He doesn’t move.Doesn’t fumble for a phone or glance at the sky.He just stands there, still as a statue, his eyes fixed on me like I’m the only thing that exists.
It’s not his face or his stance that lifts the hairs on my nape.It’s his watchfulness.He tracks me like it’s his job.Like a thug.Only he doesn’t look like a thug.Doesn’t need to.I feel it in my tingling scalp and dampening palms.
My steps falter as I peer over my shoulder.My gaze arrows through the sea of people and immediately lands on Jag.But his focus isn’t on me.It’s locked on the man.
Carl and Jasper notice the threat, too.They tighten around me instantly, their postures humming with alertness.
“Keep walking.”Jasper’s assertive grip belies his casual tone.“Don’t slow down.”
“Faster, Miss Rath.”Carl presses close behind.
I match their pace, my nerves unraveling.But I’m not afraid.Not with Jag in sight.I may never be safe from him, but no one else will hurt me while he’s near.
“Kai!Let’s move.”Carl shoves me onto the gangway and raises his voice at the captain.“Get us off the pier now!”
The engines hum alive, Kai already at the helm, as we climb aboard.The deck tilts as he guns it, propellers churning froth, speeding us away.
I grip the rail, knuckles white, eyes on the crowd shrinking behind us.
Jag floats through the swirl of bodies, effortlessly gliding toward the man with a predatory calm in every step.
But the man… He’s gone.Vanished.
Only the echo of his stare lingers, crawling over my skin, a cold reminder that Jag might not be the only one stalking me.
The ride feels too long.My pulse spins harder than the engines.Through the rain-smeared glass, the island rises out of the water, black trees crowding the shore, the stone mansion crouched and waiting.
We dock, and Carl and Jasper flank me to the house with no space to breathe.No chance to slip away.Their boots keep pace with mine as we hurry up the path.
Monty steps out before I veer toward the guest house, his silhouette sharp against the porch light.His expression hardens the second he sees the guards glued to me.
“Where’s Wolf?”His eyes flick to me, quick and assessing, then back to them.
“He returned home on his yacht several hours ago.”Jasper shares a look with Carl.
Monty pivots toward the guest house.
“Sir.”Carl plants a hand in his path.“We have a situation.”
The words stop Monty dead.“The last time you said that…” His tone drops.“Denver’s heart was in our kitchen.”
A chill spiders down my back.Denver’s heart?Given what I’ve pieced together about their dark past, I know it’s not a metaphor.These men don’t speak in metaphors.
I glance between them, catching the subtle exchange—Carl wanting to pull Monty aside, Monty already bracing for bad news.And I know.It’s about Jag and the man on the pier.
I want to hear this, but I doubt I’m invited to the conversation.
“I’m going to check on Wolf.”Without waiting for permission, I break from the tight formation and hurry across the path.
Inside the guest house, the air smells faintly of detergent and damp wood.And the silence?It’s heavier than it should be.
“Wolf?”The stairs creak under my steps.“Where are you?”I find his bedroom door cracked, letting a slice of light into the hall.“Wolf?”
I lift my knuckles to tap and freeze.
Water.The steady rush of a shower.
Relief loosens my shoulders, and I retreat into my room.My skin itches from the shop, stinking of oil and dirt.A shower sounds perfect, a little scalding steam to burn off the day.
