He stepped behind her and took both wrists. She let him. The tremor in her fingers gave away the bravado. He stilled them with patience rather than tenderness, and he felt the moment she exhaled—the precise second chaos agreed to be arranged.
“No games,” he murmured. “No pretending.”
“I don’t want to pretend,” she whispered. “I want clear and precise.”
“On your knees,” he demanded. She dropped before him.
He smiled. “Good.”
He leaned against the wall as she reached for his belt. He gazed down, control holding him in place. Candy shook before him. She liked where she was. It grounded her. When he commanded, she obeyed.
It didn’t take long for Tosh’s careful control to be ripped from him as she made him burn. He didn’t like the loss of control, didn’t like that it made him feel weak. He grabbed her hair and pulled her to her feet, then pushed her onto the bed.
Clothes slipped away.
So did noise.
They collided like weather—heated, desperate, grateful.
Candy clung to him like he was the only solid place in the room. Tosh steadied her like she was the only thing keeping him from coming apart. When she faltered, he guided. When he asked, she answered. And both of them found a fleeting peace in the ruin of each other.
He secured her wrists with binds already attached to the post. What followed wasn’t tender, but it wasn’t cruel. It was two broken edges trying to meet in the middle for a while—his need for order, her need for surrender. His steadiness, her shaking breath. His voice grounding her, her answering him without hesitation as the dark folded in around them.
By the time their bodies quieted, the storm inside them had eased—not gone, but muted, soothed by something fierce enough to match it. She curled against his chest.
“Do you like me?” she asked.
Tosh didn’t answer at first. His gaze slid toward the window, where the curtain breathed in and out with the wind.
“I like knowing who’s on the other side of the glass,” he finally said. “I like order.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’ll get.”
Candy smiled—small but real. “Do you ever feel watched?”
“Always.”
They lay in silence, listening to the sea beat itself against the shore.
Outside, on the bluff above Tosh’s house, someone stood at the perfect vantage point—close enough to watch shadows move behind curtains, far enough to remain unseen. Feet planted shoulder-width apart, hands loose at their sides, posture patient rather than eager.
Every few minutes, a small beam of light flashed against the ground, then vanished again—a phone screen waking, a note being written and tucked away. No cigarette, no muttered commentary. Just a quiet recording.
If anyone had happened to look up from the shoreline, they would’ve seen only a silhouette against the sky. Broad shoulders. Straight spine. The kind of stance people learned from wearing a badge for too long.
The wind rose.
The palms hissed.
Catalina inhaled and, somewhere inside that breath, two stories aligned.
Chapter Ten
Tension Builds
The fog rolled in like a secret no one wanted told, wrapping Avalon in a hush that felt deliberate. It clung to the cliffs and windows, softening colors, muffling sound, making the town feel smaller. The island didn’t justlooktrapped; itwastrapped, sealed beneath a sky that pressed down until every sound felt too close.
