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Home.

Christ, I missed my sand, my sea, my sunshine.

The only way I’d be going home was in a body bag.

Shaking off my stinking self-pity, I caught his shrewd stare and cocked my chin at the door. “Thank you for your loyalty. My lawyer will be in touch.”

“Sleep well, Sinclair.” He left and closed the door.

The moment he was gone, I collapsed onto the mattress and pinched the bridge of my nose again. This time I added nails, driving into the cartilage, causing more pain because I had no way of bleeding out the agony.

Fuck!

Drake was dealt with.

Eleanor was safe.

My animals were safe.

Our future could’ve been…happy.

Rubbing my eyes, I removed my lenses and earbuds from Euphoria then repeated the process and freed Eleanor from hers. Looking at her, so vulnerable and worn out, I fought the indescribable urge to crawl under the blanket and hold her.

Happy.

I’d wanted that.

I’d wanted her to teach me how to embrace joy instead of justice.

But after what I’d done to Drake. And what I’d done to purchased women and rented souls… I doubted I’d ever see her again.

Certainly not in heaven and definitely not in reincarnation—if such realms existed. She was destined for wings. Either as an angel or as a bird—free to soar the skies.

Me?

I was destined for hellfire or the life of a creature that had to creep and crawl.

Stroking the delicate contour of her cheek, I sighed. I wish I deserved you.

Shadows crept over my vision, whispering of sleep and rest. My fingers tingled from touching her, the never-ending hum of our bond.

It would be so easy to slip. To sleep and gather my strength beside her, so I could say my physical goodbye, but…I still had one last thing to do before I could allow myself any final indulgences.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I pulled up a new email and typed:

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: New Will and Testament.

To Elliot,

It seems I have need of updating my Will and Testament. Please amend the bulk of my fortune to be gifted between Ms. Eleanor Grace and Mr. Calvin Moor. My islands are to be bequeathed to Ms. Eleanor Grace. Sinclair and Sinclair Group to Mr. Calvin Moor. The animal charities I have already donated to will receive fifteen percent of everything with the remaining stocks, shares, and savings to be split equally between the two individuals mentioned.

Ownership of my two caiques, Skittles and Pika, are hereby transferred to Ms. Eleanor Grace.

Please also include amendments to ensure Mr. Calvin Moor makes a two-million-dollar donation to Jessica Townsend, if she survives.

Please accept these new conditions as they are made while I am of sound body and mind.

Thank you for your services throughout the years.

Yours sincerely,

Sullivan Sinclair.

I pressed send.

Standing, I stripped my clothing, keeping my grunts of agony as quiet as I could.

Only once I was naked did I let down my guards and allow exhaustion to find me.

With the heaviest sigh of a man saying goodbye to everything he’d hoped to be worthy of, I slipped under the blanket and pulled Eleanor close.

I kissed her hair.

I inhaled her orchid and island scent.

I loved her.

I missed her.

I slept.

Chapter Eleven

I OPENED MY EYES.

No villa rafters or Skittles.

No muggy heat or soft waves.

Where am I?

I blinked and looked around the room. A large space with wraparound doors leading to an expansive deck. Light grey walls, whitewash blue drapes, and a pressed steel ceiling glittering silver in the moonlight.

Snow fell.

As it blanketed the world, it reminded me we weren’t in the tropics one icy flake at a time.

I shivered as a breeze slipped over my skin.

So that was what woke me.

A chill.

No, not just a chill…the removal of a large comforting presence who’d held me while I’d slept.

Sully.

My heart stuttered and rejoiced. Energy gathered to throw myself across the mattress and hug him.

But…I stilled.

My heart hiccupped and mourned. I lay in the shadows and drank in the man who’d bought me, broke me, and set me free. A man I would love for eternity…through thick or thin, rich or poor, sickness or health. A man who looked as if he was about to test that last promise and see if was strong enough to hold on to him.

Instincts had been given to all creatures, wild and domestic, to keep them alive. A sixth sense that whispered all wasn’t well, even if your eyes and ears told you otherwise.

Those instincts yelled too loudly now.

Sully was alive. My eyes told me so.

But…something had happened.

Something he couldn’t undo, and I couldn’t stop.

A new enemy neither of us could fight.

He sat on the edge of the bed in the snow-cast moonlight, his nakedness revealing so many mottled and marred bruises. His spine bowed, his torso a patchwork of cuts, scrapes, and punishments at the hands of Drake.

I gasped at what he’d lived through.

I wept for every talisman of pain he wore and the utter defeat of his rolled, sculptured shoulders. This wasn’t the same man who’d stood high on his sandy throne and couldn’t take his eyes off me as I’d arrived on his islands. This wasn’t the same mogul who’d yanked me from a bath and kissed me as if he’d die from not taking me.

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