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Rhea looks up to me from where she’s gathering the discarded linens, her agitation obvious on her face. We don’t do this to each other. We don’t fight, we don’t lie, we don’t keep secrets other than the things from our pasts that we never divulged to one another. But she has been my lifeline, my everything these last three years. I was so broken when we met, and she helped heal me. Someone has tried to break me again—maybe even the universe this time—and if I’m going to get past it, I need to come clean.
Half of the story is not mine to tell. I won’t betray Remy’s trust, even though Rhea is my priority. I can’t be the reason she has to question her entire life. I can’t be the reason he has to worry about how she will move forward. I’ll support him if he decides to divulge the truth about their family business and the Boudreaux’s wicked legacy, but until he does, I’ll give her my truth.
“I need to talk to you.”
The slight narrowing of her eyes hurts a little, but her suspicion isn’t unfounded. She sighs, dropping the linens on the table and then cracks a smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”
When she reaches my side, she nudges me gently in the ribs. Laughing, we leave Elaine with her dark eyes following us… but not before I nick my champagne off the table. I’m going to need it.
Rhea turns toward the staircase, but I shake my head and pull her toward the back door. I don’t want to be in my room. It’s beautiful, comfortable, clean. But it’s started to feel like a cage.
“Where are we going?” She asks, suspicion coloring her tone as I pull her outside, away from the patio and in the direction of the trees. “I know you’re annoyed with me, Claire, but you don’t have to kill me.”
I laugh hard enough that it actually does hurt my stomach. The pain is dulled by the buzzy feeling of the alcohol in my veins, but I take it as a sign to slow down a little. The last thing I need to do is re-injure myself and end up stuck in that damn bed again. Not now that I feel more alive than I have in… I don’t know how long.
“I thought you were the one who said you wanted to go hiking?”
“Oh, the itinerary went out the window after—”
“After I got myself kidnapped?” I chuckle.
Saying it with such a lightheartedness feels good. It’s all so fucking heavy. Now that I feel it lifting off my shoulders just a little, I want to keep laughing it off. Every time I do, the burden eases just a little and I regain some control of the breath in my chest. And God does this prosecco help. It feels like the bubbles are in my veins, like I can float away from all of it.
“Claire, that’s not—”
“It’s what happened.” I laugh. “Come on, we’re almost there.”
Leaving the light behind us, I pull her toward the boardwalk. When we step under the canopy of trees, the night gets inky dark, and every sound seems amplified by the echoing treetops arching high overhead. I don’t recognize all of the sounds, though I can certainly hear the crickets screaming their nighttime symphony.
“I haven’t been this way in ages.” Rhea says, stepping closer to me as we walk side-by-side.
We could have sat on the porch, but I’m craving the freedom of the open ocean. Watching it from a distance wouldn’t give me the solace I need to get through this, and if we’d walked along the shore, I wouldn’t be able to hold the composure Rhea deserves. I can’t fall apart, because if I do, she will follow me, and then I’ll only feel worse about it.
When the path opens ahead of us, I see that my assessment was correct. The moon is full and low, pale but bright enough to illuminate the sky and the water. It drives away the darkness, the feeling of imprisonment, the heaviness in my heart.
“Nice boat.” Rhea says, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. Her lips are creeping into a mischievous grin. “Tell me he keeps a key on here.”
“I don’t know.” I laugh. “Can you even drive a boat?”
“Of course I can drive a boat.” She scoffs, like that’s the thing you learn to do after you learn to walk but before you begin reciting your ABC’s.
“Of course you can.” I agree with a grin.
Because there’s nothing she can’t do.
Chapter nineteen
Remy
They’re already pushing the door of the guest house open by the time I burst through my front door and spot them. I’m sure that Wes is waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike, smart enough to know that they can outdraw him in seconds. Dimitri and Michael are both trained, and while I don’t know the extent of Wes’ resume, I think pretty boy is used to being a shot-caller and not doing the dirty work. And lucky for me he is, because he botched things with Claire’s kidnapping, which allowed me to find her before they could get far.
I cross the yard in less than a minute and burst in behind them. My entrance catches everyone by surprise—a surprise that Wes uses to his advantage. He gets in a quick slice at Michael’s neck, catching him off guard enough that he drops his grip on Wes’ other arm and raises his hands to cover the wound. I don’t even have a chance to see how deep it is because Michael’s thick hands obscure it and blood seeps out over his fingertips, dripping quickly onto the carpet.
I stare at Wes, fury setting me on fire. I left the house quickly enough that I didn’t bring any sort of protection with me, but that knife doesn’t scare me. What scared me was this monster sitting next to my sister at dinner, thinking he’d outplayed me. It’s Rhea they were after when they got Claire, so neither of them is safe. For all I know, he sat through Elaine’s dinner while scheming exactly how he was going to try and hurt them.
I won’t let that happen.
Dimitri has already drawn his gun—he cocks it at Wes’ head and takes a step closer, but Wes isn’t stupid. He’s got one of my knives still pressed against Michael’s throat, though further to the side this time, a vulnerable spot that Michael’s hands can’t conceal. I can see the white ripple of his skin as Wes digs the tip into his flesh enough that a single slip would cause the blade to slice into him again.
