So Rare (Boys of South Chapel #3)

16. Kabir

Chapter 16

Kabir

NOW

I glare at the square mail application on my phone, willing the notification we need to come through.

The vehicle is shut off. The boys are ready. Beyond ready, honestly. By all measures, it should be a quiet moment: the calm before the storm. Yet the incessant bouncing of Levi’s leg provides an annoying rhythm whilst also shifting the stationary vehicle ever so slightly.

Turning fully in the passenger seat, I reach back and grip his thigh. I dig my fingers roughly while offering him a sympathetic but pointed look.

“Levi.”

That’s enough to halt his movements.

“We’re here,” I say. “It’s all working out. Just—what do you Americans say? Chill fucking out?”

Garrett snorts. “It’s chill the fuck out.”

I hit him with an unamused glare, then focus on the man in the back seat again.

“We’re close. I swear this is going to work, and then we can—”

“Why aren’t we in there already, then?” Levi yanks himself from my hold, scrubbing both hands down his face. “What are we waiting for? Let’s fucking go .”

Mercifully, my phone dings, the sound piercing in the now silent cab.

A quick glance confirms the final piece is in place. “We were waiting for this.” Quickly, I open the message and scan the contents. Finding it satisfactory, I close out of the email and navigate to the phone app.

“Now?” Levi lurches forward.

“One more call,” I promise, tapping on the correct contact icon, then on the Speaker button.

“Is she there?” the voice on the other end of the line asks by way of greeting.

“Hello to you, too, Crusade.”

“Jo wants an update,” a second voice says. “I can see your current location, but I assume the paperwork just came through?”

Clever man.

“Correct,” I reply to Kylian Walsh, bypassing Crusade’s question completely. “It’s all in order. I’m calling to confirm that the press is on standby, should we need to deploy that option.”

“Megan’s up to speed and ready to run with the story, if needed,” Crusade confirms. “Two of the paps we keep in our pocket are on a chopper now, headed your way. There ETA is—”

“Seventeen minutes,” Kylian Walsh supplies.

“Very good. Although I’m fairly confident it won’t come to that.”

Though I work to remain levelheaded, my appreciation for the well-developed and fully supported backup plan provided by Walsh and Crusade can’t be measured. They’re a dynamic duo, those two. Together, they’ve got enough intelligence, money, and influence to put a plan in place in half the time I could have done it on my own here in the States.

“Jo wants you to have Hunter call as soon as you have her.” Walsh repeats his earlier sentiment.

I pull a face, but don’t outwardly object to his request. “Noted.”

Looking to Garrett, then back at Levi, I’m met with questioning glances, but steely resolve. They’ve waited long enough. It’s time to go get our girl.

“Got to go. Thank you both for all your support and contributions to this effort, especially given the circumstances.”

“You don’t have to thank us. We’re happy to help. Kylian especially.” Crusade laughs. His words are lighter, his tone playful.

Kylian scoffs. “You’re the one who dragged us to this godforsaken island.”

“Wait, are you still on your honeymoon?” Garrett frowns at the phone.

“We are,” Decker confirms. “Kyl’s just salty because there’s too much sand.”

“No,” Walsh bites out. “There’s not too much sand. The entire land mass we’re inhabiting consists of sand. Only. Sand. It’s inescapable. Unavoidable. It’s fucking everywhere. The moment I step out of the bungalow—”

“Right. We’ll be in touch.” I tap the End button, cutting off their bickering in the process.

“What the hell?” Levi’s leg is once again bouncing with rhythmic precision. “Why do we need paparazzi flown in on a helicopter?”

“It won’t come to that,” I assure him, stashing my devices and adjusting my sleeves.

“So what’s the plan?” Garrett asks.

I flit my gaze to the man in the driver’s seat. He’s just as tense as Levi based on the way his jaw ticks and he keeps mindlessly scratching at the back of his head.

Evenly, I tell him, “I can sit here and explain it to you, or we can go in and get our girl.”

Garrett blinks, gives me his back, then pushes open his door.

Levi follows suit.

I exit the vehicle, dust my front, adjust my lapels, and button my jacket.

It’s colder here than I expected—the mild temperatures of North Carolina replaced with the biting chill of upstate winter air. New York feels an awful lot like London, despite being on the other side of the ocean.

Clouds cast shadows around the gravel parking lot, but I leave my aviators in place. Best to look the part.

“Come along, boys. Time to check in on my latest investment.” I lead the way to the door to the Welcome Center and hold it open so Garrett and Levi can pass through first.

New-age music plays from speakers hidden around the reception area. Scents of lavender and sage waft through the space. Everything is cream and white and professionally decorated.

Side by side, Levi and Greedy stop in front of a white marble desk and turn to me for direction.

I bite back the smile threatening to take over. Then, without pausing, I walk around the back of the desk and assume command of the computer station.

A young man who had previously been seated quickly rushes to my side. “Sir. Excuse me, sir.”

Turning, I scan him from head to toe and back up. White scrubs. Clean-cut appearance. And a nametag that reads Troy . Very well, then.

“Hello, Troy. Please pull up the client manifest and all of today’s appointments.”

When he gawks, wide-eyed, I wave one hand at the computer.

“Now.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m going to have to ask—”

“What are you doing?” Garrett hisses, clutching the edge of the marble counter between us with so much force his knuckles are white. “You can’t just walk in like you own the place.”

A low chuckle rumbles out of me. If the situation wasn’t so dire, I’d quite like to drag out this moment and enjoy a bit of fun. But as it stands, there’s one goal to this entire charade. One purpose: one person.

“Au contraire, Garrett.” I eye both boys, then an exasperated Troy, chin lifted. “I do, in fact, own this place.”

Levi and Greedy gape, mouths ajar and eyes wide, and beside me, Troy sputters. But I don’t let him get a word in before I dive into a condensed explanation.

“As of one p.m. local time, Spencer Enterprises acquired ownership of Empire Forest Retreats LLC. I own this facility, as well as the land it sits on. I also own the parent company, and, in a strange but necessary twist”—keeping a straight face here is a challenge, but I manage—“I am now part owner of the South Carolina Cougars professional football team, as well as the lead investor in a Formula 1 start-up set to replace Mulligans Racing next year.”

Two more employees outfitted in white emerged from the back somewhere during my introductory speech. I’ll leave it to Troy to catch them up to speed. For now, I square my shoulders with his and stare him down.

“Show me today’s appointments. Now.”

Side-eyeing me, Troy gingerly leans across the front of the workstation I’m partially blocking to pull up the client manifest for the day.

It only takes a moment for me to locate the full-day block for “M.F. and Guest.”

“Here.” I tap a knuckle to the screen. “These two. Where are they?”

Troy’s eyes dart from the screen to me and back again, but he doesn’t speak.

“Might I remind you that as the sole owner of this establishment, I hold all the cards. Additionally, I have reason to believe the alleged ‘guest’ noted on this reservation is being held against her will. Kidnapping. Human trafficking. An entire myriad of possibilities exists. Failure to comply with my request will result in charges against every staff member who has been on the premises in the last twenty-four hours. So, I’ll ask again, Troy. But I’ll only ask once more. Where are they?”

One of the boys emits a low whistle.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to hold back a smirk.

Troy clears his throat and swallows audibly. “That reservation is a mother and daughter duo, sir. I assure you, no one is being held against their will. They’re out in the Namaste Bungalow, which is only accessible by cart.”

“Bring them both here. Now.”

“But sir, they’re scheduled for back-to-back treatments all day. We don’t want to—”

I hold up a hand, cutting him off. Clearly, Troy hasn’t grasped the concept of being under new management. Looking beyond the contrary young man, I tip my chin to the two employees who are watching us with wide eyes.

“Bring them here, right now, or you’re all fired. That will be just the start. I can assure you, your employment status will not protect you from the media on standby, ready to break this story.”

“What story is that?” a woman with a dark complexion, thin braids, and flawless skin asks. She crosses her arms in front of her, clearly prepared to stand her ground. Her name tag reads Naomi and indicates that she’s a nurse practitioner.

“The story about the predatory, experimental, often unsanctioned treatments being performed here at Empire Forest Retreat and Spa without the proper medical staff in place. According to the New York State Medical Board, any facility administering ketamine therapy must have a licensed psychiatrist and an MD on staff. Let me ask you, Naomi; is a good doctor available to chat with me?”

Silence lances through the room.

Lowering my voice, I take a single step closer to the woman. “Are you the most senior medical staff at the facility right now, Naomi?”

Her eyes widen with realization, her chest rising and falling in quick breaths.

“As the senior-most member of the staff, that means you’re in charge. It’s not just your job you should be concerned with. It sounds like your medical credentials may be on the line.”

Rather than respond, Naomi storms over to Troy. “Send the cart. Get them up here now,” she hisses.

With a nod, Troy pulls a radio from his pocket, then gives the order.

Before the person he’s directing can confirm, I hold up one finger, garnering everyone’s attention.

“You have twenty minutes.” With that, I turn on my heel before anyone objects.