Chapter 8 - The Green Eyes of Maya
The world stopped moving.
The hum of the ship's engine, the smell of salt and diesel, the blood on my hands, the two long years of nightmare—all of it vanished into thin air.
My shotgun clattered to the deck floor.
I dropped to my knees right there on the filthy iron threshold of the room, my hands shaking so violently I couldn't even form a fist.
"Maya..." I choked out, my voice breaking into a sound I hadn't made since I was a child myself.
The little girl didn't move. She pulled the grey blanket closer to her chin, her green eyes wide with a mixture of profound terror and disbelief.
She stared at my face—at my jawline, at the small scar above my left eyebrow, at the tears streaming freely down my cheeks.
For two years, Dominic Vance had kept her in darkness, telling her that her father was dead, that no one was coming for her, that the world outside had forgotten her name.
Slowly, hesitantly, she let the blanket slip from her fingers.
She reached out one tiny, trembling hand into the air between us.
"Daddy?" she whispered.
The word was barely a breath, soft and fragile as a butterfly's wing, but it hit my chest with the force of a battering ram.
I crawled across the cold floor, wrapping my arms around her tiny body, pulling her tight against my Kevlar vest, burying my face in her dark, tangled hair.
"I’m here, baby," I sobbed, holding her so tightly I was afraid I might break her. "I’m here. I’m so sorry... I’m so sorry it took me so long... Daddy’s here."
Maya’s small arms slowly crept around my neck. She buried her face into the collar of my coat, and then, for the first time in two terrible years, she let out a ragged, heartbreaking cry that shook her entire frame.
She wept for the lost time, for the dark rooms, for the lonely nights, and I held her through every single sob, rocking her gently on the floor of that terrible ship.
Vic stood in the doorway, his back turned to give us privacy, wiping a tear from his own scarred cheek with the back of his tactical glove.
"Boss," Leo said softly from the hallway. "We need to move. The Coast Guard is twenty minutes out, and we need to be off this boat before the federal marshals arrive."
I lifted Maya into my arms, supporting her head against my shoulder. She felt so light—far too light for a nine-year-old child—but her grip around my neck was tight as iron.
"We're going home, Maya," I whispered against her ear.
She pulled back slightly, looking into my eyes, her tiny thumb reaching out to wipe a tear from my cheek.
May you like
"Is the mansion still there?" she asked softly.
"It’s still there, baby," I smiled through my tears. "And your room is exactly the way you left it."
