Page 97

But it also makes sense. Micah is so possessive and can be extremely insecure. It brings liquid heat to my core, thinking of how much I own him, too. However, it pales in comparison to what he made me endure when I saw him with Naomi.

A dark smile plays on my lips. “You’re so fucking jealous,” I say, which causes his thrusts to deepen. I brush the hair from his face so I can see the soft shadow in his eyes and tilt my head toward him. “But James isn’t the one you need to worry about.”

This catches his attention.

“London,” he warns. “Don’t fucking do that to me.”

I scratch his back as he continues to fuck me in typical Micah fashion. He’s not soft, and multiple orgasms roll through me as he keeps his hand on my mouth and my legs wrap around him. I moan profusely as he moves his lips to my neck, grazing his teeth across my skin.

“I’ll give these marks to you every night if I have to, sweetheart. Then, every time they look at you, they will know who you belong to.”

I’m breathless, overwhelmed by the intense emotions he stirs within me as he vigorously pleasures me with pain. Biting me. Punishing me.

When I’ve finally had enough, he pulls his lips off. A satisfied expression covers his face as he admires the black marks etched on my body.

“Fucking. Mine,” he growls. He then arches his soft, dark eyebrows, keeping his heavy gaze on me. “Say it, baby.”

“I’m yours, Micah,” I whisper as his heart beats against mine, savoring the steady rhythm in his chest. A moment of anger edges its way back into my heart, and I dig my fingernails into his back, which only cranks him up.

I kiss his mouth, and he nibbles on my lip, making me forget any sensation other than his softness and his muscled arms as he pins me to the ground.

No anger, pain, or sadness—or how fucking scared I am. For a few minutes, it’s just him, and I forget everything else, including the pain in my hand, my ripped heart, and my fucked-up hallucinogenic mind. I quit caring what the others will think about the deep marks on my neck or if they can hear the moans coming from me.

We climax together, and when he finishes, he rolls off me and pulls me against him.

I’m not sure when I started crying, but he wipes my tears with his thumb and kisses the bridge of my nose. Then, I swear, he is asleep within thirty seconds.

I stare at the sky, unable to breathe or process what just happened. After a few long minutes, he finally says, “I thought I fucking lost you.” He says it so softly that I wonder if he even said it at all. I’m not sure he’s even conscious as his eyes remain closed.

He almost did lose me… and still might have. I get lost staring at him, and the tears pour out of me because I thought I lost him, too.

It takes ten minutes for my heart rate to settle, and luckily, sleep eludes me. I turn to face him and take him in. He is so familiar now, just like Maison once was—every line of his body, the way he breathes, how soft he is when he’s sleeping. Even in this situation, near death, he still looks sexy.

I don’t know what the future will bring, how much food we actually have left, or what we are going to do next, especially with Nigel still out there somewhere.

I’m not sure if I can truly forgive Micah.

Right now, I can’t determine what scares me the most: Nigel lurking in the shadows, potentially watching me at this very moment, the perils of this pretty island, or the guy sleeping beside me, who I love so fully and who I think is out of his damn mind.

Chapter Twenty-One

London

Islip out of bed before Micah wakes up, and somehow, without him noticing. His arm was splayed out on top of me, and he didn’t move it the entire night. His fingers gripped and teased me even in his sleep, pinning me in place. Anytime I moved, he would flinch and pull me in even closer.

Micah passed out in a way I’ve never seen him do—sleeping so soundly. He must’ve been exhausted but didn’t want to admit it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have fallen asleep, so I didn’t want to wake him. At one point in the night, I slipped into a semi-conscious state. But whenever I closed my eyes, I was plagued with nightmares, so I tried not to close them and focused on the flames instead. I stared at those flames twirling in the night, trying to ignore the images that haunt me.

Blood, crooked smiles, bone weapons and spears, dark chestnut eyes under a dark hood, and fishing wire. Severed hands and argyle.

I dared not close my eyes again. Keeping them open was better, even though the shadows played tricks on my mind and I kept thinking I saw a figure staring back at me. When I looked back, it was gone.

The temperature dropped, and we had no shelter, but Micah kept me warm. I got up a few times to put new logs into the fire to keep it burning, but I slipped back in beside him and he placed his hand over me again each time.

As I walk down the creek to the spot where Maison is buried, I look in every direction to make sure I’m alone. I’m on high alert, not wanting to become like Ollie—completely unaccounted for. As the sun starts to rise, I can tell the weather is going to be as dreary as my mood. The clouds are thick, and a heavy mist hangs in the air. The trees look as if they belong in a painting with their delicate strokes of evergreen, icy white, and muted gray.

I find the spot with two crossed sticks on the ground—a feeble attempt at marking Maison’s grave but appreciated all the same. I sit with him for a few minutes as tears form in my eyes, but not because I’m grieving his loss. I am slowly coming to terms with that. I’m crying for Micah since he refuses to acknowledge Maison’s death.

He cried out last night when he was asleep, yelling Maison’s name. He was so alert when he did it that I thought for sure he was awake as pure anguish twisted his face. My heart broke for him.