I tighten my hold. “If Quinn leaves here suspicious of what’s going on, shewillgo missing.”
Her lips part, her gaze frantically trying to read me.Questionme.
“I won’t be the one to do it,” I add. “But make no mistake, you’ll have ended your friend’s life.”
The color drains from her pretty face, that once sun-kissed skin now pale and ghostly.
“You have five minutes.” I release her arm. “I’ll be listening.”
Chapter
Twelve
ISLA
I movethrough the salon on autopilot, still tipsy, yet somehow now hollow.
It’s that horrible tipping point where I’m not drunk enough to be brave and not sober enough to be sharp. I hadn’t even finished the wine. Half of it ended up nourishing a potted palm in the dining room. The empty bottle was just a prop to sell the illusion of being too drunk to provide a professional statement. But the few glasses I’d consumed to drown my sorrows, plus the Dalmore, have my brain pulsing with a cracking headache.
The worst part?
I’m starting to believe Raffael’s outrageous threats.
They were easier to ignore when I was busy trying to match pitch with his audacity. When we were both firing hot, battling for the upper hand.
But now?
The dangerously cold sterility he’s started inflicting upon me has my stomach tied in knots of dread.
He doesn’t even look like the man who left the dining room in his pristine business suit hours ago. I woke up to find his shirt halfway buttoned, the wrinkled fabric tugging across his chestand hanging open enough to show a strip of bare skin and the faint line of muscle.
His pants are still sharp, but the contrast only makes him look more dangerous. Like a man pulled straight from bed into a battlefield. Barefoot. Unpolished. Yet somehow incredibly lethal.
Would my father really leave me here if this were the type of situation where someone could gomissing?
I get it—he owes money. Alotof it. But if my compliance were the only thing keeping me safe, would Dad really leave me to fend for myself?
“Out onto the deck.” Raffael follows in my shadow, one silent pace behind. “The stairs are on the left.”
I pass the automatic glass doors, the night air sinking under the thin sleeves of my blouse as we step outside. The teak is cool beneath my feet, the low grumble of an approaching boat growing louder with our descent down the stairs.
A man shouts orders. “Secure the line…Pull tighter.”
Then the engine cuts off.
Silence carries for half a beat. Then the softer sounds flood in, the wet slap of water, the creak of ropes under strain, the shuffle of scurrying footfalls.
I pause on the bottom step, tucked out of view, the outdoor stairs having somehow led me back inside the lower level and into another sleek room. Pristine lounge chairs stretch across pale wooden flooring. There’s a wall of rolled towels and neatly hung life jackets. It feels more like a high-end wellness retreat than the stage for a one-woman act of pure survival.
“Where is she?” Quinn’s demand splits through the night. “Bring her here. Otherwise I’ll go find her myself.”
A pained smile tugs at my lips. There’s so much relief at the sound of her voice. But it’s quickly chased by trepidation.
Shewillgo missing.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry,” a man replies. “But I’ve told you I don’t have authorization to let you board.”
“Then get it. Or get Isla. Otherwise I’ll call… what the fuck? What happened to my cell service?”
