Beloved Sacrifice: Trinity Masters, book 9

by Mari Carr

  “Accept information, yes. I cannot speak on behalf of my Admiral or the other Admirals.”

  “It has come to our attention that a great wrong was done to your society. A wrong which must be made right. My goal as the Grand Master is to right the wrongs of the past. It is my hope that, in telling you what we have found, we will open a dialogue and restore the relationship that once existed between our organizations.”

  Tristan’s body language radiated tension. “I cannot make promises, but will relay this information, Grand Master.”

  “Mr. Anderson. Please tell him everything that you’ve discovered.”

  Weston started speaking in a calm voice, starting with the main point: The Trinity Masters had been responsible for the sinking of the Esperanza, and had brought back the material contents of the ship to the U.S., where a splinter group of members who sympathized with the Nazi cause had taken the art and antiques and sold it to further their personal wealth. This was something the Grand Master had learned only recently.

  Tristan’s right hand moved across his body, as if reaching for the sword that he wasn’t wearing. “The lost children. All this time, you were looking for the lost children?” He spoke to Weston.

  “I didn’t know that until Poole. You knew I was researching art. My parents…my parents are members of the purists. I knew they were protecting something bigger than the art itself, but I didn’t realize what it was until we got the recording. I had to come to Boston to find supporting evidence.”

  “Please show him,” Franco said, with perhaps a touch too much drama in his voice.

  Devon brought over the folio. “This was found hidden in the…storage area where the art was. Most of the art was gone, but at some point, this was hidden.”

  “My brother hid it,” Weston said. “He hid it because he knew it was important and didn’t want our parents to get their hands on it.”

  Tristan abruptly slumped. “Bloody fuck. This is going to be a right mess.”

  “I know, man. I know.”

  “With the help of Mr. Anderson, we know the identity of all the remaining purists. Tomorrow, we will dispatch teams to bring them in.”

  “Bring them in?” Tristan asked.

  “Yes.”

  “We don’t believe in summary execution.” Tristan looked around. “Did you execute Rose?”

  “No, I just told you we got married, you dumb shite,” Weston said.

  “Ms. Hancock is otherwise engaged,” Franco intoned.

  In reality, she was on a laptop searching for information as to the exact whereabouts of all the suspected purists, and calling the strike teams to let them know to clear their calendars.

  “I will relay all of this information. I suspect they’ll want whatever evidence you have.”

  “We will of course provide it, along with any of the art still in the possession of the purists.”

  Tristan turned to Weston. “Are you going after your parents?”

  He nodded in a single, tight motion.

  Tristan reached over and clapped Weston on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. For all of it. I’d come with you, but I have a message to deliver.”

  “Thanks. You’ve been a good friend.”

  Franco started to rise, must have remembered the short robe, then sat again. “Mr. Knight, I look forward to speaking with you sometime in the near future.”

  Tristan rose and Devon went with him to show him the way out.

  Franco stripped off the robe, and Juliette looked up, pulling the pencils from her hair. Devon must have passed Rose, because she came in a few minutes later, laptop and phone in hand.

  “Everyone’s ready to go. Sebastian and Grant are going to the Prossers. Price and Gunner are going to the Hancocks.” Rose didn’t bother to refer to them as her parents. “Devon and Franco, you have the Jameses who are connected to the Wythes. Marek, Weston, and I will take the Andersons.”

  “Devon’s going to bring back the equipment for a wire. Since it seems unlikely that they’ll respond to a summons from the Grand Master the way I hope the others will, I hope you can get information from them,” Juliette said.

  Rose nodded coolly, but with no malice. Considering they both still wore the marks of their fight, Marek thought that wasn’t bad.

  He stood, and Weston followed suit. “We’ll go,” Marek said, “and get some sleep.”

  He took Rose’s and Weston’s hands and led them out. “Come on, spouses.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw both of them smile.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  They were on their yacht in Emerald Marina when Rose tracked them down via the least complicated way possible. Once they’d landed at Sea-Tac, she used a payphone at the airport—she was surprised they still had them—to call Elroy. She’d kept the conversation short, saying only that she had to talk to them, all three of them, right now.

  The Andersons had been sailing down the West Coast and Elroy told her she would simply have to wait until they returned.

  Two weeks had passed since then. Two wonderful weeks spent falling madly in love with her husbands.

  That happiness didn’t end until this morning, when Elroy called and “summoned her” to the marina. Now she was striding down the pier to berth twenty, where their pleasure yacht, Eileen, was docked. When she walked onto the dock, she heard a bell chime on the deck, and Elroy appeared. He wore a blue button-down shirt and gray slacks. He looked much the same as he always had, with black hair unmarked by silver and the piercing dark eyes of a shark.

  Rose’s heart squeezed tight.

  “It’s okay, Brown Eyes,” Weston whispered.

  Rose didn’t dare respond. She had the Bluetooth headset in her ear and a brand-new cell phone tucked into her jacket pocket. Additionally, a wire was taped to her chest, and everything she said or heard was being recorded. It was Marek who had suggested the cell phone and Bluetooth, giving them a way to talk to her. That had allowed her to relax a little.

  She hadn’t been alone with the Andersons in years.

  “Rose.” Elroy pushed out the gang plank. “Come up.”

  The command made her muscles quiver.

  “What’s the name of the boat?” Marek asked.

  The question startled her so much that she answered, forgetting about Elroy’s order. “Eileen,” she said aloud.

  “Speak up, Rose.”

  Rose took a deep breath, then walked up, holding the rails as she stepped onto the teak deck of the thirty-foot boat.

  Elroy examined her from head to foot. As if she were a piece of property. He paid special attention to the marks leftover from the fight.

  “Were you disobedient, girl?”

  Run, run, run.

  “Why is it named Eileen?” Marek asked, again startling her out of her dark head space.

  “Why is it named Eileen?” she asked Elroy.

  “Watch your tone,” he snapped in a hard voice of command.

  “I’m sorry, Sir.” The words were out before she could stop them. She felt herself starting to crumble.

  Elroy grunted in satisfaction, then answered the question. “Victoria chose the name. It was her mother’s name.”

  “I’m going to castrate that motherfucker and then cane him until his skin falls off. Then I’m going to poke out his eye with a burning piece of wood, then I’m going to…”

  Weston’s angry litany made her feel better. It probably said something unflattering about her that she found listening to someone’s plans to torture and maim another human calming. Then again, Elroy was barely human.

  * * *

  Wes kept his focus on Rose, watching the scene on the boat through the scope on his long-distance rifle as he looked out the window of the yacht Marek had rented for the day. They were only six berths down, but to Wes, it felt like Rose was a hundred miles away. He’d been uneasy with the idea of sending her in alone, but in the end, they decided this was the best way. She was on speakerphone, the Bluetooth headset allowing them to
hear everything that was said. If Elroy said anything, did anything to threaten her, Weston would shoot him. The son of a bitch would never touch her again.

  He wiped his hand on his jeans, his palms clammy, sweaty. Seeing his father this close after so many years was even harder than he imagined.

  Years of hatred had festered inside Weston for so long, it was all he could do to stand here and wait. Every impulse had him clamoring to pull the trigger right now, to put a bullet in the middle of Elroy’s fucking head.

  He hadn’t meant to lose his shit, but hearing the way Elroy talked to Rose was too much. Weston put his finger back on the trigger, his hand shaking, the action not lost on Marek, who reached over to place a comforting hand on his back to steady him.

  He looked at his new husband. Marek was solid. Weston didn’t realize how much he’d come to rely on the other man’s inherent strength. Just the touch of his hand helped to bolster Weston, allowed him to calm down.

  It was probably better to let Marek continue to talk Rose through her conversation with Elroy. Marek was good at helping Rose fight the submissive instincts beaten into her since she was just sixteen.

  God. So many years of abuse. Weston would spend every minute of the rest of his life making sure she never felt scared or worthless or owned ever again.

  And that thought would have given him comfort if he hadn’t just sent the love of his life into the lion’s den.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered, softly enough that Rose couldn’t hear.

  Marek placed his hand on Weston’s shoulder. “Steady,” he mouthed.

  * * *

  Rose followed Elroy to the prow of the ship, where an elegant dining area was set up. There was a chill on the water, so a small boat-safe heating unit was turned on, creating a little warm spot around the diners. Victoria wore an expensive straw hat with a white ribbon, a white top with the collar turned up, and navy and white striped pants. Barton wore a polo and khakis along with topsiders. Barton had gained some weight, but he still had a full head of slightly wavy brown hair.

  Well, at least now she knew Weston would keep his hair.

  That thought made her smile, and her confidence returned. She sauntered over to the table and waited by the fourth chair. She raised a brow at Barton. He blinked, then shoved to his feet and held it out for her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Nice move, Brown Eyes.” She could hear the smile in Weston’s voice when he spoke.

  “Rose, darling. It’s good to see you.” She and Victoria leaned toward each other and gave one another air kisses.

  “Victoria. You’re looking well.”

  “Pleasure,” Barton grunted.

  Now that the moment was here, Rose found herself hesitating. They were all monsters. There was no question about that. But she was about to confirm that their son was dead.

  Elroy poured her a mimosa from a carafe, then topped up Victoria’s glass. “Where is his body?”

  “What?” she said.

  “Caden’s body. He’s dead, isn’t he?” Elroy’s shark eyes never left her face.

  * * *

  Weston had to swallow down the bile when Elroy asked about Caden’s body with the same casualness someone might discuss the previous night’s sports scores. They knew their son was dead. Knew it. And clearly didn’t give a shit.

  Weston wasn’t sure why that came as a surprise to him. After all, his parents fucking killed him. His fingers drifted to the scarred skin on his neck.

  Had they discussed his death with the same detached emotion?

  Caden was their son, and it occurred to Weston that his death was nothing more to them than an inconvenience. They’d lost a messenger boy, a servant, someone to do their dirty work so they didn’t have to get any blood on their hands.

  Weston knew all of this. And yet, there was still some small, lonely, scared boy inside that couldn’t completely grasp the fact that his parents didn’t love him.

  He looked toward Marek, the gun lowering for a moment. Marek was there, waiting. He wrapped his arm around his shoulders, placed a gentle kiss on his wounded face.

  Weston took a deep breath, Rose’s voice drawing his attention to the conversation on the yacht once more. He lifted the gun and took aim once more.

  * * *

  “Tabby’s not at her hospital,” Rose said, trying to stay one step ahead.

  “No, she’s not,” Barton agreed.

  “Where is she?”

  “That’s not your concern, girl.”

  “Don’t call me girl,” she snapped. “I’m not your girl. For God’s sake. They’re your children.”

  “We knew the risks we took when we gave Caden the task. There were always risks, but we have to protect the Trinity Masters at all costs.”

  “Protect the Trinity Masters? You must be senile.”

  “I will take you downstairs, girl, and remind you of your place.”

  Victoria placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “Elroy, please, can’t you see she’s grieving for Caden?”

  “And why aren’t you?” she asked desperately. Damn it, she hadn’t been able to love Caden, not with all that lay between them, not when he didn’t know how to treat her, be with her, without making her his property. But he deserved to be loved. Caden had tried, so very hard, to protect everyone—her, Tabby, and all those people who would have been collateral damage. Over the years, these three monsters had ordered plenty of people killed whom Caden had instead smuggled out of the country, given new identities to.

  Caden Anderson had deserved to be loved, and he deserved to be remembered.

  “I am,” Victoria said softly. “But we can’t let anyone know. We need plausible deniability.”

  “Plausible deniability? So if the Grand Master finds out that you stole all the art in the tunnels, that you’ve been covering stuff up and undermining the Trinity Masters for decades, you’ll blame it on Caden, who would have been a child?”

  Elroy stood and unfastened his belt. “Downstairs, girl.”

  * * *

  Weston was nearly to the door that led to the deck, the rifle in his hand, when Marek grasped his shirt and tugged him back with force.

  “I’m going to fucking kill him! I’m going to beat him to death with my own fucking hands!” Weston jerked hard, trying to break Marek’s hold.

  “No,” he said. “Listen. Our wife is amazing.”

  * * *

  “I’m not going anywhere with you ever again. Put your belt back on and sit down.”

  “Now punch him in the fucking dick,” Marek said.

  “You just said a curse word,” Weston said in shock.

  “My apologies. These people are quite despicable.”

  Her husbands’ conversation gave her courage. Both Barton and Elroy stared at her not with shock, but like a cat who suddenly spots a mouse. It was as if they saw her for the first time in years.

  “You’re not protecting the Trinity Masters.” She let scorn drip from her voice.

  “We are protecting them, more than you’ll ever know,” Elroy said in a menacing growl.

  Deep inside her, a warning alarm was going off, telling her that she should run from Elroy. But Marek thought she should punch him in the fucking dick.

  She smiled.

  Barton and Elroy looked at each other, then back to her. “You must understand,” Barton said. “We protect the Trinity Masters, and protect Victoria, at all costs.”

  “Protect them from the Masters’ Admiralty?” she asked.

  All three of them started. Victoria frowned. “Oh dear, Rose. What have you done?”

  “What have I done?”

  “You shouldn’t even say that out loud.”

  “Why, because they might find out about the Esperanza?” Rose watched the blood drain from their faces with vicious satisfaction.

  * * *

  Weston and Marek stared at each other, confusion clouding Weston’s judgment. “What did Barton mean? Protect Victo
ria?”

  Marek shrugged, and it was obvious his husband had focused only on the Trinity Masters part. But that reason wasn’t as shocking to Weston. That had been the Andersons’ “go to” excuse for all the crimes they’d committed over the years.

  We’re protecting the Trinity Masters.

  This was the first time they’d proclaimed that protection included Victoria.

  Weston had always viewed his mother as a weaker third party, someone who was just along for the ride. In his mind, the masterminds behind everything had been Barton and Elroy.

  So why did they need to protect Victoria?

  Weston’s phone rang. The number was blocked, but Weston answered anyway. Devon was CIA and he was aware of their mission. He was probably checking their progress.

  It was a distorted male voice, barely audible.

  “Get her off the boat,” the man said.

  “What?” Weston asked, his heart racing even as he walked to the door of their yacht.

  “Get her off the boat. Now!”

  “Who is this?”

  “Do it now or she dies too.”

  Panic gripped Weston as he took off at a sprint along the pier. Marek was hot on his heels, not bothering to stop him this time. “What is it?”

  “We have to get her off the boat,” Weston said loudly over his shoulder. He was racing toward the Eileen as fast as his shitty knee would carry him.

  “Who was on the phone?”

  “I don’t know. She’s in danger, Marek. We have to get to her. Now!”

  “Rose,” Marek said into the phone. “Get off the boat. Get off the boat.”

  * * *

  “Get off the boat.”

  Marek’s voice was calm but urgent. Rose frowned. What was going on?

  “Rose, you haven’t told anyone, have you?”

  “No. I haven’t,” she lied. “I wasn’t sure what Caden found was right.”

  They hadn’t said much. Had they really admitted to anything? Would it be enough? She had to keep them talking.