He should have killed Marco Ruiz when he had the chance. He should have watched him take his last breath—made certain he was dead, as Colin had done with Fernando.
He bent and grasped Angela by the shoulders. “We have to go! Now!” But she was an inconsolable puddle of grief. He scooped her into his arms and ran with her to Graham’s room, kicking the door with his foot until his brother opened the door, disheveled and wide-eyed.
“What the fuck?” Graham grumbled.
Colin ran in and lay his sobbing Angela on the bed, where she curled up in a ball and moaned, “Mama, I’m sorry.” Colin felt his own eyes prick with emotion, but there was no time for it.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Abernathy while speaking to Graham. “You have one minute to pack your shite. The man who held Angela killed her parents. We’re getting the fuck out of here.”
Graham’s stricken eyes went to Angela as her keening wail rose up and filled the room.
Abernathy answered and Colin rattled off their information, telling him to meet them in the field behind the forest of Graham’s house.
Colin didn’t bother packing anything for himself or Angela. He took her by the hand and made her sit up. Her chest heaved and her eyes were far away. Lost. He took her face in his hands.
“You need to run with me. I can’t carry you in case I need to fight. Here.”
He pressed a small handgun into her palm and though her whole body shook uncontrollably, her fingers curled around it.
“Good girl,” Colin whispered, relieved.
The three of them moved to the back of the house, where Colin peered through the windows. He saw nothing, so he ushered them outside, and they sprinted through the lush yard and into the forest, dodging trees and underbrush. Graham and Angela kept up, both breathing hard. It was a quarter mile of land before they hit the open clearing where Abernathy pulled up moments later, tires uprooting a line of grass.
Colin yanked the backdoor open, pushed the other two in, and Abernathy was laying on the gas before Colin’s legs were even in the door.
“They’re gassing up a plane,” the Agent said. “Decide where to go, pal.”
“Fuck.” Colin scrubbed his palms over his face and looked to Angela, who sat like a pale stone next to him, her arms circling her waist and holding tight. “What languages do you know?” he asked her.
She looked at him blankly for a moment before her eyes semi-cleared. “Russian. Spanish. German. French. A little Dutch.”
Colin nodded. They’d go to Russia. He’d been on several missions, and knew which areas to avoid.
“I want to see the picture,” she said.
Colin hesitated. “I dropped it back at the house.” He’d tossed it on purpose. He would have never, ever let her see that picture. No matter how much she begged and how much closure it might have brought. It would have also brought nightmares.
“Was it my Mom and Dad?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
A sound escaped Angela and she covered her mouth, bending at the waist and hiding her face. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have stopped you. I should have let you kill him!”
“Nae, lassie, nae. It’s not your fault. We both thought he was as good as dead.”
Colin placed a hand on her back, feeling helpless and wanting to kill Marco ten times over. He couldn’t believe the man had survived the fatal injuries. He met Graham’s aching gaze, and their eyes stuck as they shared the realization that all three of them were united in similar horror. They’d all lost their parents to the criminal underworld. They’d all been involved in sexual slavery, and would all carry scars on their souls for life.
He couldn’t let this cycle continue. Couldn’t allow Marco to terrorize them for life. He envisioned himself finding safety for Angela and his brother, then flying to Spain.
Graham shook his head. “Ya can’t go after them. Not this time.”
Even Abernathy shook his head. “Nae, son.”
Angela sat up and looked at Colin, panic in her bloodshot eyes. She grabbed his hand.
“Don’t even think about it!”
“Angela—”
“No! If he says we’re even, then we are. He always has to have the last word, and I know it sounds crazy, but he has this strange sense of fucked up honor. He means what he says.”
Colin’s jaw clenched. He didn’t want that fucker having the last word this time or ever again. And he hated that Angela knew that bastard well enough to say that.
“Please,” Angela begged. The sadness in her thick voice killed him. “He’s taken enough from me. I can’t lose you too.” Her sobbing renewed, but this time her head went to his lap, her tears soaking the fabric at his thighs, and he pulled her up to his chest, holding her tight.
“You can’t save the fucking world,” Graham said. “You can’t fight them all. What’s the use if it gets you killed? You’ve done enough!”