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The beach is quiet with only the sound of the waves brushing the shore, but I know better than to get complacent.
There's always someone around. There's always a chance that there's a witness lurking in the shadows, but what I've also learned in my line of work is that people are selfish. They’re usually only paying attention to themselves.
She doesn't look concerned. I can tell she doesn't feel unsafe. She isn't looking over her shoulder or pausing to listen to noises made in the distance.
Her ego won't allow it. It's obvious she's been sheltered. She believes in the protection of her two bodyguards, but they are nowhere to be seen now.
Her mistake is stupid, really, this false sense of security. She has the idea that no harm can come her way because there are dozens of people a quarter of a mile down the beach, inside the hotel, but I've seen it happen.
I've seen people disappear right out of thin air with witnesses standing nearby, minding their own business, trapped in their own thoughts. I've seen people watch a full kidnapping unfold and they just stand there blinking as if they can't wrap their head around the idea of what they had just seen, and then they go on about their lives. They don't report it. They don't call the police.
There's a chance of that happening tonight, that someone will be brave enough to say something. I don't want to risk it.
My eyes drift from her to the different shadows on the beach and sand dunes, and although she's not paying attention to the sounds around her, my ears home in as I assess the situation before taking that final step.
This is it, I realize, the single moment in time where I have to decide do or don't, but I already know the answer.
I know that I'm not leaving this beach tonight alone.
What I'm not certain of is what happens after.
I creep along the sand slowly, making my way toward her.
Almost everyone has a sixth sense. They get this feeling in their stomach when they're being watched. Normally, it sets a person on high alert, but when that washes over her and she turns around, facing me for the first time since we were in the surf shop together, she's got that fake smile on her face for a flash of a second.
She thinks that I'm him, the man who left her unprotected on the beach.
I feel a rush of pride when that smile fades, and it thrills me.
Before she can open her mouth to scream, I’m on her, one arm wrapped around low on her back, the other pressing the needle into her neck.
She better pray I don't plan on keeping her for long.
Chapter 4
Raya
Waking up feeling weighed down isn't new for me.
Usually when this happens, I blame the pace of the day before.
I blame the tasks I had to accomplish in a short amount of time.
I blame being tired.
I blame being unhappy.
Today is no different, only it takes longer for clarity to come back to me.
I never get enough rest, but right now is worse than I’ve ever felt. My throat is dry and scratchy as if I spent hours breathing with my mouth hanging open, but I can quickly tell it isn’t an allergy or sinus issue.
I groan, my head throbbing as I roll it on the pillow.
Is this a hangover? If it is, why would anyone ever drink a second time?
I have enough misery in my life. I would never welcome feeling this way.
I feel just off, like I'm not myself today.
