Page 82 of Bound

No. Nothing would be right, ever again—starting with the lowlife reflected at him from the lagoon’s wind-whipped waters. The medal-wearing champion for elite-level assholery. The jerk who’d told his submissive it had to be over but then nearly rutted on her like a sea lion cornering his cow on a rock.

And now, the tool who sat here on his ass instead of going after her. Not to push at her anymore. Just to ensure she got back safely to the civilized part of this joint. But he was too pathetic for that. Too mired in the anxiety he battled to quell. The nerves he fought with painful lungfuls of breath. Without all that, he likely would’ve been rocking his head back to laugh. As she’d already said with such vivid glory, she lived here. Once upon a time, as in a few hours ago, she’d even offered to take him on a tour of the castle tunnels.

It’d be a miracle if he found his own way out now, much less to a place where borrowable clothes could be found. Might serve him right if that wasn’t the case. Begging a flight out of here with his johnson in hand was starting to sound like poetic justice.

In the end—or what felt like the agonizing equivalent—fate was merciful. After following the tunnel on the other side of the lagoon, he quickly found his way back to ground level and then onto a circular panel that rotated into a women’s bathroom. By that point, he was practically past the concern about his nudity.

Fortunately, there was only one person using the place, and she giggled when he appeared. The woman pointed at his package with slurred commentary, making him vow to never again complain about drunk co-eds celebrating summer break by hunting down Bastille’s address. Not even after their thirtieth plea for a hot Seattle billionaire to put them in his red “bad girl” cuffs.

Luckily, the bathroom’s cleaning closet was unlocked. A pair of janitor’s coveralls fit everywhere but his shoulders and crotch, but beggars sure as hell couldn’t be choosers.

He hoped Evrest and Samsyn’s celebratory moods matched that of his friend from the bathroom. As soon as they approved his request to catch the next available air transport, he’d be off this island for good. He didn’t care where the damn thing was bound for. He was after mercy right now, for both Jayd and him.

The woman—and her pleas and her tears—were right. They couldn’t keep doing this to each other. Sealing the bond tighter was only making it shittier to break.

As in next to impossible.

Funny, how every step he took back to the commissary felt the same way.

But every wince was his own damn fault. From abandoning his cane on the beach with his clothes, to toughing out the hike from the lagoon, to ensuring that every physical pain corresponded to the stabs from his spirit, he was a corporeal and cerebral mess before clearing even half of the palais’s massive main foyer.

Seemed coincidence wasn’t ready to let him finish the trip either.

He stopped without grace, nearly slamming to his ass when realizing he wasn’t alone in this part of the building. But that alone wasn’t what lit up every hair on the back of his neck.

This was a public section of the palais. Though the hour was late, there should’ve been some more stragglers from the celebration he’d escaped nearly an hour ago. But the footsteps, which echoed everywhere and nowhere at once, were too certain and determined for drunk Arcadian revelers.

Brick tucked behind a corner pillar, already calling himself twenty kinds of a paranoid idiot. Still, he kept the effort swift but silent—not a simple feat when one was hustling a hundred and fifteen kilos on bare feet. Still, unable to shake his strange instinct, he stayed frosty for anything to repurpose into a weapon.

Paranoid. Idiot.

But if Oz, Jag, and their green-bearded pal hadn’t caught everyone back in the forest, perhaps the palais had a few unwanted visitors now. And even if they had contained all the French force members, nothing was stopping more Pura zealots from taking up the mission in Carris’s absence—with their eyes on one prize. No, two. Recovering Carris would only be their first stop. The asshole would never accept freedom without Jayd in tow. Not after all the defeats he’d been served in Paris.

Damn. With an imagination like this, he should’ve been submitting scripts to Hollyweird.

At least he hoped it was all fiction, even as he kept up his visual recon of the area.

Could he pry away this pillar for use as a battering ram? Negative. Likely holding up part of the ceiling.

Waist-high planter pot? Excellent. Check.

Small marble fountain and perimeter statues? Also excellent. Check.

Iron wall sconces? Doable in an extreme pinch. Check again.

Christ. Why did he think this was going to become an extreme pinch? And where was a main hall full of palace-type knick-knacks when he needed it?

No time for ruminating that answer.

Very much time for holding off these cheeky connards, here and now. With any luck, they’d be in the mood to rock the rafters in return. Lots of loud boom-booms felt like such a perfect plan right now.

“Halt in the name of His High Majesty King Evrest of Arcadia!”

At once, the newcomers paused their advance.

Paused.

Just as quickly, the footsteps restarted. Double the pace. Triple the purpose.