Thomas joins him on the deck.
“I’ve got to go. Please promise you’ll stay home.”
“I promise. Be careful, James. I love you.”
He knows she wants to hear the words, but he can’t give them to her, not yet. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ve booked us on a nonstop to Kauai first thing in the morning,” Thomas says as James ends his call. “We land at ten and should be at the St. Regis by eleven, eleven thirty at the latest.”
James taps the corner of the phone on the wood railing. He runs through his conversation with Natalya. Her questions have echoed his own. Thomas had him convinced Phil despised his brothers so much he would come after James once he learned James was still alive. Thomas was adamant Phil had tried to kill James. But Phil had failed, and should James remember, it gave Thomas the evidence he needed to send Phil back to prison. It also put James at risk.
But if Phil wanted to “silence” him, why go through the trouble of arranging a meet-and-greet? Why not show up at his door?
“What’s going on, Thomas? What does he want?”
“The answer to that question is tucked inside that brain of yours. But if you ask me, Phil’s going to do whatever he can to keep from going back to prison, even if it means threatening you and your family to keep you quiet. Come on, let’s get some sleep. We’ll deal with him tomorrow. Nothing we can do about it now.”
James watches Thomas go into the house. He isn’t sure he agrees with him, about the threats or attempted murder. Call it instinct, but there was something Natalya said. What type of man runs back to his mother?
Definitely not one bent on revenge.
James swayed back and forth. The world around him rocked and the air smelled of saltwater, rotten fish, and dried blood. His nose throbbed and his eyes hurt too much to open them.
A voice harshly whispered in his ear. “James. Wake up.”
Someone shook his shoulder. He groaned. A motor revved louder. It vibrated his bones. Water sloshed back and forth. His hair was wet and clothes damp.
“We’re almost there,” came the disembodied voice again. “Wake up. You need to be ready. They’re going to make me kill you. You’ve got to jump when I tell you and you better swim like your goddamn life depends on it. Come on, James. Wake . . . the fuck . . . up.” Another nudge to his shoulder. “Think of Aimee. Think of me on top of her.”
James groaned. Deep inside his mind he bellowed. Fury pumped through his bloodstream.
“That’s it. Now wake up, get up, and get mad. It’s the only way you’ll survive.”
“Tell him to get up,” came a different voice, raspier.
“I’m working on it, Sal.”
Phil.
“Get up.” A booted foot nudged his side. That was Sal, one of the cartel’s lieutenants who had been at the bar.
James grunted. He pulled his eyes open and tried to haul himself up with a coil of rope. Pain shot through his arm and he collapsed to his knees. Hands latched onto him and yanked him upright. He stumbled and grabbed the side of the boat. The boat bobbed up and down. His stomach did the hammock-sway, side to side. He took several deep breaths to keep from vomiting then looked up, straight into the barrel of a gun held by his oldest brother.
“Fuck you,” James spat.
“Nah, little bro. That’s what I’m going to do to your fiancée.”
Sal glanced at his watch. “We’re late. Shoot him and let’s go.”
James’s heart lurched into his throat. The gun shook. His gaze tracked up the arm holding the weapon and locked onto the brother who should never have been a brother. Something flickered in Phil’s eyes. A fleeting emotion twisted his face. The instant James recognized it as regret, Phil’s mouth moved, making out one word. Swim.
“For Christ’s sake.” Sal made a grab for the gun. It fired.
James didn’t think twice. He fell backward, over the side and into the deep blue water. Bullets flew past, leaving long, angry trails in the water. One sliced into his hip and he jerked. It stung worse than the smack of his father’s leather belt.
He felt it again and again, then the tight grip of a hand in his hair that wrenched his neck backward. Instead of Phil’s face contorted with remorse, he now stared at the blotchy, sweaty face of his father, Edgar Donato. A man who loved his wife despite the humiliation and shame she brought upon the family. He never left her either because he loved his position at Donato Enterprises and the legacy it would provide his sons more.
“What did you tell her?” he shouted into James’s face.
He was talking about Aimee, the girl he’d met that afternoon. His mouth was still swollen and sore from the one punch he let that kid Robbie get away with. But now, bent over his father’s desk with his pants around his ankles, his lower back made his mouth feel like a scratch.
“I didn’t tell her anything, I swear.”
“I don’t believe you.” Smack. “I don’t raise liars and I can tell you’re lying to me.” Smack.
The belt’s impact shot up his spine, vibrated his teeth.
He couldn’t take anymore. His back was on fire and he’d lost count of the strikes. He wondered if there’d be more than welts this time. He swore he could smell blood.
The belt connected with his raw flesh and he sobbed. “Ow! Stop. All—all . . . right.” He choked out the scream. He’d tell his father anything if it meant getting him to stop. “She asked how many brothers I had. I showed her two fingers. I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I only told her I had one. Honest, sir. I just told her one.”
His father pulled back his arm, the leather belt swinging from his hand. James squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself. He wondered if someone could pass out from the pain. God knew he couldn’t take much more. He heard the whir of the leather before he felt it. The impact sent him to his knees.
“Stop! Stop hurting him.”
James looked up from his curled, half-naked position on the floor. Phil stood over him as he faced Edgar.
“We are brothers, whether you like it or not. We will always be brothers. But I’m the one you hate. Beat me.”
James’s father tossed aside the belt. “You disgust me. Get out of my sight. Both of you.”
Phil leaned over to help him up and James pushed away his hand. He should be thanking him, but all he felt was humiliation. He stood on his own and pulled up his pants. God, he wished he’d never walked in on his mom and Uncle Grant. He hated them and he hated Phil. Phil was the reason his father punished him and Thomas. Why did he have to go and dig up his birth certificate to find the proof? Phil was the reason they were in California. Phil was the reason his father beat him. Everything was Phil’s fault.
“You’re not my brother,” he said to Phil. “Stay away from me.”
Just stay away.
“Wake up, sir.”
Stay away.
“Wake up!”
James jolts awake. He blinks and looks up into the face of a woman he’s never seen before. He doesn’t recognize her or anything around him.
“Who are you?” he asks, panting.
She frowns.
“Where am I?”
CHAPTER 30
CARLOS