Page 6 of Say You Will

Two little arms wrap over her head.

Blood coats the black fabric of my sleeve, and my glove-covered fingers glisten.Revolting. Fishing a wet wipe from a go-bag Dante passes my way, I clean my gloves and the worst of my sleeve.

When Dante passes me a brown teddy bear and one of the soft blankets we keep for situations like this, I set them both down near the girl without touching her or getting closer. “What’s your name?” I try to be loud enough for her to hear me.

The kid wraps herself in fabric, ignores the stuffed animal, and doesn’t answer. I don’t press her. She’s terrified, and I don’t know how to make her not feel that way. The blood from someone I killed in front of her is all over her shirt.

Dante gives me a new helmet. When I fit the thing on my head, the noise of the blades becomes tolerable. From my wrist unit, I power off the voice amplifier on the new helmet, so when I speak it doesn’t transmit to anyone who isn’t locked into our shared channel. Little Miss won’t hear our conversation from where she sits near my feet, but I can still hear her.

In the distance,Felicity’s Follyexplodes. I check my watch. “I’m certain this detour cost us valuable time. No way I’m making it to that wedding tomorrow. Better luck next time, I guess.”

My brother snorts in my earpiece. “Nice try. We’ve got more than enough time to return to New York.”

“You can handle this alone. Do you really need me?”

“Dude. Suck it up. Live a little. I thought that was your new mantra.” Gabriel’s voice sounds in my earpiece. He’s on board our own yacht below, heading away from the scene of the crime before the authorities manage to clock us.

“I don’t have a mantra. I have a grandmother with control issues,” I snipe.

According to her, I have an unhealthy obsession with work. When I requested she sell me her McRae Property Development shares, she came back with what she called “incentive,” and I call “an unreasonable ultimatum.” I’ve been trying to find my way around it ever since.

With my grandfather’s death, Dad’s rejection of his own father’s companies took on new and deeper significance. I’m the only McRae left with both the willingness and the ability to take on the mantle of the empire my family built. MPD is only one of a long line of family businesses I’ve needed to swoop in and rescue from mismanagement.

“It’s only a company. When you understand that, I’ll know you can handle it.”What a nonsensical thing for Grandmother Rose to say. Obviously, it’s a company. What else would it be?

“I’m not saying I agree with her, but she’s doing it because she wants you to be happy,” Gabriel says.

“MPD will make me happy.” I deliver the word “happy” like a pat of butter melting on a stack of pancakes. Happiness is an absurd goal. Does Grandmother Rose expect me to float around with a ridiculous grin on my face?

My siblings and I were raised into this world. When we were kids, Dad was the lead prosecutor in a case against a mob boss. They made the mistake of threatening his family. Dad built a private army and annihilated the threat, but as long as organizedcrime keeps trying to gain a foothold, it will never be over. Our methods are unconventional at best. Barbaric, at worst, but we do what’s necessary. Sometimes we have months, even years, of peace, but it never lasts. My life doesn’t have room for happiness.

Dante cracks open a plastic food storage container and passes it over to me.

I flip up my visor and place the container on the floor within the child’s reach. She doesn’t trust me, but the others indicated they hadn’t eaten in hours. The physical need for food may be enough to overcome fear, at least in the short term. “Hungry?”

After a brief hesitation, little fingers reach out and curl around a treat, then she slides her entire hand up under the mask.

She can keep the helmet. I’ll have to scrub my DNA and wipe the systems first, until it’s nothing more than something to cover her head, but I’m not taking it back permanently. She appears to have developed an attachment.

She reaches for a second puff.

“The cooking class? Best idea, yet,” Dante says.

Gabriel groans. “Are you guys eating without me? You suck. What did you make this time?”

“Cranberry brie puffs.” I tap my pointer finger on my thigh, a subtle form of stimming that, to most other people, looks like an impatient man ready to get on with things.

“They’re delicious, aren’t they? You’re rubbing pastry deliciousness that I can’t have in my face,” Gabriel says.

“Mmm. So good.” I’m not eating, but I enjoy harassing him. Who says I don’t know how to have fun?

Cracking open a water bottle, I waggle it in front of the kid until she snatches it away, only lifting the helmet far enough to expose her mouth to gulp at the water. I’d like to hold her and comfort her, but she doesn’t know any of us. I’d only make things worse if I try.

“The wine-making wasn’t bad, and I eat my cereal from the bowl you made me in ceramics class every day, but cooking wins. Hands down,” Dante says.

“The bowl you stole.” I press the button to close my visor once more.

“Semantics,” Dante argues.

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