Page 39 of Redemption
She doesn’t deserve this. She deserves so much better.
A husband who doesn’t have to rush his family out of the country on less than an hour’s notice. One without enemies who do unspeakable things …
But she got me, and I’m not giving her up, regardless of what that makes me.
Marco’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “The plane is ready whenever we are. I would suggest we hurry though, as the pilot mentioned an airport official who has been asking him probing questions.”
I lock eyes with Marco and catalog the concern I see there. Fuck. I don’t like that. “Then, we go.” I look over at Keira. “Forget the food. Pack fast. We’re getting out of here.”
Instead of breaking down in hysterics, like many people would, whether male or female, Keira’s steel-hardened spine stiffens as she flips the stove knob to off. “It can go down the disposal,” she says without a second thought. “I’ll hurry. It won’t take but a few minutes. We’ll be ready.” She moves around me, heading for the baby’s room.
My wife is fucking amazing. I only have a second to marvel before I call out, “Don’t mind the sounds you hear next. I have to?—”
She holds up a hand without turning back. “Do whatever you need to do. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
My brother watches me as I smile at my wife’s back.
God, I love her.
I wipe the smile off my face as quick as it came and point to the sofa. “Help me move this?”
“Of course.”
We each take a position at the end of the sofa and squat down. It’s still uncanny, watching him move like me. My questions about the nature versus nurture debate are mounting by the hour.
“We need to move it away from the wall.”
He nods, and we easily lift the sofa and move it toward the kitchen. I return to the wall, remove the Lake Pontchartrain landscape that decorates it, and hand it to Marco.
He doesn’t ask questions, which is just one more thing I like about my brother.
My brother …
The words hang in my head comfortingly as I step back a couple of feet. Thankful for the heavy boots I have on, I kick a hole through the drywall two feet above the floor on the right side of the stud V hung the picture on. Then another lower. And another to the left. And another below that.
When I’m done, Marco is beside me, hands helping me to pull the drywall away from the studs.
“Holy shit,” he says as I pull out black duffel bag after black duffel bag. “It’s like a movie.”
“Where do you think they get their ideas?” I ask with a laugh as I set them carefully on the floor.
There are four bags in total. Everything my family needs to walk away and never look back.
The shock on my brother’s face is mirrored in his eyes as he meets my gaze. “You planned for a moment like this.”
“I plan for everything. One thing I’ve found always to be true: cash, extra passports, gold, and guns are useful every damn time.”
“And the wall?”
“Once we put the couch back, the hole won’t be visible. Besides, no one living knows about this safe house except us. No one has a reason to come inside. However, if it ever becomes a liability, the house could be gone in seconds.”
He blinks in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“The house is wired to blow.”
“But the neighbors?—”
“They’re far enough away that a blast wouldn’t affect them. That was a main concern when we picked it. Plus, the fire department is three minutes out and well equipped. A blaze wouldn’t spread. It would look like a gas leak. V thought of everything. That was his job.”
