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“It’s my job, taking care of you two and protecting the women on the island. I’m honored, and it’s the only job I’ve ever been good at.”
“You’re great at it.” She gives me a sweet kiss on my lips. “And I speak for all the wee lassies on the island when I say we appreciate all you do for us.”
“Come. Let’s get you to bed.”
It’s been a hell of a day. I scoop her up in my arms and carry her off to bed. She’s just about asleep as I lay her down, covering her with blankets.
I shower. Grab a few hours of troubled sleep. Kiss her good morning way before the sun comes up. And I’m off to work. I wake Bayne, telling him the plane will be waiting for him at sunrise. I add extra guards to each shift. Then, I call my men to gather.
We meet in the Great Hall; this time, it's sunshine and coffee, not torchlight and whisky.
I pull Declan and Fredrick aside while we wait for Bayne to arrive from the island, having them fill me in on their latest intel. Bayne comes in, looking a bit peely-wally, fresh off the wee plane we use to travel between here and the island.
The B&B (Burnes-Bayne or, if yer asking Bayne, Bayne-Burnes) LM711 is cramped and noisy, holding a maximum of eight passengers in its tiny cabin. The pilot starts the engines with a flick of some switches, which doesn’t instill much confidence in passengers. The propellers are deafening.
There are no in-flight facilities, so passengers must hold it in or cross their legs if they can. But it gets ye here quickly. The fifteen-hour ferry ride isn’t always an option, though Bayne wishes it were.
I pour Bayne a fresh cup of coffee. He looks as if he could use it. I pop one of Nan’s shortbreads on a plate for him to soak up the flight.
“Thanks, Cal.” He accepts the steaming mug with a grateful smile. “That flight. Kills me every time. I’ve no idea how the Golden Girls do it.”
“They grew up in old times on the island, harsher times. They didn’t get electricity till they were in their teens. They’re tougher than the both of us put together,” I say.
“True.” He takes a deep sip from the cup. “Ah. Cheffie’s coffee. It could cure any ill. Now, fill me in.”
“We strike tonight.”
Declan's jaw clenches, his knuckles white from his tight grip on the table's edge. His eyes gleam with fierce determination as he nods, his loyalty unwavering.
Fredrick disagrees. "Our eyes and ears have as much information as we’re going to get for now, but we need more time.”
My resolution is unwavering. “There is no time. They’ve threatened Fiona.”
Bayne, knowing what Fiona means to me, thinks for a moment. “Then we execute our plan. Go for their profits. Cut off their income. If they can’t pay their scummy blokes, then they can’t traffic. It’s our best bet for now.” His eyes lift to meet mine.
The look we share says it all; there are no assurances we’ll all make it back safely.
I run my hand over my stubbled chin as he continues, his voice low but resolute. "We can start by targeting their warehouse, disrupting their operations from the inside out. Make it harder for them to carry out their despicable trade."
“It’s the best way.” Fredrick nods in approval.
As a businessman, he knows that hitting them where it hurts the most—their profits—will be a devastating blow. My men exchange knowing glances, a silent communication passing between them as they gear up for the task ahead.
"We'll need to move swiftly and quietly," I say, my voice steady and commanding. "No room for error. The element of surprise will be our greatest weapon."
Declan's gaze flickers with determination, his mind already racing with strategies to execute the plan. "I'll gather a team to scout their warehouse tonight," he declares, his voice confident and unwavering. "We'll ensure it's clear before we strike."
“Aye.” I nod. “Other than a guard or two, I don’t want casualties.”
Hopefully, it won’t come to that.
It’d mean a full-blown war.
No more eager than me to lose lives, Bayne nods. “Agreed.”
We have several Irishmen on our team, members of the IRA and well-trained from the riots in the 90s in making explosives. They’ve turned their allegiance to us. They live by their own code, deciding right from wrong on their own, unbothered by the laws of the land. They’re fierce, clever, and have a deep hatred for sex trafficking. They spend the day working their fingers to the bone, preparing our explosives.
As night falls, a cloak of darkness shrouds our movements as we approach the warehouse where the Hoax stores their illicit goods.
