by Kyla Stone
Gabriel leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. His expression was placid, his eyebrows cocked in mild curiosity. “Zhang is a piece of trash. He's looking for someone to blame. I don't have a thing to do with any drugs. Why would I?”
Micah wanted desperately to believe him, but the evidence told him otherwise. It explained so much. The hushed conversations. The way Gabriel’s face would harden at some innocuous question or comment, shutting Micah out for no reason. “Then you won't have a problem when I report this to the captain.”
“You need to follow the chain of command and report to Chief Security Officer Schneider.”
“Schneider is in on it.” Micah watched his brother’s face. There was the barest twitch of the muscle in his jaw, a hint of anxiety around his eyes. “But you know that.”
“I know nothing of the sort. It's against protocol to break the chain of command. You'll be disciplined—if they don’t just kick you off at the next port.”
Micah bit the inside of his cheeks. He forced his voice to sound confident. “I'm going to Captain Liebenberg tonight. If you're clean, you don't have anything to worry about.”
Two crew members walked by. Micah edged out of the way to let them pass.
Gabriel’s hands balled into fists. The harsh florescent lights flickered, highlighting the shadows beneath his eyes. “You know how many people would be affected by this? A dozen crew fired, and what are their families going to do? They'll starve. These guys are just trying to earn a living, Micah. You know what it's like now.”
“I know.” He remembered how hard their parents worked just to keep the electricity going and food on the table. But even at the worst times, his mom never hurt anyone. Even his father, always so angry and defeated, only took Silk, never sold it. “It’s breaking the law.”
Gabriel made an exasperated sound. “You don't get it. The law is nothing but a weapon the elite use to oppress the rest of us.”
“Don’t you remember Dad?” Micah’s voice cracked. “I'm going to report it, with or without you.”
Micah turned and walked away. He prayed his brother would stay silent. He clung to a thread of hope that he was wrong, that somehow Gabriel wasn't involved. Maybe Zhang was lying. Everything could continue as it had been, his brother still his best friend.
He hadn't gone five steps when Gabriel spoke. “Stop.”
Micah turned and faced him.
“You turn in those drugs, and you're turning me in, too.”
Micah’s heart cracked open inside his chest. All the things he wanted to say—Why? How could you do this? How could you lie to me?—stuck in his throat. “I have to.”
“You don't have to do anything, brother. I promise you, it's for a good cause.”
“I have to,” he repeated. The rest of the English language had suddenly deserted him.
“No, you don’t. You’re a good person, Micah. That’s what I love about you. But I need you to trust that I’m a good person, too.”
His brother was a good person. He knew it in his deepest heart. But Gabriel was also a hothead. He’d joined the New Patriots, always railing against the corrupt government. He got in fights at school. And he’d put that boy from the park in a hospital all those years ago.
Micah still winced at the memory of what Gabriel did because of him, for him. An act of violence Micah couldn’t condone. But Gabriel’s actions always protected something or someone else.
But this was different. None of it made any sense. “That doesn’t make what you’re doing any less wrong. Don’t you see that?”
“It’s easy for you. Some people can afford to only see things in black and white. The rest of us can’t do that.”
“Right and wrong is black and white.” His mom taught him to do the right thing, even when it hurt. Be good, she’d tell Micah, squeezing his hand. Be brave. They were the last words she’d spoken to him in the hospital. God has plans for you, my son. Be good. Be brave.
Gabriel’s mouth hardened. “Do you have my back or not?”
Micah hesitated.
Gabriel’s gaze pinned him. “It's just you and me. Just us.”
“Always,” Micah forced out, his throat gritty.
“See? I knew you’d come through. You always do.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. He stared at Gabriel but couldn’t read him, not anymore. If he ever really could.
Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck. “Look. I’ve got work. I know you'll do the right thing. Trust in the greater good.”
He spoke with such confidence, such certainty. But Micah felt anything but certain. He teetered on the edge of a gaping hole, about to fall. “Gabriel—”
But his brother’s expression closed, slamming shut like a door. He sauntered down the corridor and disappeared around the corner.
Micah walked through the ship as if in a daze, smiling on cue, greeting the passengers, laughing at a crew member’s joke.
And all the while, the secret smoldered like a burning coal behind his eyes.
6
Amelia
Someone was watching her. The back of Amelia’s neck prickled.
She swung around, scrutinizing the dancing couples, the clusters of people talking and laughing, the circulating wait staff, everyone exquisitely dressed for her father’s Prosperity Summit gala. It was in the Grand Ballroom, located above the bridge, over thirteen stories above the waterline. The room rotated, offering spectacular 360-degree views. On every side, the floor-to-ceiling windows revealed endlessly blue water, like the sky turned upside down.
She caught sight of Jericho standing stiffly near the entrance next to a few other security officers, his usual frown etched on his face. A few yards away, Gabriel Rivera chatted with a waiter. His skin was dark bronze, and his straight black eyebrows and scruffy goatee gave him a serious, brooding look. He met her gaze for a moment and flashed her a simpering grin.
She looked away, heat creeping up her cheeks. She’d seen him a dozen times over the last few days. Each time, he’d sauntered over to chat, so handsome and charismatic, his gaze intense and disconcerting. She kept thinking about that lopsided grin, that dimple in his left cheek.
The feeling came again. Stronger, and deeply unsettling. Someone was watching her. And it wasn’t Gabriel Rivera. She turned with a frown, searching the room.
A burly ship’s officer leaned against the wall near the entrance. He had a smug, oily face and reptilian eyes. He smiled at her, slow and lecherous, his mouth bristling with teeth. His gaze slithered up and down her body.
Her stomach lurched. She was accustomed to a certain amount of looking. She was used to being scrutinized, leered at. But this was different.
This man’s gaze was a cold blade sliding between her ribs. It felt like he was invading her, opening her up, turning her inside out. This guy didn't want her; he wanted to hurt her.
A sinking sensation gripped her. She smoothed her cream chiffon gown with trembling fingers. She was surrounded by people. She had no reason to be afraid.
A floating tray laden with delicacies drifted by. “Would you care for some prosciutto cheese and melon appetizers?” offered the tray’s cultured, disembodied voice. Amelia waved it away with a flick of her wrist. Her appetite had disappeared.
“I hope you’re enjoying our sixth annual Prosperity Summit,” her father boomed to the expectant crowd. He stood proud and commanding on the raised dais in the center of the ballroom as he gave his speech. Amelia barely listened. She’d heard it all before. “To BioGen, to the Coalition, to the Safe and Secure Act and to the prosperity of this great country!”
Everyone applauded enthusiastically. Yet tension buzzed through the room like an electric current. Shame gnawed at her. She’d failed with Senator López. She'd done her best and still screwed up. She felt brittle, hollowed out. Like everything was all her fault.
She forced herself to return to her duties, drifting around the room, extolling the virtues of her father's leader
ship and singing the praises of CEOs, financial czars, corporate sponsors, and senators. She giggled enthusiastically at jokes, pausing to bestow compliments and accept them with fluttering lashes and flushed cheeks.
She knew how to act. She was her father’s daughter.
She scanned the ballroom for that awful man again but didn't see him. He must have slipped out. The thought of his malevolent gaze made her skin crawl. She pushed thoughts of his viper eyes out of her mind and paused to refill her drink.
Declan Black strode across the room and seized her arm. His expression was flat, his mouth pressed into a thin, bloodless line. “Come with me.”
He squeezed her elbow as he escorted her out into the foyer, away from the crowd, before whirling on her. “I had planned to announce the support of Senator López tonight. Did I not ask you to put him in a favorable mood?”
Her mouth went dry. “I tried. You heard him. He doesn’t—”
“You tried? It was a simple request, Amelia. Did you really try?”
She went rigid. “I’m sorry, I tried to—”
His steely gaze bored into her. “Do you enjoy making me look like a fool?”
Her heart thudded in her ears. She could barely hear herself think. She could barely think at all. “No. Of course not.”
“You’re simply careless and irresponsible, then?”
“I tried to talk—”
His lip curled in derision. “You tried.”
“He had his mind made up, how could I—”
“You thought you would play me for a fool, is that it?”
Her breath left her lungs. “Father—”
“Instead of charming Senator López, you turn him against me?” He towered over her, his nostrils flaring, contempt etched across his face. “Are you trying to sabotage me?”
She shrank back against the wall, wilting before his scorn, fear making her small and stupid. “I would never—”
“You’ve been such a disappointment to me. You and your brother both. Spoiled, ungrateful little—”
“Excuse me, sir,” Gabriel Rivera said from the ballroom doorway. “Your head of security, Ed Jericho, is asking for you.”
The mask slid into place, the disdain melting from Declan Black’s face in an instant. His expression shifted to polite reserve as he straightened his diamond cuff links. “Thank you for informing me.”
He strode back into the ballroom without a backward glance at Amelia.
“Are you okay?” Gabriel asked.
Her hands trembled. She hid them behind her back. “Sorry, ah—he’s under a lot of stress. And I made a mistake—”
He cocked his head. “I didn’t eavesdrop on your conversation. Just—you look miserable.”
She blushed and rubbed her charm bracelet fiercely. “It’s been a long day.”
He shot her a questioning look. “Maybe you shouldn’t go back in there.”
“I have to.”
“But do you want to?”
She stared at him, unable to answer.
“What’s the point of all this if you’re unhappy?” He gestured at the marble floors, the crystal chandeliers.
She shrugged helplessly. Because how could she begin to explain it? If only she were smarter, more talented. If only she were beautiful and charming and perfect enough, he’d change his mind. Her father would decide she was worthy of his love.
A deep, ugly shame filled her. She wanted to run away, disappear, sink straight down into the floor. But what she wanted didn’t matter, had never mattered.
She opened her clutch and grabbed one of the cigarettes nestled next to her auto-injectors with trembling fingers. Her epi-pens, as she tried to think of them. They weren't epi-pens, and they weren't for allergies. It was what her father told her to call them, so no one would question her. She tapped the top of her cigarette until it self-lit.
Gabriel nodded at her cigarette. “You’re not allowed to smoke inside.”
She waved her hand, flustered. “Oh. Sorry. I’ll just put it out—”
“You can smoke outside. I know a spot just around the corner on Deck Thirteen. It has the best views. You feel like you’re on top of the world. I can show you.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you.”
She followed him into another alcove and through a set of glass doors to the starboard side of Deck Thirteen. The engine rumbled beneath her. Beyond the ship's lights, the water swirled black as pitch. The breeze pulled at her French twist, tugging several strands of hair free to whip around her face. She breathed in the salty air.
Gabriel leaned against the glass railing, facing her. “When I have a bad day, I always come out here and just relax for a while, you know?”
“I can’t get enough of the ocean, how it goes on forever.” Even as she said the words, she wondered why she was speaking so freely. It was the stress of the evening—her failure with the senator, her father’s disdain, that man’s malicious gaze. She felt off-balance. Vulnerable. “It gets inside you out here.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I get that. Like your music.”
She looked up, meeting his eyes. She took a long drag of the cigarette to steady herself. The intensity of his gaze unnerved her. “Yes, exactly like that.”
He raked his hand through his hair. “How do you like the Grand Voyager? Is there any place you’d like to see? Backstage at the Galaxy Lounge? The bridge?”
“I've been to the bridge. With my father.”
His lip curled. “Of course. How could I forget? You have access to whatever you want, whenever you want.”
Her stomach twisted a little. He was subtly mocking her, or maybe not so subtly. It reminded her how little she actually knew him. “I should go back inside.”
“But you don’t want to.” It was a statement, not a question.
She didn’t answer, only breathed out a tendril of smoke. The breeze took it and flung it out over the vast, empty sea.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He took a step closer. He smelled like something musky and male, like cedar or pine, a deep and wild forest. “But you clearly deserve some fun. Come with me.”
“Excuse me?”
He smiled, his eyes going darker. “Come with me. I'll show you the ship, her inner workings, her guts. The stuff you don’t see on the official tour.”
She didn't have a handle on this conversation. She didn't have a handle on him. He seemed to waver between friendly and slightly hostile. It made her nervous. He made her nervous.
And yet, he was incredibly attractive. She couldn’t deny that. She couldn’t deny the flutter in her belly when she felt his eyes on her. The way her own gaze kept straying to his lips.
Her father would hate Gabriel. Because he was a lowly security officer. Because he was unsophisticated, uncultured. Because he wasn’t an elite, wasn’t one of them. She dropped her gaze. “I can’t.”
“It'll be fun. And I'll be a gentleman, I promise.”
She took a step away from the railing, away from him. The ship rolled beneath her. She fought off a wave of dizziness. “Isn't there some rule about crew and passengers not fraternizing with each other?”
He cocked an eyebrow, grinning mischievously. “Is that what you want to do? Fraternize?”
She blushed. For one second, she imagined what it would be like to take off, to defy her father. How furious he’d be when he realized his only daughter, his prized possession, had dared to disobey him. And with the likes of Gabriel Rivera.
But she didn’t get to do whatever she wanted. She needed to focus on doing better. Being better. She needed to push this rakish boy and his dark, brooding eyes out of her mind.
“No, it’s—I’m sorry. I have to go.” She blinked back the wetness burning her eyelids and straightened her shoulders, steeling herself.
Her mouth formed a smile. But it was a smile about to shatter, a smile cracking her open from the inside.
7
Micah
On the evening of the seven
th night, Micah made his way to the lido deck after he’d finished his shift. The Grand Voyager had departed Ocho Rios several hours ago.
Further down the deck, couples in fine evening gowns and tuxedos preened for the photo drones. The wind whipped Micah’s hair into his face, stinging his eyes. He stood at the glass railing and looked out at the vast and endless sea, the horizon bleeding into the darkness.
A pale strip of moonlight reflected on the water. In the distance, the lights from a sister luxury liner glittered like a star fallen from the sky. He was surrounded by so much beauty, but inside, he felt ripped in half.
Micah hadn’t spoken to his brother since yesterday. Gabriel’s parting words echoed in his mind. It’s just you and me. Just us. Always.
Questions tore at him, jagged as glass. How could he betray his own brother? How could he live with himself if he didn’t turn in the drugs? How could he live with himself if he did? Gabriel was his home, his compass, his fixed North Star.
All of his life, he’d tried to be good. What was he now?
Micah stared at the water until his vision blurred. A seed of loathing sprouted in his chest.
He knew what he would do. As soon as he'd spoken the word “Always”, he'd known.
Nothing. He would do nothing.
And already, he hated himself.
8
Gabriel
Gabriel stood on the glass catwalk on Deck Thirteen, anxiety and anticipation coiled in his gut. It was the eighth day of the cruise. Tomorrow, the world would change.
Simeon leaned against the railing beside him, along with Simeon's first in command, Alexi Kane, a huge white guy with a crew cut, a thick, bulging neck, and a body built like a bulldozer.
They looked over the deck of the Imagination Café at the passengers inhaling their decadent breakfasts, their plates piled high with exotic fresh fruits, all of them ready for another lazy day of gluttony and opulence.