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All we can say is Sullivan Sinclair is a monster when it comes to mankind. A well-known murderer, even if he’s never been convicted. He is a man who is seemingly untouchable.
Slouching in the velvet chair nestled in the office space off the bedroom, I chewed my cheek with worry.
I’d been booted from Sully’s islands. I’d been running around like an alarmist, drunk on panic about his survival. I’d spent his money and remained obsessed with the notion of going back as soon as urgently possible.
Yet…
How was I supposed to turn a blind eye to what he’d done?
How could I accept that he might have killed his parents?
That he’d killed people—plural, not single.
That he bought girls and traded in sex and massacred men and attacked companies and earned a reputation for being an untouchable killer who only showed affection for whiskers and paws.
God…does it make me a stupid, stupid girl to trust her heart over the ink online?
To ignore the articles immortalizing his behaviour, warning me away with bold letters?
Could I honestly trust that he’d never hurt me in the same way?
Trust…
I curled my hands, hating the niggle of indecision and slight whisper of self-preservation.
You’re free.
You can go anywhere.
Do anything.
Go home, be safe, ignore a man who deserves to burn in hell.
But…
Trust…
Trust in your heart.
Trust in your own knowledge of him…not what strangers have written.
Sully had sent me away, knowing full well that I had enough ammunition against him to go to the police. The internet had no mention of his Euphoria or goddesses. I could reveal every dirty, torrid thing he’d done.
Yet…he’d released me because he trusted me.
Because he loves me.
When Sully held me, he told me everything I needed to know.
He was a good person—despite doing bad things.
He deserved someone to fight for him—regardless of his past felonies.
Pika and Skittles loved him.
Cal respected him.
And I…
I have enough sticky-taped faith that he will never hurt me…if he’s still alive.
I didn’t know if I’d regret my decision. I had no idea how I’d find my way back to him or if this would turn out to be the most painful choice of my life. But I did know if I allowed online articles to sway my commitment to him—then I didn’t deserve a happily ever after.
Sully had given me his trust.
Either way…I was going to break it.
And I’d rather break it by going back than by running away when he needed me.
I don’t care what you’ve done, Sully…I only care about what you are.
Swallowing back my hesitation, pushing away the nonsense of leaving him to bullets and his brother, I scooted my chair closer to the computer and typed: Sullivan Sinclair property purchases and locations.
* * * * *
Dawn.
I’d been up all night, going around in circles trying to find Sully’s islands.
Not one hint. Not a single whiff of his location.
The more time passed, the more a chill crept through me that Sully was hurt. I couldn’t explain it—I chalked it up to a racing mind and frustration at getting nowhere—but I had an awful, awful feeling that I was losing him, and there was absolutely nothing I could do.
Sully…why the hell did you send me away knowing I can’t get back to you?
Temper gave me a new surge of energy.
My stomach growled, reminding me this hotel wasn’t like Sully’s villas. Breakfast would not magically appear, all organic and grown on Lebah. Here, I had to call. I had to accept a menu drastically slim on vegetarian options after a smorgasbord of deliciousness.
Ringing the restaurant, I ordered a bowl of muesli and local fresh fruit. Once my requests had been noted, I hung up and stared at the phone.
A phone.
I’d wanted access to one of these since I’d woken in my villa the morning after Sully gave me elixir. He’d made me sign a contract that I’d sleep with one-hundred-and-ninety-two men, and here I was, ignoring all that by fighting to go back to him.
Snatching the phone, I dialled for an outside line.
I rang my father over my mother.
Ever since their divorce, my mother and I had slowly drifted apart while my father and I grew closer.
A ring sounded in my ear.
Ah, wait, I should’ve thought up a story!
What the hell am I going to—
“Hello?”
I flinched, ready for his tears, his shock, his anger at my letter sent from the traffickers, the note I’d asked them to deliver on my behalf that I’d run away for love and not to worry. How ironic that it’d become real. “Dad…it’s me. Eleanor.”
“Ellie!” His bark of surprise hurt my eardrum. “Oh, my word. What are you playing at? Leaving it over a month before calling your old man?”
“Ha-have the police been looking for me?”
“Police?” My father, Ross Grace, cleared his throat in suspicion. “Why in the world would the police be after you?”
I frowned. “You weren’t looking for me? You didn’t get a note from the traf—” I cut myself off. “From Scott?”
