Born to Be Badger (Honey Badger Chronicles #5)(62)

Horrified, he quickly wiped the mess off as best he could, just in time to see two more older women walk into the container. They dragged a man with them. One of the smaller scumbags that had kept them all trapped. He was bloody and beaten, a bad wound on his shoulder telling Mark he might have been shot. But he was still able to walk. Or, more accurately, be dragged along.

“Tell them,” one of the women ordered the man.

He spit at the floor and the second woman, an Asian with one side of her head shaved, grabbed his uninjured shoulder. He began to scream, although Mark didn’t know why. But then he saw blood flowing from his shoulder and he wondered how long the woman’s fingernails were. They must be long and thick to cause such damage. She must be strong, too, because Mark could hear the crunching of bone as she squeezed.

“Tell them,” the man was ordered again.

The man barked out a reply in Italian, and the woman who liked piano wire argued back in Italian. She didn’t look Italian, though. More like a dark-skinned Latina with long, black-and-white curly hair that reached down her back. She wore a sleeveless shirt, showing off a colorful skull tattoo on her shoulder that reminded him of an ex-girlfriend’s love of Mexico’s Day of the Dead.

After a few minutes of arguing, she shook her head and said, “He won’t tell us anything.”

“Doesn’t his speaking Italian kind of answer the question, though?”

“It doesn’t answer this.” The one holding the scumbag’s arm pulled something out of her back pocket and held it up. It was a tube filled with liquid. Mark didn’t know what kind of liquid. “There are cases upon cases of this shit in another container. Headed to Italy.”

“Motherfuckers,” the Russian growled. “I say we go over there now and kill them all.”

“No. They’re not our problem. Not yet, anyway.”

“We can’t let that shit go.”

“We won’t. But first we’re going to burn this thing to the ground.”

“Good plan, my friend,” the Russian said before raising her semiauto again and pulling the trigger at the last man.

“Dude!”

“Come on, Ox!”

“What is wrong with you?”

“We were going to keep him alive?” the Russian asked the other women. “For what?”

“I’m not in the mood to argue. Let’s just go get the captain.”

“I say we kill entire crew,” the Russian announced.

“We are not killing the entire crew.”

“Okay, sensitive Sally.”

The four women strode toward the exit until Mark yelled out, “Hey! Heyyyy! What about us?”

The Russian faced him. “What about you? All so pathetic and weak. We should just leave you here to die.”

“Oh, my God!” one of the other women snapped. “What is wrong with you today?”

“She is in a mood.”

“I know. Right?”

The Latina quickly searched one of the huge males until she found keys. She briefly studied each one before choosing a key and using it to open Mark’s cage.

Pressing the keys into his hand, she said, “Make sure everyone gets out in the next ten minutes. Understand?”

“Yeah.”

She started to move away, but abruptly turned back, adding, “So sorry about your trauma. Don’t be afraid to go to therapy after all this. It does help.”

“Therapy?” the Russian repeated. “Only Americans need therapy.”

“You know who needs therapy right now?” one of the women told the Russian. “You. For whatever is going on with you. Deep, every day, hours-long therapy. That’s what you need.”

As the women walked out, one of them, the Asian, spun around at the last moment to point at Mark and add, “And you never saw us, kid.” Then she made finger-guns, clicked her tongue against her teeth, and winked at him. It was weird.

Once the women were gone, Mark quickly helped the others get out. Those who were strong enough to walk on their own helped those who were nearly catatonic with fear, and together they escaped their cages, the container, and the cargo ship.

They were on the dock when the ground beneath them shook. They turned in time to see the cargo ship begin to go down as crewmen jumped into the water or scrambled onto the dock to get away.

When the cops, the Feds, the Coast Guard, and every other government agency assigned to the case asked Mark and all the other captives what had happened on that cargo ship, they all had the same answer:

“No idea.”





Chapter 12


“Was that you?”

Tock looked away from the waiting room TV screen with BREAKING NEWS splashed across it and glared at Shay.

“No. That wasn’t me. I am much more eloquent . . . and subtle,” she answered.

“Subtle?”

“There is a skill involved in what I do.”

“What do you do?”

Tock and Shay looked down at the child who’d just asked that question and both replied, “Basketball.”

“I play basketball,” Tock reiterated.

“What does that have to do with that ship going down at the docks?” Dani asked, gesturing to the TV news they’d all been watching.