"Thirty seconds. That's all you have to stop the bullshit, or your son is dead."
~~~~
Six years ago, Chelsea Doherty lost everything when her husband disappeared without a trace and left her to clean up his past. Now living in Ireland, she has piec...
This chapter is dedicated to Fairytale_Fabler . I just discovered her ONC entry Where It Ends this week and what a ride it has been in these first couple of chapters. Talk about some strong, narrative voice, an intriguing setting, glimpses at romance and heartache, all wrapped into mysteries and secrets. Another must-add to your reading list.
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Houston, Texas
June 2024
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"Ouch." I flinch and rub over the sore spot, shooting the platinum blond dude a hard stare.
He shrugs. "A little bit of pain is the downside of this new tech."
"On the other hand, even if Jackson's men sweep you for bugs, this device will not be detected." Bastian cranes his neck as he takes another peek at the restaurant across the street.
The sidewalk glimmers; it's almost seven pm but the sun is still beating down on the streets of Houston without mercy. I rub my eyes. For my biological clock, it's already the middle of the night and the flight from Dublin to Texas with only a quick stop in New York has been exhausting. I'm thirsty, hungry, and tired, and the sweltering heat trapped in the cramped space in the back of the van has me sweating like a hog. The atmosphere is equally pressing; Anton is brooding in a corner as he flips through a magazine. He and Bastian have not exchanged a single word since their blow up on the plane, and Anton looks as if he's about to snap and kill everyone within reach while Bastian has kept a pleasant smile on his lips.
The platinum blond dude, who introduced himself as Falk, pecks away on a laptop attached to several monitors. He is the epitome of a nerd minus the glasses: zero build-up muscle tissue, fine-boned long fingers, and smart as a whip with lots of techie talk and a total lack of slang. "Remember, I need fifteen seconds to pair the phone and the signal only works within twelve feet of the target. That's about three and a half meters, in case you struggle with US measurements."
Irish people haven't used the metric system for very long and Mam refuses to stray from her old way of thinking, leaving us with old imperial dimensions. "I hope I'll get close enough to Jackson."
"Just be assertive and you'll make it." Bastian's eyes narrow as a few patrons leave the restaurant. "And like I said, chances are he won't shoot you, but in case he does, the closest hospital is only three blocks away."
"Oh, lucky me." Other than Falk who snorts, I get no reaction to my sarcasm. "How much longer is this meeting going to last?"
"Could be minutes or another hour. Jackson is paranoid, so cell phones are disabled at the start of a meeting and he sweeps for bugs religiously. At this point, I can't even confirm he is in there."
Fantastic. The whole plan rests on the whim of a client who owed the Disciples a favor and lured Jackson to the restaurant under the pretense that he had a job for him. What if the customer flipped and told Jackson the truth? I could be walking right into a trap.
Bastian's phone pings. "Here we go. Meeting just ended and Jackson is on his way out."
Anton opens the back door and stale, hot air drifts into the van. The expectant gaze of the three men signals me that it's showtime. Jumping out of the car, I almost buckle under a bout of fear.
This is insane.
I've never even met Jackson Pierce before. What if he doesn't believe I'm his sister-in-law? And does he even care? If he decides to shoot me in the head, even a hospital next door couldn't save me.
As I dart across the street, the muscles in my shoulders are tight. Three men in khaki pants and black shirts spill out of the alley next to the restaurant; they openly carry their guns in holsters and stir toward a Hummer SUV. Wide shades and brimmed caps hide most of their features, but since they are white, none of them could be Jackson. My steps slow when one of the guys looks right at me; even through the darkness of his glasses, his gaze sends a shudder down my spine. These men are trained killers.
A larger group is right behind them; six walking rooks in a diamond formation shielding two people. I catch a glimpse of Jackson's stocky frame and immediately recognize his face from the picture Marcel kept in his nightstand.
"Jackson!"
My shout triggers one of the men from the earlier group to take a couple of steps in my direction to position himself between me and his boss. "Continue moving, ma'am."
Crap, this is definitely not twelve feet. With a quick side-step, I rush around him, ignoring his sharp intake of breath. "I'm Chelsea Doherty, Marcel's wife. Please, I need to talk to you."
Jackson has stopped; eight guns are drawn, their barrels pointing right at me. An ever so slight wave of his hand freezes the bizarre scene.
The man who tried to stop me grabs my arm. "Move, bitch."
Turning a blind eye to the danger he represents is the only way not to bolt. "Did Marcel tell you that he got our son killed in Hong Kong? Your nephew. His name was Sean."
Deafening silence surrounds me. Even though Jackson has his head turned, I can't tell through the mirrored sunglasses hiding his eyes whether he's looking at me or at his man behind me. His face is void of emotion.
Swallowing hard to fight the building lump in my throat, I rip myself loose and edge closer. "Marcel just abandoned us. That's the type of man you're protecting."
A small shake of Jackson's head is all that it takes to get his goon to breathe down my neck again. The man presses the muzzle of his gun against my spine. "You got three seconds to walk away." With an outstretched arm, he forces me backward and I almost stumble over my own feet.
Tears blur my vision. What will it take to make Jackson listen? "I hope Marcel paid you your cut. He stole close to six million dollars from me."
A good shove throws me onto a metal gutter by the curb; I land hard on my hands and knees. The pain is crippling. By the time I grit my teeth and get to my feet, Jackson has gotten into the Hummer. The SUV takes off with its engine roaring. The rest of his entourage settles into two cars across the street. I wait until they have disappeared before limping over to the van. My clenched jaw prevents me from bawling. My pants are torn on one of my knees, revealing scrapes, and blood oozes from a few cuts on my hands.
Staring through the open door into the back, I meet Bastian's gaze. He shakes his head.
Falk grimaces. "Sorry, but you only got close enough for about five seconds."
Fuck, all this was for nothing. "And now?"
Anton's glare is filled with scorn; it's obvious he blames me for the botched attempt. "She's of no more use to us but knows too much, so we should tie up loose ends and kill her."
WP total word count: 20,731 (third milestone met -- now I just need to finish)
Of course Anton has to open up his stupid mouth at the most inopportune moment again, but what other can you really expect from him? However, I hope this left you once again on a little cliffhanger. And of course, how is Bastian going to move forward now that the Jackson opportunity seems to have closed? The answers are just ahead, so keep your eyes out for these updates. In the meantime, I'd be thrilled if you could click the little Star and/or leave me a few comments. Thanks for reading!
