Squall Line (The Inland Seas Series Book 1)

by Gwyn McNamee

  I must have “pussy” written across my face.

  And that makes doing this job all the harder.

  If she can see it, then so can the Marconis. So can Rion. So can Cutter. So can E. So can Preacher. And I’m supposed to be their leader. Supposed to be the captain. They look to me for what to do. If I don’t have the balls anymore, then we are in real fucking trouble.

  “I want answers, Warwick. That’s all I want.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Thunder rolls around us, and the rain falls in sheets.

  “Stop calling me Warwick.”

  “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

  I growl and step away to create more distance between us. “Yes, I just don’t like hearing you say it.”

  That’s not true. I like the way it falls from her lips way too much. That’s why she has to fucking stop.

  “What do you want me to call you?”

  “Captain is fine.”

  She snorts and rolls her eyes. “Well, since I’m a captain too, we can share that moniker. Call me that instead of Grace.”

  “You’re not a captain.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize how insulting they will be to her. She recoils as if she’s been slapped.

  Real nice, War.

  She squares her shoulders and huffs. “Well, what I was doing on that ship begs to differ.”

  I snort and stare her down. “Those men may have followed you because you’re their boss. But you have no idea what you were doing on that ship. If you had more solo time on the water, if you had been prepared, we wouldn’t have gotten the jump on you.”

  A dark laugh slips from her wet lips. “I know what I’m doing. I was trained. Just because it was my first time solo doesn’t mean I’m a damn idiot. I managed to set off the emergency beacon and get a gun trained on you. I don’t think I did too bad. I’m good at my job.”

  “I don’t doubt that, but this isn’t your job.” And I’m not your knight in shining armor, or someone to fix or save. “Now, go inside.”

  She frowns and opens her mouth to undoubtedly ask more fucking questions.

  Why can’t she just stop?

  My lips are on hers before I realize what I’m doing.

  I just need her to shut the hell up.

  I wrap my arms around her and pull her against me as I devour her, pushing all the anger and frustration over the situation into the kiss.

  A tiny moan slips from her lips and into my mouth.

  That sound breaks through the veil of whatever it is that possessed me to do it in the first place. I tear my lips away and step back from her, my chest heaving and my breath coming out in hard pants, visible in the chilly air.

  Through the pouring rain, she stares at me, wide-eyed, and presses her shaking fingers to her lips.

  Fuck.

  I turn my back on her and take off down the beach before she can respond. That was really fucking stupid. I kidnapped her and now I kissed her.

  Jesus. What an asshole.

  I shove my hands back to my soaked hair and tug on the ends of it. The pain rippling across my scalp is a momentary distraction from what I just did and what’s happening.

  I’m only making things worse. And if Cutter and E don’t show up with what we were able to get really fucking soon, we are totally fucked.

  I only make it a few yards from where Grace still stands on the shore, when the familiar sound of a foghorn splits through the storm. A shape on the water emerges from the driving rain.

  The Destiny.

  Thank God. They made it back.

  It moves slowly through the storm toward the warehouse, and I turn back to see Grace standing there, staring at it, unmoved from the spot where I left her after that brutal kiss.

  I run back and snag her hand, jerking her along after me. She stumbles briefly but then follows, hot on my heels, back into the warehouse.

  Rion’s head snaps up from where he leans over the map with the phone, probably still trying to contact them, and his eyes narrow on us where my hand clasps hers. I let it fall and move away from her as fast as possible.

  “E and Cutter are almost here. Get the door open.”

  He drops the SAT phone and races to the mechanisms along the wall. He throws open the latch that releases the huge bay door, then presses the button to move the door up.

  We stand at the dock as the boat slowly makes its way toward us.

  Lightning cracks across the sky and thunder continues to roll around us. This storm system doesn’t want to relent. At least it’s giving me more time to come up with a plan.

  Grace shivers next to me.

  Footsteps—human and canine—sound behind me, and Preacher moves up next to me with Milo at his heels. He finally decided to come up for air now that the boys are home.

  The Destiny enters the dock, and they toss the lines to me and Rion to secure her. Cutter and E lean over the side and look down at me.

  I glare at them. “Where the fuck have you two been?”

  Cutter shrugs, and Elijah just gives me a sardonic grin. They both shift their gazes to Grace standing next to me. E raises an eyebrow in question. He’s right. She doesn’t belong here and shouldn’t be hearing any of this.

  “Go upstairs, Grace. Take a hot shower and warm up. Take whatever clothes you want from my dresser.”

  She looks like she’s about ready to argue, but Rion turns to her and snaps his teeth. She jumps and races off across the warehouse and up the metal steps.

  When I turn back, Cutter is jumping off the rail to a waiting Milo, and E is making his way down the ladder.

  I nod at him when he hits the concrete. “I’m glad you guys are here. Because we are truly and epically fucked.”

  8

  Grace

  I reach the top of the stairs with my blood boiling.

  What a dick to just order me away like that. After he just kissed me, nonetheless.

  But, in a way, I guess it was for my own safety. From him and from myself. I can’t even begin to comprehend what that was…what that meant.

  Was he just trying to shut me up? And why the hell didn’t I push him away?

  My hand finds the doorknob but something stops me from turning it.

  Voices rise from the warehouse below. Angry voices. Distressed voices.

  I need to know what’s going on. Whatever is happening impacts me too. I’m still here. And I see no signs of them planning to release me anytime soon.

  That means eavesdropping is a necessity, not just me being nosy.

  I inch down one step, then another. Warwick’s room must’ve originally been the office for whatever this place was, and if I stand against the side of it but don’t go any lower, I can remain hidden around the edge and they won’t even know I’m still here.

  In theory…

  One deep breath fills my lungs. I hold it and lean forward slightly to peer around the edge of the only thing keeping me from being discovered.

  The five of them and Milo move to a makeshift table in the center of the open space. Warwick leans over it with his palms flat on the table. The Hulk crosses his arms over his chest and stands on the opposite side. The other three—the tall, lean one who walks with a slight limp, the clean-cut one I only caught a glimpse of on the Neptune’s Daughter, and the guy with the sunglasses—drop into the chairs on either side of the table and look at Warwick.

  He glances back over his shoulder in the direction where I’m hiding.

  Shit.

  I pull back, cringe, and hold my breath, waiting for his tirade about eavesdropping, but it doesn’t come. Either he didn’t see me or he did, and for some unknown reason, isn’t saying anything. Standing here and listening to them is probably worse than continuing to ask questions, but I have to know what’s going on. I have to understand the situation better so I know what I need to do to make it out of here in one piece. With my body, my mind, and my heart intact.

  “Where do we stand?”

  The question floats up f
rom where they sit at the table. I peer around just long enough to watch the guy in the shades lean forward. That must have been his question.

  Why is he wearing those inside anyway?

  Their low voices are barely loud enough to hear. I move down one more step and press myself against the side of the office.

  There’s a pause before anyone responds. My heart thuds wildly.

  Warwick’s voice finally hits my ears. “I spoke with Arturo before you got here.”

  “Shit.”

  I glance around the corner again.

  The tall guy shakes his head. “What did that asshole have to say?”

  I tuck back to safety.

  Warwick lets out a mirthless laugh, and a crack of thunder shakes the building again. “He’s not happy.”

  “Does he know what happened?”

  “No. We need time to formulate a plan before we show our hand.”

  “Do we have a plan?” That question came from The Hulk. I’d know his voice anywhere.

  I sure as hell hope there’s a plan.

  “Not yet. I wanted to see how much we got and go from there.”

  A scraping sound has me peeking around the corner again. The tall guy rises to his feet. “What about the girl?”

  Warwick growls, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I can practically envision those eyes—almost black as night—as he looks over his men. “Arturo gave us twenty-four hours to get the shipment to him. Until we’re one hundred percent sure we’re out of danger, she stays here.”

  Shit.

  Sounds like these guys are never out of danger, so what does that mean for me?

  “Then you’re just going to release her and hope she doesn’t run straight to the police?” That question came from the guy with the glasses, and the hard edge in his voice sends a chill down my spine.

  There’s no doubt he would do whatever needs to be done, including eliminating any threats. Mainly me. The man is ice-cold.

  “We don’t have much of a choice right now other than to trust her. She didn’t rat us out to the Coast Guard when they stopped us because of the threat to her and her crew. We’ll send E to Milwaukee to wait for them and keep them in his sights. If they haven’t alerted anyone, and we release her safely, she won’t say a word, and if she does, I’ll deal with it.” Warwick’s words aren’t exactly comforting, but at least he’s giving me the benefit of the doubt.

  What would I do even if I did manage to get away? What about if they do release me? Do I report it and tell the cops everything? Or do I stay silent, force the crew to do the same, and report the cargo lost in transit due to some issue with the ship?

  I need to dislodge the questions from the front of my brain. Listening to them and learning what I can needs to be my focus. The rest, I can deal with later.

  “What we gonna do about the fact that we only have half the shipment?” Sunglass guy sounds pissed.

  Yeah, what are they gonna do about that?

  “Come on, War. You know Il Padrone will kill us if we don’t deliver everything. No matter how useful we may be to him, he will not accept this type of failure.”

  A loud slam vibrates up to my ears, followed by Warwick’s deep, angry voice. “You think I don’t know that?”

  I cringe and move up a step.

  “We don’t have much time before we have to make the delivery, so we need to work on trying to find out where they took the ship and if there’s any way for us to get the rest of the cargo. If not, then we need to replace it.”

  Rion offers a sardonic laugh. “With what? We don’t even know what’s in the crates.”

  He’s right. If Warwick is correct about the manifest being wrong, then no one knows what’s in them, let alone whether it’s replaceable.

  “We better go look, then.”

  Chairs scrape against the concrete floor, and I dart up the last couple stairs and into the bedroom. As soon as the door clicks shut behind me, I release a shaky breath and lean back against it.

  God, I hope no one saw me.

  I rush over to the wall of windows and peer around the edge of the peeling paper on one of them out to the warehouse. Through my limited view, it appears they left the table.

  They must’ve gone on to the ship to check the cargo.

  Things are bad. So, so bad. I knew they were involved with something dangerous. Clearly. And the conversation I overheard on the boat earlier hinted at the life-and-death nature of what was happening. This just confirms it. Whoever Il Padrone and Arturo are, these guys are dead if they don’t deliver whatever they were supposed to take from Neptune’s Daughter to them in the next day.

  But why? How did Warwick get involved in something like this in the first place?

  His vague comments about his mom’s notes and what I should have figured out hint at the darkness in him, but to lead to this…

  What would it take to make someone go this far?

  I shiver and look down to my soaked clothes. I need to hop in the shower before he comes up here and realizes I was eavesdropping.

  I shuffle across the room and open the only other door. The tiny bathroom barely holds me.

  How does Warwick fit in here?

  I turn back to the door and flip the lock. Just in case Warwick or one of the other guys decides to check on me. I flip on the shower, and ice-cold water falls from the head. That won’t help my situation, so I turn to the cracked and warped mirror while I wait for it to warm up.

  The person staring back at me is barely recognizable.

  My hair falls limp and wet against my face and over my shoulders, and the remnants of the makeup I put on before this whole fiasco started now runs in dark smears from the rain. Red rings my eyes, and the usually bright green has a dullness I haven’t seen before.

  Christ, I look like hell.

  But I suppose it’s to be expected. A hot shower will do me good. Refresh me and give me a little time to think about how to handle this. It’s clear I can’t just wait for them to let me go. They’re sending “E,” whichever one that is, to watch the crew, and there’s no guarantee they’ll get what they need to appease the people they have to answer to.

  My only hope is for an opening to present itself to escape. I need to be proactive. Chasing Warwick out into the storm was supposed to help me figure out where we were and how I could get away, but the almost total darkness prevented me from seeing much of anything besides the vastness of Lake Michigan to one side and a wall of trees to the other.

  The only clue about where we might be was the lighthouse in the distance. There are almost two dozen along this side of Lake Michigan that are close enough to where the Neptune’s Daughter was to be our current location, but we are normally so far out from shore and don’t see them that often, so I couldn’t place it from such a short glance, through driving rain, in the dark.

  Not exactly promising.

  I struggle out of my wet clothes and let them plop onto the old, cracked tile floor. I step in, and the scalding hot stream of water hits my skin. I sigh. I didn’t realize how much I needed this. I drop my head back and wet my hair, letting the water massage the tension from my neck and shoulders.

  One thing has become crystal clear after hearing that conversation—it’s only a matter of time until things come to a head. A decision will be made soon—one that will ultimately determine what happens to me if I can’t figure out a way out of here.

  Only staying alert and learning everything I can will possibly save me now.

  Warwick’s shampoo and soap sit on the small ledge in the shower stall, and I quickly wash and turn off the water. As great as it felt to stand under the hot stream and try to forget where I am, I need to face the harsh, cold reality of where I stand.

  Speaking of cold…

  The chill in the room when I step from the shower sends goose bumps across my skin. I grab the towel hanging beside the shower and do my best to dry off. My eyes land on the pile of cold, wet clothes on the floor.

  Shit. Those are
definitely not coming back on.

  And of course, I forgot to grab clothes from Warwick’s dresser before I came in.

  Dumbass.

  I push open the door and step into the room. Another shiver rolls through me, but it isn’t the cold air that freezes me in my tracks.

  It’s an almost naked Warwick.

  Hard muscle. Swirling ink. That damn V thing again running down below his abs to disappear into his wet, clinging boxer briefs.

  Holy hell.

  Somehow, I tear my eyes away from the pornographic display to raise them to his face.

  The look of pure rage etched across his handsome features gives him a crazed look, and his normally dark eyes are as black as midnight and shimmer with a wrath I haven’t seen from him before.

  Holy shit…

  This is a glimpse of the man he’s been warning me about. This man is capable of very bad things.

  I take an involuntary step back, pulling the too-small towel tighter around myself. His nostrils flare, and the rigid cord of muscle along the side of his neck bulges.

  “I-I’m sorry. I forgot to grab some clothes.”

  He turns without a word, yanks open the dresser, and tosses me a T-shirt and a pair of boxers. I barely catch them without dropping the towel and back up into the bathroom without taking my eyes off him. For some reason, giving my back to him right now sends more fear skittering through me than anything else that’s happened.

  Warwick is volatile right now. Even more so than when we were out on the beach.

  Something happened. It must have something to do with the crates.

  But what could possibly be in them that has him this upset?

  I tug on the too-large T-shirt and boxers that practically fall off my hips.

  I run the towel over my wet hair one last time before I step out into the room. He’s fully dressed this time, but the same dark look dominates his face and anger rolls off of him in waves. He fumbles with something behind his back then looks down to secure his belt.