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“I wasn’t about to leave you by yourself.” I wander through the doorway and glance around, noticing the opulence of the place despite no one knowing that she’s here. “It’s still nice.”
Memories surface of the night she almost died. That awful retching sound she made over the toilet haunts my worst nightmares, the suspended noise a horrific symphony that plays over the image of her face going white and her body slackening in my arms. It’s not until she grabs my bicep that I realize I’ve been staring at the bathroom where she was brought back to life.
I shake my head. “Sorry.”
“I know,” she whispers while shivering. Her fingers tighten on my arm. “I thought about that, too.”
“How are you feeling?”
She shrugs, gesturing to the kitchenette situated just next to the bathroom. Beyond that is a small bedroom, cozy with modern furniture and fluffy blankets. All the curtains are drawn. I don’t blame her.
“I’m okay,” she admits while setting a kettle on the stove. “I’ve been hiding here for a minute. Amos is none the wiser.”
“Surely somebody on the grounds knows you’re here.”
She frowns. “One of the maids, Julie, has been bringing me meals and cleaning up for me. I use the path leading to the edge of the property to come and go. It’s been a nightmare, but it’s better than the boat.”
“How could this possibly be better than the boat?” The place isn’t tiny, but it isn’t as grand as the ship where Parker has the cabinets stocked up like it’s doomsday. “You’re running a risk of getting caught here. Doesn’t Amos have security combing this place hard core?”
“Yeah, but…”
I cross the room and touch her elbow lightly. “But what, doll? How is this better? You’ll be safer on the ship. You’ll be with Parker and—” My lips seal tightly together. “Oh…”
“Yeah, I don’t want to be around Parker right this second.”
“I thought things were better.”
She takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, turning toward the whistling kettle to lift it from the stove. While pouring the hot water carefully into a couple of mugs, she shakes her head. “Things are better than they used to be.”
Shit, that’s right.
Our origins aren’t exactly savory. I’m forced to recall the way we cornered her in that stairwell, how we manipulated her, how we contributed to her pain without taking into account the challenges she faced—that she continues to face.
“Baby doll?” I whisper while touching her shoulder. She sets the kettle in the sink and turns to me. “I’m sorry.”
Her brows furrow. “For what?”
“Your life hasn’t been easy. The guys and I made that a lot worse, didn’t we?”
She hesitates for a second, biting her lower lip while looking at the ground. After a second, she nods. “You did.”
“I’m so sorry for that. I’m sorry for all the things I did to you.”
“It’s in the past, Tommy. I just want—”
I cup her face and force her to meet my gaze, observing how gorgeous those dark pools look with my reflection staring back at me. “It might be in the past, Alex, but that doesn’t mean I can’t apologize for it. So, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hurt you like that. I shouldn’t have let the others hurt you like that. None of us should have treated you like a piece of meat.”
Her lower lip curls and then quivers, eyes glossing over as she wraps her arms around my shoulders. I cradle her to my chest and nuzzle into her hair, the scent of vanilla with a hint of chamomile overwhelming my nostrils and making my knees weak. Everything about her makes me want to be different, to stand in between her and danger. Being the cause of her pain hurts me in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
And I intend never to do that again.
I run my fingers through her hair as she nestles deeper into my chest, fingers curling into my shoulders as she clings to me. The world fades into the background as I close my eyes and listen to her steady breathing, the sound mingling with the soft, rhythmic flow of water coming from the pool room.
“We should go see what he’s doing,” she whispers. She adjusts her position, placing her chin on my chest to peer up at me. “Amos—I’ve been meaning to check, but I didn’t want to go alone.”
“I’ll go with you.”
She nods and turns to the counter, resuming her preparation of honey-chamomile tea. I accept a mug from her and settle in at the round table, studying her controlled, calculated motions and the cool demeanor she wears on her face. She’s so much different from the frightened girl I met last year.
