Page 4 of Wreck and Ruin
Moonlight shines through from the balcony window, casting silvery hues across the walls and carpet as we quietly close the door behind us. The lingering scent of men’s cologne hangs in the air, confirming that this is, in fact, Charles's room and not some sort of placeholder he’s set up as a distraction to sway us off his trail, though it would’ve been wise of him to do that now that I think about it. I glance at Spencer, the moonlight highlighting and hollowing parts of his sharp features, as he looks down at his watch, checking the time.
“Six minutes,” he whispers, more to himself than to me, and I don’t miss the tension laced in his tone. He comes to a standstill, turning around to face me in the middle of the room.
“Closet.” I gesture to my left, my eyes flicking to the doors.
We need to stick to the shadows. I’ve kept things as vague as possible with Spencer. Part of the reason why I’ve made it this far is because the plan, while flexible, has always depended on maintaining control and keeping my finger on the pulse. And control is not something I hand over regularly. Every detail has been calculated down to the second, a feat made all the more difficult when you have to leave room for error. But no matter how many variables are in play, there’s one thing I’m absolutely sure of, and it’s that these people, The Royal, and whoever else is associated, will not be leaving Lady Jane alive.
I won't be ‘bringing them in’ for exposure. There are no helicopters, newspapers, or reporters waiting for them at the end of this. No. Fuck that. These people don’t get to live another second for what they’ve done. Allowing them time will only aid them in setting their contingency plans in motion or paying off who they need to and striking a deal to secure a lesser sentence. I’m not interested in any of that, especially with the number of corrupt cops and lawyers on their payroll. Innocent fucking lives are at risk here, and I refuse to let them down any more than I already have by being part of this in the first place. Whether or not I’m undercover, I’m guilty by association alone. I’ll never see it any other way. I’ve stood by and watched some of the most heinous crimes play out before my eyes, and I didn’t do a damn fucking thing about it. Icouldn’tdo a damn fucking thing about it. But in my mind, those are one and the same. Not to mention the sick and twisted things they made me do, and I had no option but to go along with it, all in the name of the bigger picture.
Either way, it all ends tonight. No matter how this goes down, this ship and everyone on it won’t be alive long enough to order dinner because the moment Charles walks in here and flicks on the light switch, a timer will be activated, silently triggering the bombs hidden at each end of every floor on this ship. I’ll have about ten minutes to kill the bastard, cut through his skin, retrieve the microchip buried in his arm, and put it in the fireproof vault located behind the desk in the lobby, along with the signet ring on my middle finger. A tracker.
The vault, a new, however integral part of the plan, is designed to preserve whatever contents are placed inside in the event of fire or water exposure, which means that it’s the only safe space to store both the tracker and the chip. It’s the only way that Titan will have a chance of finding it when we’re all swimming with sharks.
I saw the chip today when I hacked the ship’s check-in as Charles passed through the detectors. Once I realized what it was, everything fell into place. He’s never around. He’s always the eyes and ears behind the cameras, never letting anyone see him. And on nights like tonight, he doesn’t stick around long enough for anyone to notice he’s gone. He’s built an impenetrable fortress around himself, and now I know why. He is the literal key to everything, and the weight of that certainty makes each second all the more critical.
Following Spencer, we huddle in the closet, our shoulders brushing as we wait for the end. Even if he isn’t aware that we’re on borrowed time, the air is still suffocating, as our shallow breaths eventually grow even. But his voice breaks through the silence, just as the darkness presses in on us.
“I’m sorry, brother,” is all I hear, and for a heartbeat, I feel everything.
No! What the hell is he doing?
The sharp sting on the side of my neck is all I feel, as the man that, up until this moment, I call family betrays me. My body immediately submits as I lose control over my limbs, his arms now around me, as he drags me from the safety of the closet.
How could he do this?
‘The fucking children!’I want to shout, but my tongue feels swollen behind my lips.
I’m numb.
Paralyzed, save for my eyes, darting around the room, but there’s no use. Nothing will stop this from happening, not when I can’t feel my fucking body.
He doesn’t know about the chip.
Those innocent lives.
They need him.
Locating the microchip is the only way they’ll be saved.
“I didn’t want it to be like this, Ezekiel, but I have no choice. This is my shot, brother. Exposing The Royal is my ticket to a new life, my one and only chance to get out of the underground. I can’t let it be you.I’m sorry.” If I had a heart, It’d probably be shattered by his admission.
We grew up together.
We were born from the blood spilled by monsters like members of The Royal. If it weren’t for the mafia, we’d both be fucking dead by now. Instead, wegetto live out the remainder of our lives.
Is that not enough?
Does he not see that even so much as breathing is a privilege? A privilege so many of the other kids we knew back then didn’t fucking get. I know firsthand how complicated the past is and how hard it is to ignore. In fact, it’s damn near impossible. Especially when the memory of it swirls beneath the silver scars that mark our bodies, serving as a daily reminder that we made it out of there alive, to hell with how. I made a choice, and I decided to channel my suffering into purpose because the way I see it, if I am worthy of a second chance at life, a life the others didn’t get to have, then I’ll spend the rest of my days making sure that it all stops or die trying.
Spencer throwing a spanner in the works...
That’s the real betrayal here.
Part of me knew he’d do this. I heard it in his voice years ago and saw it in his eyes tonight—the pain.
The ghosts of the past that haunt me haunt him, too, and he can’t rise above them. Right or wrong, he wanted out. There’s one thing he’s always craved more than justice, and that’s freedom. The freedom to walk away from this life and escape from the weight that the mafia holds on us. I get it. I really do. And if I thought it was at all possible, I would have let him take this for himself if he had asked. Hell, I’d have offered it to him even if he didn’t, but that’s just it. There is no way that the underground will ever let us go. Lethimgo. Not that any of that matters now. Lady Jane and every one of our damned souls will burn and sink to the bottom of the ocean. It's only a matter of time.
I want to tell him this.
