Thatasshole.
“He can’t take full responsibility when there are two people at fault,” I argue. My anger and sense of professionalism are warring with each other, fully aware that I’m sounding like a petulant child.
“We’ll give you some time to process this before the entire crew is informed.” Grace completely ignores my argument, her eyes soft with concern.
With a huff, I leave their room and sprint to the bridge. If there’s even a chance Ansons is still on board, then I’m going to take it. I don’t know if I’ll kiss him or punch him, or maybe both.
Both sounds good.
When I enter the bridge, the door to the captain’s quarters is wide open. Every surface is wiped clean and polished, the bed has been stripped of its sheets all folded neatly on the end of the mattress.
Every trace of him is gone.
Chapter Fourteen
Anson
The phone rings again, with Hannah’s name sprawled across the screen. I stare at it until it goes to voicemail, every muscle twitching with the need to answer.
I always let it go to voicemail.
It’s better this way, I try to convince myself.
I never should have lost control with her. Should never have started this thing between us, and now it’s time to make up for that mistake all those weeks ago.
I’m doing what I should have done in the first place.
Staying away.
But every fucking ring of the phone leaves me aching for her. The smell of coffee has me seeing her smiling face. The clear blue sky has me thinking about her eyes and how I miss staring into their beautiful depths.
She’s better off without me, I remind myself. She needs to be young and free. She doesn’t need me to hold her down.
But then the image of her arms bound as I look up the length of her glorious body before putting my mouth on her plays through my mind.
My siren likes to be bound. She likes to be controlled. Dominated.
But I lost control and now I pay the price.
Every day apart is torture. Torture I must endure.
Chapter Fifteen
Hannah
TheSirenused to feel like home to me. Now it feels like a prison.
I can’t wait to get off this mother freaking boat.
Anson and I never got the chance to talk about what happens after the boat and now he won’t answer my calls. The moment I left his empty room, I called. Again, and again and again.
Nothing.
The crew doesn’t help either. Everyone’s walking on eggshells around me, acting like I’m a wounded little bird.
I’m not.
I’m pissed as hell.
