was glued to his lazy ass. Behind him was Corinne. I tried hard not to react to seeing her. I'm not sure I was entirely successful, but I at least managed to suppress the urge to run across the room and take her in my arms. That probably would have ended with me being shot. She was gagged, but I saw her eyes widen when she looked at me. I wish I knew what she was thinking. Was she pleased to see me? Was she trying to tell me something?

  "Thanks for coming, Mr. Covert," Rassi said.

  "Thanks for inviting me."

  "I think this is the most civilized way in which to work out our differences."

  "Do you?" The urge to tear his arm off and beat him over the head with it was a strong one in me, but I managed to suppress it.

  "So much more gentlemanly than just fighting."

  I managed to keep my voice relatively level, a trick I had learnt from Brian Dugas. "You think that kidnapping women is gentlemanly? Or civilized?"

  Rassi spread his hands expansively. "It's so hard to get people to sit down and talk."

  I sat. "Well, it worked. I'm here. So, talk."

  "You know what I want."

  "You want War Cry out of town."

  "Out of the state," Rassi clarified. "And you want Miss Dugas here released, unharmed."

  "I do."

  "I can confirm that she has not been harmed to this point," Rassi said.

  "She'd better not have been." The rage was rising in me once again.

  Rassi laughed. "I think threats, under the circumstances, are a bit silly, don't you?"

  I went back to negotiating. "So, you release Corinne, then War Cry leaves."

  Rassi raised a finger. "Tiny misunderstanding. War Cry leaves, then I release Miss Dugas."

  "I would prefer the other way around."

  "But I hold all the cards."

  "If that were true, I'd be dead."

  Rassi laughed. "Yes, you would. But, still, I must insist."

  "What assurance do I get that you'll set her free after we're gone?"

  Rassi shrugged. "I assume my word is not enough for you?"

  "Correct. I know how many times you've done this before and how many times you've gone back on it." I was edging matters in the direction of an admission.

  "Never," said Rassi, bluntly.

  "Albert Brosnan?" I had been given a long list of names by Dugas, none of which he could prove, but all of which should mean something to Rassi. I had spent the afternoon learning the details. I hadn't done this much homework since I was in school. And it was getting homework like that had led to me quitting school.

  "Never heard of the gentleman," Rassi said, poker-faced.

  "He disappeared mysteriously a week before his brother was going to give evidence against you. The brother reversed his testimony, and neither he, nor Albert, were ever seen again. Which strikes me as quite ungrateful on your part."

  Rassi shrugged. "It strikes me that the Brosnan family are obviously quite unreliable and not to be trusted. I would imagine the guilt of having implicated me in a matter in which I was entirely innocent must have weighed heavily on his mind and, perhaps, contributed to his disappearance."

  "Would you also say that about Amy Sanchez?" I asked.

  "You'll have to remind me, again, I'm afraid."

  "That's okay, I understand you've done this a lot of times."

  Rassi shook his head. "I don't know what you mean by 'this,’ but I can assure that that, if I had ever previously made a deal with someone that I would release a captive friend or relative in return for some very small concession on their part, I would have followed through with it to the letter. I am a man of principle. My word is my bond."

  "Your word didn't do Matt Shipman a lot of good," I pointed out. "He turned up buried in landfill."

  Rassi tutted. "Landfill sites can be awfully dangerous places. A person can trip and fall on something."

  "Matt tripped and fell onto three bullets. Head first."

  "Accidents will happen," said Rassi, in a tone that made it
sound like a promise.

  "They seem to happen a lot to people who cross you."

  "I like to think of it as God redressing the balance."

  "You're going to sit there and tell me that none of these people's deaths was anything to do with you?" In my frustration, I was starting to push. I had been interrogated so much recently that I seemed to have picked up the tone of my inquisitors.

  "That's exactly what I'm telling you," Rassi said. "And I find myself somewhat surprised that you're not dropping it and getting on with negotiations."