by Ella Miles
I walk through the entire ship twice, ensuring I didn’t miss a single person.
Finally, I’m satisfied no one escaped my wrath. But I don’t feel any weight lifting. I thought that killing those who betrayed us would make me feel better, even a minuscule amount better. But it didn’t.
There is no recovering from this kind of heartbreak. Nothing will make me feel better. I’m not doing this to heal. I’m doing this for Kai. For my baby.
I crack my neck back and forth, trying to release the tension I feel as I put my gun back into my pants. I didn’t even have to draw a second gun. Or pull out a knife.
It was too easy.
How disappointing.
I want a fight—a battle. I want to feel something—even if it’s rage.
I walk back up onto the top deck, the rain has started to lighten, as if it knows it is no longer necessary to pour down because everyone is dead.
I stare at the two yachts both damaged from the impact. It’s going to be hard to steer either one out of this storm.
I sigh.
Might as well get to work trying to separate them and see which one has less damage.
But then I see something.
A flicker of a shadow through the rain.
Felix—my gut says.
I had planned on waiting to kill him. Take my time; only kill him when I would do the most damage to him possible. But he’s here, right in front of me.
I won’t be waiting. The rage beats through my body.
This ends. Now.
Lighting strikes the ship, setting the rear on fire.
I grin.
The weather is again on my side.
The rain drums down harder again, but it makes no impact on the fire. The fire will burn until there is nothing left for either of us to stand on, but I don’t care.
I might be dead, but so will Felix.
This will end.
I think the shadow is going to disappear into the ship—Felix is a slimy coward after all.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he stands taller. His eyes are squinting in my direction. And then a cold smile curls up. He wants this to be over too.
He’s going to fight me.
I lift my gun.
He does too.
The crack of us both firing our guns sounds like lightning booming through the sky. Maybe it is actually lightning and thunder. It makes no difference.
Bullets travel, but neither of us hit the other.
I fire again and again. My aim perfect, but the rain and wind get in my way. The bullets no longer travel straight into the heart of my targets.
Which somehow makes me happy. I don’t want Felix to end with a single bullet—that would be too easy.
But it still fuels my rage to shoot bullet after bullet in his direction. And it seems it does the same to him, because he continues to fire back.
Until a crack of thunder changes both of our minds at the same time.
This is too personal to be fought with guns.
We run—head first into each other.
The collision seems to spark another crack of lightning as if the storm is reacting to our fight. Like there is something bigger happening than just the fight between the two of us.
Our fists hit—jaws, stomachs, eyes.
Both of us try to do as much damage as possible. Each time my fist connects with him—I feel more alive. This is the reason I survived when Kai didn’t. To get revenge. To kill this monster. And each punch of his fist connecting with my flesh ignites more testosterone flowing through my body.
Felix will not win.
We both flip over each other, driving each other’s bodies into various objects on the ship. Everything is a weapon. And both of us are willing to fight dirty.
I have Felix in a chokehold. He can’t go anywhere. I’ll suffocate him before I let him go. I win.
But then he kicks his legs up, throwing his body back on mine, we crash to the floor, and I have no option but to let go.
It’s a move I know well. I invented it for just this kind of situation. But it’s not a move my father taught me. It’s not one Felix would have learned from our father.
I created the move.
It’s counter-intuitive to what you want to do when you are trapped and fighting for a breath. You sacrifice your body, surprising your opponent, and in turn, it allows you to again have the upper hand.
I’ve only taught the move to two men. Two men who I thought were dead—Langston and Zeke.
But one of them is alive.
I thought I was fighting Felix—my enemy.
I was wrong. I’m fighting my only friend still alive in the world. I thought everyone I loved was dead. I had given up hope. But sometimes people return from the dead.
2
Kai
Days.
Weeks.
Years.
I can’t tell the difference anymore. All I know is time is passing too slowly and too quickly. I’m never going to survive if the days continue on like this.
The only way I know time is passing at all is my growing bump. It seems every time I look down at it, it has doubled in size. I feel huge, like I have a giant bowling ball in my belly. I know it isn’t that big yet, but tell that to my back, which aches and agonizes. All I ever do is move between the bed, couch, and rocking chair on the back deck.
Right now, I’m in the rocking chair.
Gliding it back and forth as I stare out at the Alaskan wilderness. It’s the middle of summer here, which means the air is a warm seventy-five degrees. I can’t imagine what winters are going to be like here. I plan on surviving by burying myself under a pile of blankets and never leaving the house until summer returns.
Or I could leave? Find somewhere else to live?
Not going to happen. This is the best hiding place, because no one would ever expect me to have sought out my dad.
No, I’ll stay.
My father—scratch that—my uncle, walks out onto the back porch carrying a tray of orange juice, bacon, eggs, and toast. He never once made me breakfast while I was growing up. But now he won’t let me skip a meal. I blame him for my belly doubling in size in the few weeks I’ve been here.
He sets the tray down on the table between the two rocking chairs.
“Any news about Enzo?” I ask.
My uncle freezes for only a moment, and then he hands me a glass of orange juice.
I take it, but I’m not letting him off the hook. If I’m going to survive a life without Enzo, then I need as many updates as I can get about him.
“No.”
I growl. “What use are you if you aren’t going to do the one thing I need? I need updates on Enzo.”
“No, you don’t.”
I glare at my uncle. “Yes, I do! You have no idea how hard this is on me.”
My uncle gets right in my face, scolding me like I’m a child. Maybe I am. Maybe I shouldn’t be acting out. But I can’t help it. I need Enzo. I need to know he’s alive. I need to know what he’s doing. What he’s thinking. Does he know I’m alive? Is his heart broken? What’s happening?
“Listen to me, Katherine,” my uncle says.
“Kai,” I hiss. “My name is Kai.”
“Kai, listen to me.” He grabs my shoulders and softens his voice. “I’m sorry. I know how hard it is not to have answers. I’ve been living here for months without knowing if you were alive or not. If you had won the game or not. When someone you love is out there, and you don’t get to know anything about them, it’s like you are slowly suffocating from the inside out. You can’t eat, breathe, or think without knowing if that person is alive. I understand.”
I shake my head as a tear drips. “You don’t love me, uncle. You made me live like we had no money. You sold me like cattle, instead of telling me the truth and preparing me for a battle I wasn’t ready to face. You don’t love me, uncle.”
He winces every time I say the word, uncle.
“You can love someone and still fu
ck up. I thought you of all people would know that.”
I narrow my eyes as the anger penetrates again. “What do you mean, I of all people should know that?”
He sighs as if he realized he fucked up again. “I just meant the man you love, and are desperate to find out even the smallest piece of information about, has also sold you, has he not?”
I’m going to kill my uncle. I’m going to kill him.
And I let him know that with my gaze, my flared nostrils, my clenched jaw, and my tight fists.
“Enzo loves me. This isn’t about Enzo. This is about you loving me. This is about your screw-ups.”
My uncle nods. “You’re right. I’m not trying to say I didn’t fuck up. I did—in the worst possible way. I was a mess after your father died. I thought I could have saved him. I thought it should have been me that died. And then your mother died. And I was left with you—the only piece left of either one of them. And I did everything I could think of to protect you. I made you as strong as possible. The men that kidnapped you, initially they were supposed to just take you to some far off island to live comfortably where you would be safe. But then Enzo’s father found out. And so I turned it into an opportunity to make you stronger, strong enough to survive.”
“Well, great fucking job,” I say sarcastically. “I’m strong and broken and completely fucked up. And in the end, I’m still hiding away from reality.”
I look away; I can’t look at my uncle any longer. I can’t keep doing this for days, weeks, years. I need another solution.
My uncle stands up, clear that this conversation is over. Ending like every other conversation we’ve had—in a fight.
“I can’t ask my contacts about Enzo on a regular basis. They would get suspicious. They will investigate me. They will find you here. And then your sacrifice will be for nothing.”
Tears fall hard now—damn pregnancy hormones. I cry at the smallest of things now. Although, I’m not sure I can blame this one on pregnancy hormones.
My uncle leaves without another word. He doesn’t try to comfort me, not that I would let him.
I stare at the tray of food next to me. I’ve lost my appetite. I haven’t heard any news about Enzo in weeks. And I won’t be getting any updates. This is my life now.
I’m dead.
I feel dead.
Even though I’m staring out at an extraordinary view of the wilderness, I see nothing but dark shadows. Everything is in shades of gray. I don’t see color anymore.
I know birds are singing happily in a nearby tree, but the sound isn’t pleasant. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard to my ears.
There is a delicious plate of food next to me. I should crave it. I should want to eat every bite, if for no other reason than to provide nourishment for my baby. Instead, it smells as good to eat as sewage.
I want to sleep.
So that’s what I do.
I head inside and find my bedroom. The only bedroom in this house. My uncle has been sleeping on the couch since I got here. And when the baby comes…I have no idea. But my brain can’t focus on planning. My heart doesn’t dance at the upcoming arrival of my baby.
I’m numb.
I’m broken.
I’m dead.
I close my eyes. Letting sleep take over.
I see him—Enzo Black.
He’s standing at the foot of my bed.
I pinch myself. I’m not dreaming. This is real. He’s here!
“Enzo!” I yell, sitting up in the bed.
He grins but shushes me.
“Sorry,” I half-whisper, half-yell. I can’t help myself. He’s here.
He’s here, but he hasn’t hugged me yet. Or kissed me. Or touched me. And I can’t wait for him to move the few feet toward me.
I jump out of bed, trying not to trip over my own feet as I run into his arms. But of course, he catches me, so there is no reason to worry about falling.
His arms are stronger and rougher than I remember, but it’s just because I haven’t felt his arms around me in so long. I hold him tighter, fighting back tears.
“You came,” I say.
“Of course I came, stingray.”
I step back. “You shouldn’t have come. It’s not safe. If Felix or the crew find out we are both alive, they will kill one of us…”
“I know.”
My eyes widen.
“Then why are you here?”
“I couldn’t stay away. I love you. Our love will triumph over anything.”
I nod. He’s right. Of course, he’s right. Why did I worry?
I wrap my arms tighter around him. I’m safe. Our baby is safe. Enzo is safe. We are all safe.
But I know better than to think we are safe when we aren’t.
My uncle enters.
“You shouldn’t be here,” my uncle yells to Enzo.
“Enzo is exactly where he should be,” I yell back.
My uncle grabs Enzo’s arm, pulling him from me.
“No! Don’t take him! I love him!” I yell.
But it doesn’t stop my uncle. He rips Enzo from my arms.
“No!” my fists start flying, slamming into my uncle over and over. “Let him go!”
But my uncle already has Enzo. And then he raises a gun and pulls the trigger.
I wake up on the floor covered in sweat, panting heavily, with my arms wrapped around the dresser as it starts to tumble on top of me. My uncle is standing over me, holding the dresser back.
“It was just a nightmare,” my uncle says, pushing the dresser back against the wall.
My uncle kneels down in front of me. “It was just a nightmare,” he repeats, knowing I need to hear it.
I nod. “A nightmare.”
I close my eyes as I tremble. It was just a nightmare. Enzo is safe. He’s just not here.
My uncle touches my hand gently.
I open my eyes.
“Do you think you can get back into bed and try to sleep?” he asks.
I shake my head. I know I won’t be getting any sleep for a while.
He nods and then holds out his hand.
I stare at it like it’s a snake that will probably bite me. But I take his hand, as I could use the help getting up off the floor. He pulls me up.
“I’ll make you some tea,” he says before leaving.
I stare around the room. How long have I been asleep? It’s light outside. I don’t remember falling asleep. I don’t remember waking up. I don’t remember anything but that dream.
I grab my robe and tie it around my waist before I head out to drink some tea and try to calm my nerves.
I step into the kitchen and then freeze.
My uncle isn’t alone. He invited someone else into the house.
Not just someone else—a man. A handsome man, maybe late twenties, with a scruffy beard, dreamy eyes, and a white pearly smile. He’s wearing jeans and a buttoned-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He kind of looks like a sexy lumberjack.
“Who are you?” I ask, as I take a seat at the bar next to the man, doing my best to give him an unfriendly glare that tells him to get the fuck out of my house as soon as possible.
The man grins at me, clearly not reading too much into my angry scowl.
“I’m Beckett,” he holds out his hand, expecting me to shake it.
I raise an eyebrow and glance from him to my uncle. “I need more than a name. Like what the hell you are doing in my house?”
My uncle gives me a scowl before putting my cup of tea in front of me.
The man chuckles, like he finds me hilarious instead of mean and angry. Not the reaction I was hoping for. I want him to run as far and fast as he can away from me.
“I work with your father.”
I look to my ‘father’ as I have no idea what his job is or that he works. “And what exactly do you do for work?”
“We are fisherman,” Beckett answers. “There aren’t many other jobs you can do around here.”
“Of course, you’re fis
hermen.” I study Beckett and then my father. “So fisherman Beckett, you still haven’t told me what you are doing in my house so early in the morning?”
He cocks his head, flashing his perfect dimple and straight teeth that I’m sure most woman fall for. But I’m not most women. I’m not falling for it. If this man is friends with my uncle, then he’s dangerous.
“First, it’s the middle of the afternoon,” Beckett says, eyeing my robe like I’m the crazy one.
“Oh. Well, I sleep crazy hours now that I’m pregnant.”
If that doesn’t scare the man off, nothing will.
It doesn’t scare him off.
“I completely understand. I’m just here to watch the game with your father.”
“Game? My father doesn’t watch games.”
Beckett shrugs. “I’m originally from St. Louis; I’m a huge Cardinals fan.”
“Still doesn’t explain what you are doing here? Don’t you have your own television to watch the game on?”
“No, actually,” Beckett grins.
My father shrugs and walks over to the living room; he hands Beckett a beer.
“You should eat, Katherine. I’ve made all your favorites and put them in the fridge,” my uncle says before him and Beckett become engrossed in the game.
I walk over to the fridge because my stomach growls. My uncle doesn’t know any of my favorite foods. But when I open the fridge and peer inside, I see all of my favorites—tacos, lasagna, macaroni and cheese, enchiladas.
I stare at my uncle sitting on the couch with Beckett. I really don’t understand him. Could he have really had a change of heart?
I warm up the lasagna and decide to watch the game with them. It will distract me from my nightmare.
The game is boring.
Beckett tries to make jokes. I think he’s flirting, but I can’t be sure as I haven’t had another man flirt with me in a long time. But the more he flirts, the angrier I get.
My uncle keeps smiling smugly between the two of us every time Beckett says something funny or gets me to crack the tiniest of smiles. I will admit, Beckett is funny. And I get a warm feeling when I’m around him. But he’s nothing compared to Enzo.
The game finally ends.
“Well, that was boring. Thanks for coming over to watch the game, Beckett. Don’t bother coming over to watch the game again. We won’t be watching any more Cardinals games,” I say, trying to be as mean and snarky as possible.
