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Yunho cleared his throat as he walked back in. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. He was smiling and very much not sorry. He took two bags from the dining table. “I had these delivered this morning. I was going to show you where the laundry was, but honestly, I think the clothes you’re both wearing are only fit for burning.”
Right, then.
Asher chuckled. “I think he’s trying to tell us we smell.”
“Not you exactly,” Yunho amended. “But the clothes...”
Harry looked at his jeans. They were kinda gross. “What do you mean, these smell? It’s just blood spatter and seven hours on a cargo ship with two hundred goats and then four days working in the sun with Pakistani farmers.”
Asher laughed and held his side. “Ow. Was it goats? On the ship? I think I remember the smell.”
Harry nodded. “We slept in one of the holding pens.”
“Nice.”
Yunho brought the bags to them. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. Help yourself to whatever you want, treat my house as your own.”
So they got changed into clean clothes, which Harry had to admit made him feel brand new. Yunho had good taste too, and he chose the perfect size. Now wearing shorts and shirts, they found two lounge chairs in the shaded garden overlooking the...
“What ocean is that?” Harry asked.
“The Andaman,” Asher replied. “This island is technically part of Thailand but it’s very close to the Myanmar islands.”
“I can’t believe he owns a freaking island.”
Asher smiled sleepily. “He’s very good at what he does. And he gives a great deal of funding to local schools and libraries on the bigger islands. He funds an orphanage on the mainland.”
“And he’s never left the island?”
“No. Not for years.”
Harry sighed. It was hard to get his head around. The house was nicer than any five-star hotel, the ocean was the colour of blue jelly, the sand so white it didn’t look real. But he’d never left?
Clearly whatever he’d gone through in his home country, his reason for defecting, hadn’t been good.
“At least he’s got the gardens and beaches he can walk here,” Asher added, his eyes now closed. “He’s not confined.”
Confined.
Confined.
Harry was sure that was the operative word. The reason for Yunho’s agoraphobia. The reason, the trauma.
God, were they all messed up?
Asher had nightmares most nights. He didn’t wake up. He just mumbled in different languages and flinched a lot.
Harry wasn’t sure what his own trauma was. Maybe the fact he was so detached, he could kill people without a second thought. He wanted to kill Parrish. And not just kill, he wanted him to suffer.
Maybe that was something he should think about...
Harry must have dozed off because he woke with a start, knowing someone was watching him. He sat up and reached for his gun, which he did not have on him.
“Woah,” Lucas said, taking a few steps back. He grimaced apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t realise you were asleep.”
Harry scrubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry.” He noticed two things: Asher was still asleep, and Lucas was holding an iPad. “Did you need something?”
“I thought you might like to see this,” Lucas said, handing the iPad over. “It’s been translated.”
