She’s gone.
“Miss Hawkins.”Bes.I barely hear him over the rumble of the engine and the whooshing in my ears.
I couldn’t save her.She saved my life and I couldn’t do the same. Tears prick at my eyes, dried instantly by the sharp breeze.
“Miss Hawkins!” he barks. “Come away from there before you get yourself killed.”
Tears blurring my vision, I aim the Luger again, focusing on one of the remaining men. I won’t let them get away with it, at the very least.
Before I can pull the trigger, we hit a wave from a nearby cargo vessel. The amulet jostles beneath my shirt as my grip loosens from the railing and I fall forward—when Bes catches me around the waist. He pulls me back so hard that I fall on top of him, knocking him down. The gun skitters across the deck but stays aboard.
I fight against his grip. “Let me go!”
He only holds me tighter.
“I can still save her,” I say, quieter than I want to be while scrambling uselessly on the wood. “I have to.”
Bes shifts my weight so that I’m facing him, wordlessly wrapping his arms around me, one around my mid-back and the other against my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. Tears stab behind my eyes like hot pokers.
What are they going to do with her? Will they even bury her properly? Or throw her in an unmarked grave, her family having no idea what happened to her?
Bastards.
With the threat out of reach now, I press my face into Bes’s chest, allowing myself to sink into his embrace. His hand at my back strokes along my spine gently.
He murmurs against my hair in Arabic, “Fiha khair. Fiha khair.”
I have no idea what it means, but it soothes me all the same. Although I slept for thirty hours, I’m exhausted once again. Exhausted from running, from watching people die, from killing them myself… and his arms around me are the only real thing I’ve felt in days. The only thing anchoring me to this reality.
And if I stay here any longer, I might never get up.
I push Bes away and he lets me.
Glaring back at the docks, a flash of bright color draws my attention. A woman I recognize all too well strides between the uniformed men. My chest heaves, nausea pooling in my stomach once again.No, it can’t be.
Blonde hair pulled tight into place, she changed out of her white, blood-stained shirt into a dark red one to match her lipstick. The side of her face appears to have been stitched up, a layer of white powder sprinkled across it.
Ingrid.
Goddammit. She must’ve taken a seaplane; it’s the only way she could’ve gotten here before we did. I’m not sure how she knew to find us in Messina, but clearly we didn’t leave as stealthily as we thought we did.
Or, someone tipped her off.
Though he never said it, Pierre might’ve known where we were headed. Or he could’ve guessed based on Bes mentioning Italy when he offered to drop him off in France. Though, I can’t say whether he would’ve told her outright or under duress.
Anger and frustration strike through my veins.I should’ve killed that fascist bitch when I had the chance.
Even in my current state, I recognize the hypocrisy: Claude’s death haunts me even now, and will continue to haunt me for the rest of my days. Not killing Claude straight after I took hisweapon from him came with a price—namely, Bes and I nearly being gunned down outside the Temple of Seti I.
Killing Ingrid… that would’ve had a different price altogether: my soul.
Now, with Ailsa dead, likely at Ingrid’s command, it’s as if I pulled the trigger on the Scotswoman myself.
Frozen in place, I watch her peer down into the water where Ailsa’s body disappeared, a cruel sneer yanking at the corners of her lips—when her attention snaps to me. Heart slamming into my throat, I get to my feet and stumble back toward the helm, Bes at my heels, praying she didn’t recognize me.
How did she even know where we were?
Back inside the helm, I turn on him and demand, “How did the God Men find us?”
