My hand hovers over the drawer. These are the most important items I have, priceless beyond reason and completely irreplaceable.
Choking back a sob, the tears fall harder down my cheeks, onto my dress. More blotches of darkness bloom across the darkness with each tear. My trembling fingers trace the picture of Dad holding up a child-sized me and beaming with pride over my first solo surf.
I remember the joy in his voice as he called up my uncle and one of his buddies to tell them all about how well I did. He boasted about the size of the wave, my form, and how I kept my two little feet stable. He went on and on like I was a legend in the making.
He carried me on his shoulders to get my favorite treat, and we both went crazy from the sugar high. I can still recallthe different ice cream flavors we got, how terribly I failed at devouring the six scoops.
Clutching the bundle of photos to my chest, I squeeze my eyes shut to try and focus on my breathing.
I miss him so much.
I slip a chain around my neck and hide the ring Mom gifted him beneath my dress. It doesn’t make me feel any closer to him, but wearing it makes it seem like he’s watching over me.
What would he say about where I ended up? Hell, what would Mom say if she knew the daughter she gave her life to birth is running from both the law and outlaws?
Sniffling, I pull myself back onto my feet and carefully tuck the pictures away in my handbag. It’s all I have left of my dad.
The front porch groans, and I freeze, pulse skyrocketing. Abangshakes the house. Self-preservation kicks in, and I’m on my feet, bolting out of the bedroom.
The smell of rain wafts through the house, carrying traces of the sea and the intoxicating warmth ofhim.That—thatthing.
My heart stalls when I catch the vision before me. It’s straight out of a horror movie. The top of his dipped head and broad shoulders brush the doorway—fills it. The moon backlights the man standing at the door, illuminating his hard edges like he’s the devil himself. A harbinger of death.
The faint light coming through my bathroom catches on the water droplets dripping from his hair down his bare chest, rippling over each curve of his abs. A shudder works down my spine. An odd, almost animalistic sound rumbles from him, pulling me from my stupor and bringing me firmly back to the present, where I’m meant to be running from my life after seeing a man transform into a tentacled monster.
The same monster standing at the door.
My pulse roars in my ears, and my feet move before my head catches up. I dive across the living room for the back door.
Footsteps bound behind me, and a cry tears from my lips when something lashes out at me.
Why the fuck didn’t I get a weapon first?
It wraps around my waist and hauls me back against his chest. “I caught you.” His deep voice rolls through my veins. “Mate.”
No, no, no, no, no. I’m meant to be getting away.
My eyes fall to the tentacle around me, and Ilose it. I scream at the top of my lungs. I fight, throw my head back, try to kick my legs out, hit the fuckingtentaclescurving around me. Nothing works. It’s like it barely inconveniences him.
A tentacle wraps around my shoulders so my body stays upright, but my injured elbows can swing free.
He’s going to kill me. He’s going to take me to the Gallaghers, and they’re going to torture me.
“Let me go!”
“Only in death,” he promises.
I suck in a shocked breath, momentarily disarmed by the declaration.
His suckers pucker along my skin, and a ripple of fatigue rolls up my spine. No, not fatigue—something similar, where my muscles feel like they’re going limp, but not quite.
Soft fingers trail over my exposed arm, and when his sharp nails graze my skin, I flinch, bucking against him to break free—but all I can think about are how his hands are on me.
The monster’s smooth, almost gentle touch is so unlike Tommy. His grip is firm but not painful. Tight, just enough to keep me pressed up to him.
It’s not the same blinding terror of having regular hands on me, just a different kind. My skin doesn’t crawl, and I’m not nauseated imagining myself standing in the white mansion, waiting to be struck.
Every inhale drags more of his scent into my lungs, spreading warmth through my veins from feeling like I’m out on the beach when there isn’t a single soul in sight. It’s messing with my brain.
