I scramble up a steep embankment, my lungs screaming, my vision blurring with tears and exhaustion.
“You’re a monster, Kai!” I sob, the words lost to the wind.
“I’m your monster!” he bellows back, his voice closer now, right on my heels. “You’re the one who fed me! You’re the one who kept me alive in that cell with your fucking memories! Don’t you dare try to act like you’re innocent now! You love the way I hunt you. You love the way it feels to be the only thing in the world I want to destroy!”
I hit a plateau, the ground levelling out into a grove of ancient, twisted banyan trees. The roots are like a labyrinth, a maze of wooden ribs. I dive into the centre of them, crawling into the hollow of a massive trunk, pulling the hanging vines over the entrance.
I press my face into the dirt, trying to muffle the sound of my sobbing breaths.
Outside, the forest goes silent.
The whistling stops. The crashing stops.
And then, I hear the slow, rhythmic click of his folding knife. Snap. Click. Snap.
“I can hear you shaking, Scarlett,” he whispers, and the sound is right outside the roots. He’s leaning against the very tree I’m hiding in. “I can hear your blood rushing. It sounds like a goddamn invitation.”
He groans, a low, pained sound of pure, obsessive need.
“I’m going to give you one more chance to come out on your own,” he rasps, his hand slapping against the bark of the tree. “One more chance to save us both a lot of pain. Because if I have to reach in there and drag you out… I’m not going to be gentle. I’m going to break every lie you ever told me right out of your fucking throat.”
Kai
The bark under my palm is rough, damp, and vibrating with the frantic, staccato rhythm of her heart.
She’s in there. I can taste the ozone of her panic on my tongue, sharp and electric. It’s better than any drug I found on the yard, better than the cheap high of the blood I spilled back in that villa. My own pulse is a sledgehammer against my ribs, a heavy, primal thudding that matches the ache in my groin. Every muscle in my body is coiled tight, screaming for the release of finally putting my hands back on her.
I lean my forehead against the ancient wood, closing my eyes, savouring the sound of a sob she’s trying—and failing—to swallow.
“Come on out, Scarlett,” I rasp, my voice sounding like it’s been dragged through a mile of gravel. I roll my shoulders, the wet fabric of my shirt sticking to the scars on my back. “Don’t make me do this the hard way. You know how it ends. You’ve known how this ends since the second you saw me in that mirror.”
Silence. Just the wind through the banyans and the distant, mocking roar of the sea.
“I’m counting, baby sister,” I growl, and I pull the folding knife from my pocket. The snick of the blade locking into place is the only warning she gets. “And when I hit zero, the gentleness stays in the dirt. I’m coming in there, and I’m going to take every single thing you tried to hide from me.”
I start the clock. My voice is a low, lethal hum, vibrating through the wood and into her spine.
“Ten.”
I run the tip of the blade down a hanging vine, the plant fibre parting like silk.
“Nine.”
I can hear her scrambling inside the hollow, the sound of her knees dragging through the mulch. She’s looking for a way out. She’s looking for a miracle.
“Eight. Seven.”
I skip the numbers because I’m losing my fucking mind. The scent of her—salt, jasmine, and that sharp, metallic tang of the brand on her chest—is thick in the air, making my vision go hazy at the edges. I’m fucking throbbing, the pressure behind my fly a physical pain that only her skin can soothe.
“Six. Five.”
I kick the base of the tree, a violent, bone-jarring strike. “Are you getting ready for me, Scarlett? Are you thinking about how it’s going to feel when I finally stop chasing and start taking?”
“Four.”
The whimpering stops. She’s frozen. A rabbit waiting for the hawk.
“Three. Two.”
