My lantern catches a current almost immediately. It pulls away from the others, spinning gently, and catches a gust of wind that sends it skimming perilously close to the water’s surface before swooping upward. Within moments, it’s farther out than any of the others—a pale shape growing smaller and smaller against the bright blue sky.
“Damn,” Dom mutters. “Yours really caught the wind.”
I watch my lantern until it’s just a speck on the horizon. Until it fades from view entirely, swallowed by the vast expanse of the Atlantic.
If it drifts beyond sight, your wish will come true.
I don’t believe in wishes. Not really. Not in the practical, adult sense of the word.
But standing here and surrounded by these men, wishes coming true almost does feel possible.
“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” I announce, breaking the contemplative mood. “I’ll meet you guys at the beer garden.”
Mason immediately turns to me. “Need me to go with you?”
“I’ll be fine on my own for five minutes.” I hand Gerald Jr. off to Atticus, who accepts the stuffed lobster with surprising dignity. “Guard him with your life.”
“If anyone tries to kidnap your son, then they will answer to me,” Atticus says solemnly, in total contrast to the suppressed mirth in his gaze.
I weave through the crowd, following hand-painted signs toward the public restrooms. The festival has grown more crowded as the afternoon progresses, families giving way to adult groups clearly here for the beer tent and live music.
The bathroom line is mercifully short. I take care of business, wash my hands and emerge back into the fading daylight with two of my five minutes still to spare.
The beer garden is maybe a hundred yards away. I can see the edge of the tent from here, hear the muffled thump of whatever band is currently performing. My people will be waiting.
I’m maybe twenty steps from rejoining them when a voice cuts through the crowd noise.
“Well, well. Look what we’ve found.”
My blood goes cold.
I turn slowly, already knowing who I’ll see.
Aaron Keenan leans against a nearby booth, arms crossed over his leather-vested chest. Two other bikers flank him—different faces than the ones from the bar, but the same patches, aggressive posture and predatory expressions. Sinners. A trio of them, blocking my most direct path to where I need to go.
Aaron’s smile is all teeth and no warmth. His eyes rake over me with carnivorous intent.
“Phoenix Riviera,” he drawls. “Keep running into you. The universe must be trying to tell me something.”
“Hello, again.” I keep my voice neutral, casual, even as my heart rate kicks into overdrive. “Enjoying the festival?”
“Could be enjoying it more.” He pushes off from the booth, taking a step toward me. His companions mirror the movement, creating a loose triangle that I’m uncomfortably aware I’m at the center of. “You look like you could use some company.”
“I’m actually not here alone.” I edge sideways, trying to create space. “So if you’ll excuse me?—”
“No need to rush off.” Another step closer. The other bikers have shifted apart on the path, further blocking the path. “Festival’s got hours left. We could show you a better time than wandering around looking at fish.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m good.”
“Come on.” His voice drops to something meant to be seductive but lands somewhere closer to threatening. “Come have one drink with us. What’s the harm?”
“No, thank you.” I keep my tone light, keep the smile fixed on my face, even as every instinct screams at me to run. “Have a nice evening.”
I try to step around him.
His hand closes around my upper arm.
The grip isn’t painful—not yet—but it’s firm enough to stop me in my tracks. His fingers dig into the flesh just above my elbow, and suddenly I’m not standing in a festival crowd anymore. I’m seventeen years old, in a hotel room, with a hand on my arm and a door locking behind me?—
