Page 59 of Grant’s Flame

In a flash, everything changed about Grant’s demeanor. The set of his shoulders, the stiffness in his spine, even the light sky in his eyes darkened to a deep navy. When he spoke, the unmistakable Dominant tone vibrated through my entire body, and where goose bumps didn’t prickle, little hairs stood on end.

He leveled his question one last time. “Do you remember what I told you?”

“Let’s go, Twombley. Now.” One of the kidnappers barked the command from his position near the door while another jabbed the barrel of his gun in the small of Grant’s back.

“I love you, Blaze. Be brave for me.” Grant kissed the top of my head and quickly moved out of my octopus arms’ reach.

“Grant, please,” I moaned just as I crumpled to the floor. I couldn’t bear to watch him go.

“Get your fucking hands off me. I can walk myself,” I heard Grant growl to one of his captors as they shoved him down the narrow passageway outside our door.

And stole him from me.

“Well, we don’t want you getting any funny ideas,” the leader’s gravelly voice responded.

Soon, footsteps could be heard on the deck above our stateroom, and I scrambled into action. Grant told me to call Elijah or Sebastian as soon as he left, and I wouldn’t let him down. I would do everything in my power to save him. Maybe Elijah could track Grant’s phone as long as the thugs didn’t take it from him. Hopefully he’d had a chance to stash it in an inconspicuous place.

Deep, throaty engines roared to life in the distance, and I scrambled to look out the bulkhead portholes in our cabin to see if I could catch a glimpse of their craft. Unfortunately, the crazy events that had just taken place had completely disoriented me on the time of day. No surprise, then, when I looked outside and saw nothing but pitch-black water and the star-filled sky. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table informed me it was only 4:27 a.m. Now, the sliver of moon deep on the horizon made perfect sense.

At least something did.

I forced myself to stumble into the hallway, needing the mental clarity to form words.

“H-Help.” Right now it was only one word, pathetic and raw and hoarse.

“Help!” Better, but not good enough.

I waited until reaching the deck to try for another, but it wouldn’t be necessary. I stopped in my tracks, confronting five stares that likely matched mine for shell-shocked intent. I almost screamed, thinking our invaders had left behind a sweep team to take care of the crew and me permanently, but I stopped short once I recognized all five of the faces.

And suddenly, horrifyingly, realized there should have been six.

I wasn’t the only one. Leila, a member of the galley crew, shuffled forward like a refugee after a mortar attack. Like everyone else, she was dressed in a T-shirt and light pajama pants. There were still pillow lines across her cinnamon-colored cheeks.

“Harry?” she blurted from quivering lips. “Is he…with you, Ms. Gibson?”

Rio. My name is Rio, goddammit!

It was a scream in my mind, but she didn’t deserve matching treatment from me, especially as her chin wobbled and tears welled in her huge amber gaze. My face must’ve become a billboard for the truth, and it was too late to pull it back.

“Those bastards must’ve taken him too. I’m sorry, you guys. I’m just so—”

I gritted back the rest of it. I couldn’t keep following this tangent of despair. It wouldn’t lead to good places. Or maybe that was up for interpretation. Because just a hallway away, nestled in an interior pocket of my handbag, was an emergency book of matches. And shit, would I qualify this as an emergency. I envisioned the perfect little square now. It was smooth and laminated, branded with a bright red-and-yellow logo of a Seal Beach auto repair place. While having service done on Kendall last month, I saw those little life preservers near the checkout register. I’d felt more relief about those fucking matches than I had about getting my car fixed.

No. No.

Grant needed me more than I needed that fix.

“Pardon?”

Shit. Leila’s dulcet accent was laced with enough confusion to justify that I’d spilled my crazy tea aloud. But not so crazy, if I chose to focus on the part of it that mattered. And right now, I had to fucking focus.

“He needs me.” I swung my newly determined stare around at all of them. “He needs all of us. They both do.” Noticing how my rushed words seemed to jolt all of them out of a collective daze, I scraped together slivers of courage and molded them into a bolder tone. “Has anyone gotten on the radio yet? Isn’t there some kind of an emergency hail we can start sending out? What?” The self-interruption was my choice, blurted as soon as I locked stares with Leila again. “What is it?” I charged, certain she’d start wringing her hands any moment.

“The radio,” she muttered. “It’s…”

“It’s what?”

“Broken,” one of the deckhands supplied. “That’s probably where they found Harry and—”