Page 4 of Say You Will

Punching something would be a waste of time. Instead, I radio our pilot. We have three boats on the water and a helicopter above. “I've got a kid left behind. Can you drop me back on deck?”

“Roger that. But if the fire spreads or approaches the fuselage, you’ll need to find another way home.”

“Let me do it,” Gabriel insists.

“No, you coordinate with Dante to get me clear of the scene once I find her. We may need someone in the water to retrieve us.”

“Don’t get yourself killed, Henry,” Gabriel grinds out.

“Not planning on it.”

A mid-October bluster cuts through the sturdy fabric of my clothing. If possible, I’ll avoid the frigid water. The tactical gear weighs me down, but leaving it behind isn’t an option. An audience watches my every move, so reboarding with stealth is out. The ocean isn’t rough, but the waves lift and fall, and my stomach drops with them.

We’d expected our quarry to head for the tropics, but at nearly the last hour, they’d changed their plans, I assume in an attempt to avoid detection. Above us, the helicopter moves into position, churning the steely gray sea under overcast skies. My chief of security, Dante, in full gear, as all of us are, drops a ladder and crouches in the opening, hanging onto the chopper with one hand.

Launching onto the ladder, I secure myself with SPIE rigging.I fucking hate heights.It took me nearly as long to learn how to force myself to ignore my fear as it did to stop gagging at the sight of blood. I overcame those visceral reactions long before I left my teens. Now, I spare them a thought and move forward with what I need to do.

When I’m in position, the chopper flies me above the soon-to-be-sinking ship. Cockroaches swarm as I approach. Anyone who sells or buys children doesn’t qualify as human in my mind.

Grasping, desperate hands claw toward me. A famous movie producer, Caucasian, balding, and probably in his fifties, lifts his Glock. I don’t give him time to make a demand or shoot me off the ladder. Opening fire on him and everyone else standing beneath me, I neutralize those obstacles before I reach my destination.

I drop to teak decking that’s turned slippery with blood, my knees bending deep, before I straighten and step over the bodies.

By my estimation, fewer than a dozen people remain alive on this cesspit of depravity. An eighty-million-dollar yacht has become nothing more than a funeral pyre in progress. Our team has already removed everyone evenpossiblyinnocent. All but one little girl who, apparently, hid in a damn duffel.How small do you have to be to hide in a bag? Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. If the kid dies, it’s my fault. Don’t think about it.Don’t feel anything. That way lies madness.

Flames gnaw their way across the ship, though I can’t see the fire as I descend below deck. Black smoke filters through the corridor, hazy, not as thick as it will be. When heat meets fuel, this floating tomb will become an inferno. I have to be out of here before that happens.

The breather on this helmet is state-of-the-art and straight out of my family’s research and development lab, the only part of our business empire my father has any interest in, whatsoever.

Dad has left my grandfather’s businesses in my hands, too obsessed with his quest to rid New York of organized crime to waste time on boring things like finances, but vigilante shit costs money. Lots and lots of money.

Besides, my great-grandfather built those companies. He passed them to his son, Arden McRae II. Over time, the business expanded from real estate, property development, and railways, to include shipping and tech industries.

Now, most of those businesses have skipped a generation and fallen to me. As long as they exist, some part of my grandfather’s legacy remains.

The helmet cam projects a 360-degree view inside the visor. No one gets in my way as I follow a direct path to the berth where the traffickers kept their victims, but any moment, a new threat could emerge.

“If I don’t make it out of here, you better be at my office first thing Monday morning, ready to step in.” My mic sends my words directly to my brother’s earpiece. It’s not the first time I’ve delivered that line.

Gabriel’s laugh cracks as he delivers his own, right on cue. “You’re the golden boy. I’m the fuck up. Remember your place, and I’ll remember mine. Stay alive, asshole.”

“Roger that.” The berth I’m seeking comes into view. If the kid isn’t here, chances of survival are much lower. I don’t have time to search for her.

Through the open doorway, I can see most of the small cabin, but as I enter, I do a sweep anyway. The duffel bag sits on the mattress, lumpy and lifting and falling with the kid’s ragged breathing. The fact that I missed it the first time is inexcusable.

“I’m here to help you. Don’t be scared.”

When I draw the zipper down, a vicious, growling screech sounds. I wrest the wooden hanger out of her hand, just as a little, red-haired demon swings at me, attacking like a feral animal.

“Good job, but we don’t have time for this right now. The boat is on fire. Did you learn about firemen in school?”

She trembles and frowns. “You’re not a fireman,” she whispers.

“I don’t look like any of those bad people, right? That’s because I’m here to help you get home, but I need you to cooperate.”

The kid coughs and struggles, staring at my black headgear in horror when I lift her into my arms. “No! Monster!” Her words cut off with a hacking cough.

The visor raises when I click the button, so she can see my normal, human, blue eyes. “Not a monster. Look.”

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