I can't look away from him even as my vision bleeds to just him, and my lungs forget how to function.
“Breathe, baby, breathe.” He smiles, and my forehead rests on his chest, over his vest. I feel my cheeks redden at the absurdity of how much I couldn’t deny my need of him, and he must sense my racing thoughts as he slides his hand into my hair and tilts my head to look back at him.
“You were perfect, you’re so goddamn perfect.” His lips brush against mine before he draws back.
With his gaze locked on mine, he brings his fingers to my mouth. I part my lips instinctively, understanding his silent command and I take his fingers into my mouth, swirling my tongue around them and tasting myself on him, as his eyes darken.
“Taste how you have broken me,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire.
In this moment, I realize how I am utterly, unequivocally entangled in his darkness.
Twenty-Eight
Liam
Once we got home from the boat, my orders were to check all the suites below deck. My guys didn’t find any poker games, but they found one girl, her wrist attached to the bed frame, drugged up and terrified. We immediately took care of her, and I set up a doctor, passport, and everything else she’ll need. I am giving these girls their hope back in a matter of days, instead of making them wait years for a justice system that will barely listen to their truths.
Maybe she’s right to follow this poker lead—but not without me. I can’t lose another person who gives my existence meaning.
Joe had been there my whole life, and now he is gone. His absence eating me up through flesh and bones, and fuck, grief can feel insurmountable.
I failed him, I failed so hard, and when Sara mentioned she was on the boat for the poker games, while I was there to search for trafficked girls, leading us both at the same place, I realized I may have missed something Joe was doing and didn’t let me in on. Joe and I had worked together saving these girls, and perhaps he found a connection I hadn’t come across yet, until now, until Sara discovered that briefcase under his bed.
I knock twice at the bathroom door between us. I want to shield Sara from all this ugliness, but I also need her help to understand these poker games. These games that I think connect to trafficking.
“Are you okay? Please tell me you’re not hurting yourself, Sara, please,” I ask.
When I hear nothing from the other side, I’m tempted to break the door open.
“…I’m okay,” she mumbles as I hear the electronic toothbrush, her voice breaking. Fuck. I can’t handle her distress when I’m not the source of her anguish.
The door flies open and she stumbles, strands of her hair flying with the movement.
“I always forget this door isn’t as heavy as I think it is. I was fixing my mascara.”
“You did look like a little raccoon.” I smirk, holding out my hand.
“Whose fault?” she asks, reminding how I dunked her in the jacuzzi, and I pull her close to my chest, kissing the top of her head.
“You just needed a little sense knocked back into you before unraveling on me.”
She punches my shoulder and wiggles free, stalking toward the kitchen. “Oh, shut up.”
I can’t help but grin at this beautiful, feisty girl. I prowl up behind her and reel her back against me, gripping her waist. Her silk dress was now all dried up, and her heels still making her pocket size.
“Stop taunting me. You loved it.” I wrap my arms around her as she rests her head on my shoulder. I inhale her, this intoxication getting the best of me.
“You’re clinically psychotic.” She laughs quietly, eyes shut, looking peaceful for the first time tonight.
“You can’t say I didn’t warn you.” I nip at her ear, holding her tighter. Closer.
While I may have gone too far dunking her head underwater, my primal anger and fear, stemming from the idea that she could’ve easily been taken away from me, frayed my ever-ending nerves. I lost my cool, my mind. The thought ripped open that same black void I fell into when Joe died. It's that same crushing weight that makes each breath feel like drowning.
Now I understand why Joe felt the need to envelop her in his desperate attempt to love and be loved. She would’ve given herself to him until the end of time, I know she would have, because Sara is loyal to a fault and I see her walk through life wanting to cling to anything that is worth her loyalty. It’s been repeatedly taken away from her, not only taken from her, but left her thinking it was her fault.
I have repeated the same cycle, re-traumatizing her by telling her Joe’s death was her doing. Deep down, I don’t believe it, but he was looking for her, and now this sinking feeling that he was in trouble is creeping in.
I miscalculated what she would come to mean to me in the months I’ve had her by my side. I didn’t realize I’d get hit by afull freight train when the lies about my feelings for her became easier to process than resisting her.
