Chapter Five

Greyson

This marina was secluded and yet I recognized it as one where I’d been before. Looking around under the tall lights and with the clock nearing midnight, I saw the docks were mostly deserted. Lights glowed within some of the large yachts as the owners readied for sleep. Instead of leading me the direction of where Mr. Tiller’s superyacht had been, X led me to a different dock. The boats grew smaller as the clip of our footsteps disappeared into the whoosh of the gentle waves. It was commonplace for most of the marinas to have a breakwater, a concrete barrier that separated the marina from the sea. Looking out to that wall, I saw the spray of the Pacific’s angry surf.

X came to a stop at a slip filled with a sleek fifty-foot blue cigarette boat. He tipped his chin toward the ladder, leading down to the temporarily moored boat. I paused, standing taller and weighing my options.

I had none.

I was unarmed—most likely the only unarmed person in this trio.

The driver was already in place.

“Get in, Greyson,” X said, a command without a gratuitous explanation.

Reaching down to the ladder’s rail, I did as I was told. The driver’s wordless nod toward the white leather seat beside him was my only instruction before X untied the boat and we slowly made our way beyond the breakwater and out of the marina. As soon as we cleared the ‘No Wake’ signs, the driver pushed the accelerator, the nose of the boat climbed higher, and saltwater sprayed on both sides as we sliced through the waves and sped into the darkness.

With stars as the only indicator of sky and their reflection the only indication of sea, the sky and horizon soon melted together, becoming one.

My pulse accelerated as I took in my surroundings. There were multiple gauges on the driver’s dashboard. Yet for me I had no means of identifying my location. I peered up at the sky, wondering where the moon had gone.

Based on the stars, the moon was busy on the other side of the Earth.

As the driver remained silent, I began to question every previous job I’d completed for Maxwell Tiller. I’d made myself available no matter what the request. With each passing minute that we raced through the night, the boat basically flying over the waves, my concern grew, wondering if I would return to land.

Even though I couldn’t recall making a mistake in Tiller’s employment, my skin cooled with the revelation that perhaps, instead of another job request, maybe my compliance at following Tiller’s men’s orders was going to land me at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.

And then I saw it.

A beacon of blue light in the distance.

The knots growing in my stomach loosened.

With my hair blowing, my eyes squinted as I watched the superyacht come into view, growing larger and larger the closer we came. The LED lighting caused the yacht to glow in the sea of darkness. The cigarette boat’s engine decelerated as the Majesty 140 superyacht came into view. Although I couldn’t see the scrolled lettering on the stern, I knew this was Maxell Tiller’s vessel. The name I couldn’t see was GODDESSES OF THE SEAS. It was the same yacht I’d boarded in a marina nearly a month ago. After that meeting, I did my research.

The Majesty 140 was more than the average wealthy man’s trophy. This giant on the sea was a tri-deck superyacht with six staterooms and crew quarters that housed up to nine people, telling me that Tiller’s henchmen could be anywhere, in or out of sight.

As we approached, one of Tiller’s crew was waiting on the landing deck.

Apparently, working for Maxwell Tiller didn’t include wearing beach- or yacht-wear. My welcome committee was dressed exactly as X had been: dark suit, dark shirt, and black tie. I wouldn’t doubt that he was also packing the same heat under his suit jacket.

No one offered me assistance as I moved from one bobbing vessel to the deck of the monstrous yacht. Waves splashed the deck’s surface as my leather loafers fought to maintain grip and balance. Once I was out of the cigarette boat and standing on the landing deck, X’s near-twin spoke, “Mr. Ingalls, Mr. Tiller is waiting on the top deck. Follow me.”

A few looks over my shoulder confirmed that the cigarette boat was in the process of being moored to the landing deck. That sight allowed me to sigh with a bit of relief. If the boat had immediately disappeared into the dark night, my probability of seeing the dawn would drop exponentially. Seeing it being attached to the yacht had my chances of making it through this meeting improving by the minute.

Although the Majesty 140 boasted tri-deck elegance, as I followed a few steps behind X’s near-twin and walked through the giant mechanical room, I had the realization that there were actually four decks. This lower deck not only held the equipment necessary to keep the yacht operational, but also storage and the staff’s quarters.

Lights illuminated the steps as I followed the man up to the main deck, the second deck, and then the final staircase to the top deck. After the stairs curved, my welcome party stopped and stepped to the side as I made it to the decking. One look down told me that my shoes would probably not recover from their recent saltwater bath.

I looked up.

Surrounded by the glowing water of the hot tub was Maxwell Tiller and a buxom blond who I was confident wasn’t his wife. Based on her age, I could guess daughter or granddaughter. Then again, based on their close proximity, that possibility was eliminated too.

In reality, I knew that Tiller had both—a wife and a daughter as well as two sons. His children were all adults living their lives under the beck and call of their father and his world. Tiller’s oldest son, Jethro, did a short stint in a county lockup for domestic violence.

Daddy paid someone off, and Jethro Tiller was free to continue the family business and abuse whomever he saw fit. His other two children, his daughter, Mia, and younger son, Rocco, had done their best to stay out of the limelight as much as possible.

Tiller grinned around his cigar before taking it from his lips and handing the soggy stogie to his companion. “Here, sweetheart. Why don’t you go below and make yourself useful? I’ll be down in a bit.”

Water glistened and dripped from her skin and skimpy swimsuit as she stood. It was as she climbed out of the hot tub that her gaze met mine. It was a form of acknowledgment that she saw me, not that she had any idea of who I was or why I was here. The closer she came, the younger she looked. Perhaps it was the contrast to the seventy-three-year-old man still in the hot tub.

I waited until she passed me, leaving wet footprints on the decking as her large breasts struggled to stay within the confines of her almost nonexistent top.

Tiller and I remained silent until she disappeared down the lighted staircase.

“Ingalls,” Tiller said, nodding toward a stack of beach towels on a chair, “hand me a towel, will you?”

Walking toward the hot tub, I lifted the towel in time to see that Maxwell Tiller was nude. It wasn’t a memorable sight, but nevertheless, after handing him the towel, I took two steps back and turned to the railing, providing him some privacy as I looked out to the darkness.

“This way,” he said.

When I turned the towel was thankfully secured around his waist.

Tiller led me past a bar area to a space filled with luxurious outdoor furniture. He took a seat on the sofa and pointed toward one of the freestanding chairs.

“You know the name Barron Abernathy?”

Sitting, I answered, “CFO of the Dellinger dynasty.”

Tiller’s lips curled in a smile. “Dynasty. Interesting word.”

“Of Dellinger Hotels, real estate, as well as other things,” I explained.

“Lorenzo Dellinger?”

“We’ve met.”

“Very good.” He leaned back and spread his arms out over the back of the sofa in both directions. “Abernathy and the Dellinger headquarters are located in New York. Tell me how you know so much about him.”

I recalled the weeks and months I’d spent studying the powers in and around the United States and their close and trusted consultants. That research helped as I traveled the country to make my name known.

Barron Abernathy was present the night I met with Lorenzo Dellinger. Mr. Abernathy was a trusted confidant of his father-in-law, Lorenzo Dellinger, the don of the Dellinger dynasty. While Lorenzo was in charge, Barron controlled the money. Nothing came in or out of the Dellinger businesses without Barron’s knowledge. Next to Lorenzo himself, Barron was second in command.

“I’m a quick learner,” I replied.

“Have you heard anything about Barron or the Dellingers recently?”

It wasn’t as if I spent my days watching news apps. I also knew enough about this life that staying out of the news or off social media was the goal. “I haven’t. Have I missed something?”

Tiller’s chin lifted and immediately I sat taller.

“I haven’t,” I said again, not repeating my question.

A peon like me questioning the boss was a sure way to meet the fishes.

Tiller opened a small compartment within the table. I held my breath, expecting a gun.

Next, he pointed a remote at a large screen to our side. The television became a blue screen.

“Ingalls, I like you. I’m giving you an opportunity. You could very well end up dead. The chances are greatest that you will. Or you might succeed. If that’s the case” —he nodded— “I could possibly have a position for you, one with a road to security and reward.” His dark eyes met mine. “That’s in the future. Right now, there’s no security. If you take this job, you’ll be on your own. I don’t know you and you don’t know me. If you use my name, you’ll die, if not at the hands of with whomever you are speaking, then at mine.” His head shook. “I sure as hell won’t be associated with what you’re about to do” —he grinned— “unless you succeed.” He stared for a moment letting the sound of waves dominate. Finally, he continued, “Before I share the information I have with you, I need to know your answer.”

My answer.

In reality, Tiller hadn’t asked me a direct question. I had no clue other than a connection to an equally powerful and dangerous family from New York. My misstep earlier reminded me not to ask.

“My answer is yes,” I said confidently. “I’ll take the job.”

“Very well.” He pointed the remote again at the screen and a woman appeared. He stopped the video, allowing her image to linger in one position.

Tiller watched for my reaction.

I sucked in a breath at the sight of Cecilia Abernathy, Barron’s daughter and Lorenzo Dellinger’s granddaughter.

Fuck.

Even without any adornment, this woman was stunning.

Long, wet dark hair hung around her beautiful face. Anguish showed in her mesmerizingly dark eyes, yet her shoulders were straight and chin was held high. If she’d been crying, it wasn’t evident.

My gaze dared to go lower, to the ropes crisscrossed over her nude body. Her perky breasts lacked the size of the blond’s who had just left. That didn’t make them insignificant. They were perfect renditions of what the creator had intended. I sensed her shame at the way her legs were spread, exposing her mound and the pinkness of her pussy.

Nevertheless, her expression was stoic.

Despite her position and situation, Cecilia was a statue of strength.

My mind wrestled with the possibility that I was mistaken, that this woman wasn’t who I believed her to be. Then again, if she wasn’t, why had Tiller prefaced the video with questions of her father.

“Do you know who this is?”

I swallowed. “I believe that is Abernathy’s daughter, Cecilia.”

Tiller nodded. “What else do you know about her?”

“Not much other than her parentage.”

“Cecilia Abernathy has been in the limelight since the day she was born. Fucking press thinks our children are fair game for the world’s entertainment. Cecilia was born into one of New York’s royal families; her grandfather is Lorenzo Dellinger. You said you’re familiar with him?”

“Yes.”

“She will be thirty later this year.”

I wanted to ask if that was significant. Instead, I waited for more information.

Nothing more verbally was offered as Tiller hit a button and the video began to move and the beautiful woman’s voice rang through the air loud and steady.

“I am Cecilia Abernathy. Mom and Dad, I’m alive. I’m strong. I know you’ll find me.” A hand came in with a newspaper. The camera zeroed in on the current headline. And then the date—it was today.

Fuck, this video had been taken today.

“I miss you,” she said, “but I’m okay.”

Her lips moved, but the sound was gone and then the video ended.

My attention went to Maxwell Tiller.

“As I was saying, Cecilia Abernathy,” he said, “only a few months short of her thirtieth birthday was kidnapped five days ago. Her bodyguard was killed, a shot to the back of the head, and Cecilia was taken. Neither the Abernathys nor the Dellingers have made a public plea stating she’s missing or asking for her release. Without this video few would even know. From what my men have accessed, no police report has been made and no call of a missing person. That isn’t to indicate that her family doesn’t care. I’m familiar enough with Lorenzo to be confident that he has people trying to find her.”

“Where...” I took a breath. “Boss, I have questions.”

Tiller nodded. “You want to know where we got the video.”

“Yes.”

“On the dark web. It’s had over a million hits. What began as a kidnapping to obtain a great sum of money from the Abernathys and/or the Dellingers has ballooned into a bidding war. You see, as the granddaughter of Dellinger, she is valuable. The highest bid is currently at fifteen million from a buyer in Dubai.”

Buyer.

That word sent a chill through me.

My head shook. “What will the highest bidder win?”

“Her.” His response cooled my skin as if this were an everyday occurrence.

“And then...” I left the sentence open, hoping for more.

“Use her, I imagine.”

Use her.

“She’s a beautiful woman. If she were persuaded to marry, a powerful alliance could be formed.” He shrugged. “I don’t imagine that is the plan of the bidder from Dubai. As I’m sure you’re aware, Ingalls, even women of her standing can be broken and rebuilt to fulfill a rich man’s desires.”

“And you want her,” I said. It wasn’t a question. “You want me to find her and bring her to you.”

“That’s the job you’ve already accepted, Ingalls.” Tiller stood, securing his towel. “Follow me downstairs, and I’ll provide you with what I can. Remember, this endeavor must have no connection to me.”

“Yes, sir. I remember.”