Page 2 of Wreck and Ruin

They’re basically untouchable, and they all know it. That’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that the people who claim to work tirelessly toward eradicating and protecting people from sexual violence, sex slavery, and human trafficking in this world, with all their corporations and lavish fundraisers, are all in on it.

I know this because each and every one of them is at this party. Exchanging well-rehearsed smiles and fake pleasantries with each other, dancing around this over-the-top, expensively decorated deck without a single care in the world. Oblivious to what’s coming for them. Together, they’re known as The Royal. A secret society no one has any proof of existing, built on blood, money, corruption, and pure evil. They don’t even bother masking their identities. They all have enough money and power to change history, and their bullshit privilege only grants them immunity for their fucking crimes.

They walk around like gods.

Untouched by the consequences that control the lives of the rest of the world.

Fuck all of them, I say.

I place my scotch glass on the marble bar top before shaking Spencer’shand.

“Captain, it's a pleasure.”

“Oh, it’s all mine,” he replies in a slow, deep, purposeful tone that I’ll never, ever get used to hearing.

That’s the thing about being undercover. To successfully convince the worst of humankind that you are a friend among them without attracting any unwanted attention whatsoever to the contrary, you have to destroy the parts of your core. The essence of who you are, what makes you good, and replace those parts with something so immoral that no one would ever guess that you’re the guy waiting to press the button that will send them all on a one way ticket to meet their maker.

If we’re on Lady Jane, it means that we’ve succeeded in that.

The thought alone is enough to make me sick to my stomach.

There hasn’t been a day that has gone by where I haven’t fantasized about all the twisted ways I could torture them to death for what they’ve done, what they’re still doing, and what they’ll continue to do to blameless women and innocent children if we fuck this up. Torture won't work with these types of people. They would rather die before ever breathing a fucking word about The Royal.

Spencer and I are under strict orders, and the only way we are ever going to get out of this is either with the coordinates of where they’re running their trafficking ring or with us in body bags. After tonight, the latter doesn’t matter.

“Valerie was gracious enough to finally extend an invitation after almost begging her for years to invite me. Sailing the glorious Lady Jane is just an added bonus,” he says with a wink, smiling down at a motionless, plastic, lifeless complexion that only worsens the more work she gets done.

She’s got about thirty years on us, and while I have nothing against anyone getting any sort of surgery or beauty enhancements, I draw the line when the blood of innocent people is what pays for it.

“Oh, Captain, you didn’t beg, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love it when you do,” she leans into me with a gleam in her eyes that I despise. “He’s just being silly. I think you’ll like him, Ren. You both have that same look, and you know I can’t get enough of it.” I smile at her words, masking how unnerved I am by the comparison because any correlation between us at all is a huge risk, and I have worked painstakingly toward never getting caught. That’s also why Spencer and I haven't so much as laid eyes on each other in years until tonight.

We won’t fail.

Not unless we’re found out.

Kissing the top of her bleached head, I wrap my arm around her silk-clad lower back, pulling her closer as if to inform the new Captain I do not share. Even though, technically, she’s free game. She’s fucked every man and woman here countless times, either all together, individually, or by herself, while everybody watches. Unfortunately, I am also on that list, and despite not being even remotely okay with it, it must be done. Fucking her is one of the many, many messed up things we each have to do as part of the initiation into The Royal, and Valerie eats it up whether anyone likes it or not. All the while, hundreds of other members sit behind a camera and watch from the comfort of wherever the hell they are. It's sick, but it doesn’t stop there.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about this woman over the years, it’s that she wants nothing more than to feel important and desired. And for this to go as planned, Spencer and I have had no other option but to humor and distract her and anyone else from looking too closely at us. Not that they’d find anything, nothing true, at least.

We are what the mafia refers to as ghosts, which basically means that our lives are inconsequential on almost all levels. There is no valid record of us ever being born other than the fake backgrounds created on our behalf when we were assigned this mission. That doesn’t mean that the members of The Royal wouldn’t kill us if they smelled a rat. Two people newly invited into their top secret inner circle, whose DNA records don’t match those they’d find on any files, scream ‘red flag’ even to me, and they wouldn’t think twice before taking us out on speculation alone.

Valerie has been a part of this world for decades, and because she’s the wife of Charles Jensen, The Royal’s founder and the man responsible for the thousands of innocent people sold each year, she was our best bet. Our way in.

This is my second party on Lady Jane in the four years I’ve been a part of The Royal, and Charles didn’t even show up last time. Probably a test of loyalty. Though, it only prolonged the inevitable because here I am, once again, pretending my ass off at a party in pursuit of sending these fuckers to a watery grave. It has taken me years to learn that the only way to destroy this trafficking ring in its entirety is to cut it off at the head. And I have since discovered that there may be multiple heads, which is why they’ve all got to go.

The moment I get to be in the same room as him, I’ll take him and everyone else down. Only then will all of this shit be over.

The husband and wife dynamic between Charles and Valerie Jensen is unconventional, to say the least. The guy is elusive as fuck, and I don’t think I’ve seen them so much as stand beside each other, let alone hold each other’s hands. The fact that Charles even showed up tonight is nothing short of a miracle, and my skin is crawling with the desperate need for justice.

“I’ll leave you both to talk,” Valerie whispers, kissing my earlobe, which has the opposite intended effect. She does absolutely nothing for me, but I can’t let her know that.

“C’mon, baby, you just got here.” Sick. There is a sickness in my head. It works because she hands me the keycard to her room before excusing herself and walking away to greet more guests.

Little does she know that while everyone was boarding earlier, I hacked into the ship's check-in software underneath the concierge's noses and switched the key details assigned to Charles with Valerie’s, leaving zero traces behind.

Spencer looks at me wide-eyed, surprised it’s all playing out as I anticipated. I would be fucking useless at my job if it didn’t. I just spent years working by their sides, earning their trust, and ugh…fucking them. I try to remind myself that I am still a good person. That this is so much bigger than me and my morals. That the lives that are hanging in the balance depend on me not to screw this up. Everything I do, or whatever happens to me, is a small price to pay for their freedom. There is nothing in this world that I wouldn’t do to ensure that no one is harmed by these fucking animals again.

The energy in the room intensifies, and Spencer and I share a look that tells the other we’re ready to get this show on the road. He steps in closer, and the subtle motion of his finger along my suit jacket sends a cold shiver through me, not out of attraction or any genuine desire, but the reality of the performance he and I are putting on. It’s nothing more than staged intimacy. A ruse to show bystanders that the new Captain and I share a chemistry that would explain any sudden disappearances from either of us. Everything we are doing right now is completely calculated. And we both remain silent as we gaze longingly into each other’s eyes. And I’ve got to give it to Spencer. He’s pretty convincing.

---