I wanted to talk, for once, but when I approached her this morning while she was gardening, she had her headphones on and seemed distant. I can read a fucking room.
I watched her plant new flowers next to my mom’s, take pictures, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure she sent her artwork to her mom and mine. Yes, apparently now my mom and her have been in contact.
She found her phone number on the fridge under “Emergency” numbers and gracefully asked her if it’d be alright to plant new flowers. My mom immediately said yes, and of course, called me for a whole thirty minutes asking about Sara and if this was serious. She was so excited, and I’d do anything for my mom, so of course I said what any men who loves their mom would say, 'She’s a keeper!' And now I have no intentions to break my mom’s heart.God damn.
I'm not usually one to give space, and lately giving it to her has felt, against all odds, like pulling teeth. I don’t ruminate about killing someone, but I feel like a walking sin in admiring Joe’s girl a lot more than I should. I’ve crossed so many lines already; I don’t even see the line anymore. I’m trying to keep some dignified distance, but at what point does dignity turn into the inevitable?
This disappearing act will not become her specialty because, one step at a time, I’ll make her realize that there’s no one besides me she wants andneeds.
Need. The need. I want her to needme,but we’re toxic in denying what we both clearly want…
Last night anchored that there’s no way I’ll ever get enough of her. There’s no doubt that I've slowly become obsessed with her, and one taste of her is enough to measure a hole in the dirt deep enough to bury a man who’d mistake her for theirs.
My jaw tightens, still reeling from the fact that she left the house, and I don’t know where to. My muscles coil like steel cables beneath my skin.
“Tsk, tsk. Not on my watch.” I massage the tension in my jaw, feeling like I could crush steel.
When I turn, Damien's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, lips curled into that shit-eating grin that makes my fists itch.
“Your little lamb made a run for it?” His eyes dance with amusement. “Want to go be the big, bad wolf?” he says in a mocking voice dripping with satisfaction.
“Shut the fuck up.” I brush past him, shoulder deliberately clipping his, with restraint the only thing keeping his perfect teeth in his mouth.
He straightens his designer shirt, unfazed. “Well, you’re in luck. Dress-up cowboy, Mateo called. Velastra just docked.”
“No shit?” I turn around to look at him and contemplate one more thing as I head to Joe’s, now Sara’s bedroom. “Okay, fill me in, but first, I need your help with something.”
“What now?” Damien rolls his eyes.
“It's a no questions allowed, so shut up and do what I ask.” I say between my teeth.
I wedge my jeep into a prime spot at the port, flashing a mock salute to the harbor officer who frowns at my parking job. Beside me, Damien unfolds from the passenger seat with the casualarrogance of someone who's never been told "no" in his life. Something I can relate to.
The sunlight catches on the intricate artwork crawling up his neck and sprawling across his knuckles like a tapestry of ink that makes everyone and their mother step aside without even realizing they're doing it. Most people see the tattoos and the icy stare and miss everything else.
They don't know that beneath the hardened exterior is someone who once cried watching a documentary about rescue dogs. They certainly don't know about the nights he spent in jail for a crime he didn’t commit and relentlessly assumed he’s had it easy because he’s a trust fund baby. He was framed. We’re still looking for the guy, and until we find him, he is unapologetic about who he is.
I’m already scanning the harbor, luckily, it’s not too crowded. The sleek lines of luxury yachts bob against the horizon, their white hulls gleaming like teeth in a predator's smile.
My pulse quickens, irritation flooding my system not knowing where Sara is. Which reminds me, I can’t believe I haven’t tracked her phone yet. My moral compass is blurry with keeping what’smine, safe.
I see Mateo and his crew of about four guys, and they can easily be mistaken for a swat team, which ironically enough, is discreet in this village considering the appeal it has with millions of tourists and is now to date, one of the most secured villages in Europe. Although even in the most secure places, obscurity can be right under anyone’s nose.
Mateo catches my eye, beckoning me closer with a subtle head tilt. I close the distance between us, my boots heavy against the dock’s white stone. His expression is calm, professional, betraying nothing to casual observers. “Velastra's prepping for a party tonight,” he says in a low voice, handing me a bulletproofvest. The weight of it is familiar, almost comforting. “Put this on. Under your jacket.”
I take it without argument, slipping it beneath my leather jacket. “What kind of party are we talking about?”
“So far, nothing alarming. Elegant gathering, from what we can tell.” His eyes track the yacht's movements. “We’re just observing tonight.”
My jaw clenches. “And we're not raiding because...?”
"We need more than just suspicions, Liam. Let’s tone it down a bit.”
“What’s my say in the matter?” I clench my hands.
“It’s your village, your territory, Liam. I’ll follow your gut feeling, but don’t be stupid. Nothing seems alarming yet.”
I clasp Mateo’s shoulder and nod. When my phone buzzes in my pocket, instinct has me reaching for it while still scanning the harbor.
