When the door closes, Adriana lets out a breath and hugs me again, fingers digging into my back. She pulls back just enough to look at me. “Will you—will you shower with me?” she asks, voice wrecked. “Not to...to do anything. Um, I just don’t want to be alone.”
I nod.
We move into the small bathroom together. I turn the water on hot, and she steps under it, immediately sagging into me. She clutches my chest, forehead pressed against my skin, and cries. She hasn’t been able to stop.
We don’t wash our hair.
We don’t really wash at all.
I stare at the tile wall over her head, watching the steam rise, the water trail down her body, and swirl into the drain. My hands finally stop shaking. Not because I’m okay. Because I’m numb. And as I hold her there, I realize with terrifying clarity just how completely, utterly fucked we are.
Chapter twenty-two
EMMA EASTON
My heart won’t slow down, the damn thing. The jet engines seem to vibrate up into my bones. I sit rigid in my seat, fingers fidgeting anxiously in my lap, staring across the narrow table at Micah and Heather.
Heather’s brown eyes flick up and lock onto mine. They widen enough to tell me she’s barely holding it together, too. That the image of a man getting his throat sliced open is looping behind her eyes the same way it’s looping behind mine. Rafe had smeared the man's blood on my jaw, filling me with a kind of terror I've never known. As I met his gaze, I realized that I was indeed staring into a monster's dark soul.
I think I might actually be in shock. I’ve barely spoken since we took off. Words feel weird right now. Honestly, if I open my mouth, I have no idea what will spill out. Sobs? Screaming? I don’t know. I'm not used toanythinglike this.
I just watched some getmurdered.
Behind us, Rafe, Adela, Nico, and Kieran lounge across the couches like they've travelled a lot together. Rafe keeps looking at me. Not staring, exactly...but checking in. His gaze flicks to my face and away again. I don’t know why it unsettles me so much, but it does. There’s something intense about him that feels far too perceptive. If I had a client like him, I'd pack up and move away, honestly.
Heather finally breaks the silence. “I told you alcohol helps,” she mutters, lifting her glass. She’s nearly finished with her second glass of wine, her movements definitely looser than before.
“It’s seven in the morning,” I counter quietly.
“When you’re on a plane, time doesn’t matter,” Adela says cheerfully from behind me, holding up her own glass in solidarity. “It always helps my nerves. Hell, I’d usually get drunk at the gate before takeoff.”
I nod, but I don’t reach for anything. The idea of alcohol right now makes my stomach twist. Micah is leaned against the window across from me, hoodie pulled up, mouth slightly open. He's asleep, peaceful, and completely unbothered.
I resist the urge to kick him.
Instead, I turn my head and stare out the window. The sun is rising over the ocean, spilling gold across the water in soft, dreamlike streaks. It’s…beautiful. I think of how the world just keeps spinning even after the horror I witnessed last night. Life just keeps going for some of us, while for others, it feels like everything is crashing down.
Nova flashes into my mind with her little black paws and big, begging brown eyes. She’s with Mr. and Mrs. Kent right now. Safe. Loved. Then I think of my clients and the studio, with the comforting smells of paint, coffee, and ocean air. Dr. Cassandra Waters is holding things together. At least she’s still allowing our clients to paint if they feel they need it. Some of them can’t finish a session without it. Those are the people I see myself most in.
I swallow hard. I just want this to beover. I want Jude back. I want a quiet, peaceful life together in Seaside. Sunday dinners with his parents—his mom insisting I drink one more cup of lavender tea, his dad smiling at how affectionate Jude is with me at the table. I want to visit my parents. I want a wedding.
I want…a life.
I know he wants it too. That’s the part that hurts the most. He left toprotectme, thinking that he was saving me by walking away again. He doesn’t know that I would do anything for him. That I would choose him every time—even like this. I won’t let him go. No matter how hard he tries to force it.
Adela’s laugh cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back into the present. Heather’s joined them now, leaning back with her wine, trying and failing to pretend she’s okay.
So I sit there, across from a sleeping Micah, alone in my head.
Two black cars are waiting for us when we step off the plane. They're both sleek with tinted windows, highlighting the fact that we're with a very powerful man.
Rafe, Adela, Heather, Micah, and me in the first car. Nico and Kieran take the second, pulling in behind us as soon as the doors shut.
The car glides forward, and I press my forehead lightly against the cold glass of the window as the city comes into view.
Moscow.
I can’t believe I’m seeing it with my own eyes.
