Page 50 of Vicious Souls

I drag my gaze to the image on one of the bottom screens, where Kingsley is pushed onto the terrace, then prompted at gunpoint to climb a rope ladder into the helicopter. At one point, her foot misses a rung, and she almost goes hurtling down the ladder, righted only by her attacker’s hand on her hip. An act which in itself almost drives me crazy.The fucker put his hands on her.

I ask Pietro to play the scene again and watch as, in slow motion, Kingsley moves out onto the terrace, trying in vain to hide behind a mask of barely veiled fear. Fearless Kingsley, who has the best damn poker face I’ve ever seen on a person. Fearless Kingsley, who has never really had a place in this world, and whose first taste of life as a Murray is in the company of guns and thugs. Fearless Kingsley, who will probably never look at the world with the same innocent eyes ever again.

This is what her father tried so hard to protect her from. She did not belong in this world. She did not deserve to live a life riddled with chaos and killing. And I suddenly understand that’s not what her father wanted for her, and that’s why he had kept her away from this side of his life. To avoid what he knew was inevitable.

“I’ve got the drones ready. Just give the word,” Pietro says, searching my face for approval. He never does anything without direction, no matter his expertise. In this instance, and sensing the urgency of the matter, he hasn’t waited for me to give him orders. He has taken action and put things into place. I have to remember to trust his judgment more.

“Go,” I tell him, and he turns and speaks into an earpiece, giving rapid instructions and then switching the screens to another view. A rush of static rushes onto the screens, before they right to black screens and we wait.

“It shouldn’t be too long,” he says.

Pietro has set up drones to infiltrate each and every known Murray stronghold. But the one I am most interested in is the tiny private airstrip in the middle of nowhere that houses several hangars and a fleet of Murray’s private jets and helicopters.

Within minutes, the screens start blinking to life, one by one. I adjust my eyes to the grainy images, watching as the screens come alive with activity.

The Murray compound is empty save for the guards usually surrounding the perimeter.

The Tower which houses several well established corporations and where Murray had kept his penthouse suite is dead of activity.

Several other locations show minimal activity.

And the airfield… infrared covered each of the units surrounding the airfield. Three jets and half a dozen helicopters are scattered throughout. A flurry of activity is visible on the cameras. Men servicing various aircrafts. A fleet of cars parked outside two of the hangars. And a third hangar, empty but for slight movement. Something stationary with slight movement. And a figure moving about the stationary figure, waving something around. It is only when the stationary figure’s head goes flying to the side, as though slapped, her hair flying behind her like a halo, that I know it’s Kingsley. It has to be. What are the chances that it could be anyone else?

“There,” I say, pointing at the hangar. “That’s Kingsley.”

“The chopper is waiting,” Marco says, putting a hand to my shoulder. “Cars are already en route.”

A supportive look passes between us, one in which Marco tells me in no uncertain terms that our rescue mission will be successful. For this is what this is – a rescue mission of epic proportions. One way or another, I would get Kingsley back.

47

KINGSLEY

There is a flicker of uncertainty in Tate’s eyes, but it’s only a flicker, which disappears just as quickly as it appears. I watch him as he looks at me thoughtfully, measuring his words carefully. He has something to say. A trump card. I see it even before he lays it on the table. Tate’s tell is the smarmy look he gets on his face. I have to be prepared for his worst, for a great gambler never gives away any emotion. I can’t allow anything he says to demoralize me.

“Dante Accardi and his mob might want me dead now. But they won’t when they hear what I have to offer them.”

Oh, the arrogance. Tate actually thinks he has something they want. I keep my expression neutral, giving nothing away, even as I tell him, “There’s nothing you have that they could possibly want.”

“Oh no?” He mocks me by giving me a faux innocent look. Obviously, he has something he thinks is gold. A get out of jail free card.

“You overestimate your worth,” I tell him.

“No, King. You underestimateyourworth.”

“You’re delusional if you think they want me back. I mean nothing to them.”

“Hmmm… nothing? You think so little of yourself?”

Tate tsks and starts to circle me slowly, like a lion moving in on its prey. Dust motes rise and float in the air with the shuffle of his feet, polluting the room and causing me to cough. It buys me precious little time to collect my thoughts and gather my wits about me before he can shatter me with his bombshell. Which I know is imminent, because he’s literally jumping out of his skin with excitement. I school my features into a mask of boredom. Like I’ve had enough for the day and just want to move on. My poker face.

“What do you want, Tate?”

“WhatIwant is for us to rule your father’s legacy together, side by side. In peace. What the Accardis want are the docks. The port that will give them free rein over the city’s waterways. The minute we give them the docks, they’re out of our hair for good.”

My world stops turning and I have to remember to breathe.

Breathe, Kingsley. Breathe.Breathe.

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