“Somewhere safe. That’s all you need to know.”
“I want to speak with her.”
“No.”
“Victor—”
“This conversation is over, Rourke.” He stands, buttoning his jacket with precise movements. “My niece is under family protection. She doesn’t want contact with you. If you push this further, it becomes a problem neither of us wants.”
His threat is clear. Push harder, and it’s war.
I have resources. I have people. I could probably find where he’s keeping her if I threw enough weight behind it. But startinga war with the Vances over a woman I barely know is bad business, and Victor knows it.
He’s counting on it.
“She’s not your prisoner,” I say quietly.
“She’s my family. And family takes care of their own.”
He leaves without another word, and I’m left sitting in the private dining room with the taste of failure in my mouth.
I call Declan as I’m leaving the restaurant.
“How did it go?” he asks.
“He’s not budging. She’s somewhere tropical based on the background in the photo he showed me, but he won’t say where.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Keep eyes on Vance operations,” I say. “They won’t keep her hidden forever.”
“You sure about this? The Vances aren’t going to appreciate surveillance.”
“I don’t care what they appreciate. Find her.”
7
AURELIA
The heathere is different from anywhere I’ve ever been. It’s thick and wet, pressing down on everything like a blanket. By midmorning, my clothes stick to my skin, and by afternoon, even sitting still on the balcony feels like effort.
The ocean stretches out endlessly beyond the compound walls, blue-green water that looks beautiful until you remember there’s nowhere to swim to. No escape. Just water and more water, and beyond that, nothing I can reach.
The village is small. Maybe two hundred people total, most of them fishermen who go out before dawn and come back smelling like salt and sweat. Their boats are painted bright colors—yellow, red, blue—bobbing in the harbor like toys. The houses are simple, wooden structures with tin roofs that rattle when the wind picks up. Children run barefoot through dirt roads, and chickens wander freely, pecking at whatever they find.
Helena takes me to the market twice a week. It’s not freedom, but it’s something. A break from the compound walls and thelocked bedroom door and the endless hours with nothing to do except think about everything I’ve lost.
The market is in mayhem. Vendors shouting prices for fish, breadfruit, and mangoes. Women haggling over fabric. The smell of frying fish and roti mixing with the salt air. Helena keeps close, her hand occasionally on my arm like a reminder that I’m not here alone, that someone is always watching.
I gave up trying to run three weeks ago.
There’s nowhere to go. The village is tiny, everyone knows everyone, and a pale girl with badly dyed black hair stands out like a wound. Even if I made it past the village, then what? Walk through the jungle until I collapse? Swim across the ocean?
The arranged marriage is dead, which means Victor can’t sell me off anymore. So what am I even running from now?
Nothing. That’s the problem. And I’m not running toward anything either. Just existing in this beautiful prison, waiting for Victor to decide what to do with me.
I meet the Baptiste family on my second trip to the market.
