by Meghan March
Maybe never.
Isla del Cielo was never meant to be a lifeless, soulless, loveless place. But that’s exactly what I’ve made it. Isaac wouldn’t be proud. Not even a little fucking bit.
“Take care, Dorsey.”
I stalk out of the house and head for the chopper.
24
India
“She has to talk to us eventually.”
Summer’s voice travels all the way to my bedroom because she’s never known how to whisper. I’ve always called it her whisper-yell instead.
“She will when she’s ready, dear. Just give her time.”
Pots clang, and the scent of garlic wafts down the hall. Alanna’s cooking.
“Should I quit my job?” Summer asks. “I feel like I should because Forge got it for me. I’m essentially working for the enemy, aren’t I?”
“Keep going like you have been. Get as much out of it as possible, and then you can decide.”
With a groan, I roll facedown on the soft sheets of my bed. I’ve lost track of the days. Alanna has hovered over me like I’m a terminal patient, instead of just brokenhearted because I was stupid enough to fall in love with the wrong man.
Love is for idiots. That’s the only thing I know for sure now.
I trudge to the bathroom, and the vision in the mirror is terrifying enough to scare the boogeyman. My hair is a rat’s nest, and my eyes are puffy and bloodshot like I’ve gone on a three-day bender.
My mouth tastes like a litter box. I reach for my toothbrush, because at least that’s one problem I can fix. I try to smooth out my hair the best I can, but it’s a lost cause, and there’s nothing I can do about my face.
I square my shoulders and walk into the living room like I didn’t just wake up as an extra in Night of the Living Dead.
Obviously, Alanna and Summer heard sounds of life from the bathroom, because they’re both standing and facing the hallway when I walk into the open kitchen and living area of my flat.
Alanna has moved into the guest room, and Summer has stopped by often, judging from how many times I’ve heard her voice. Or maybe I dreamed that. Who knows.
“How are you feeling, dear?” Alanna asks like I’m ill, instead of throwing the world’s most intense pity party.
“I’m fine.” I shove a hand into my hair, and my fingers get stuck.
“You look like hell,” Summer says as I tug them free.
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
She shakes her head, sending her blond waves, that no longer look like mine, flying. “That’s not what I meant. I mean you look like you’ve been through hell. I’m still so sorry, Indy. I wish . . . I wish I could fix this for you like you’ve always fixed everything for me.”
Immediately, my mind rewinds to the memory of that time I married a guy to save Summer from being sold to sex slavers. Nope, still not distant enough.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” I give her a lame thumbs-up.
Summer’s eyebrows wing up to her hairline. “That’s a lot of fine for someone who—”
“Enough, Summer. Indy, do you want some tea? Sandwich? Soup? I’ve made a little bit of everything. You’ve barely eaten in days, and you need to.”
For the first time since I came back to my apartment, my stomach rumbles with hunger. I guess that’s a good sign.
“Whatever you’ve made is good. I’m not picky.”
Alanna bustles into the kitchen and busies herself putting together a plate for me.
“Want to sit outside? It’s nice,” Summer says.
I glance out the window and realize the sun is setting. “What day is it?”
“Friday.”
I’ve lost track of two days. Not as bad as I thought.
“How’s the job going?” I ask, remembering what she said about feeling like she was working for the enemy.
If that Juliette bitch was mean to Summer, I’ll tell her where to get off. Because that’s what sisters do. Alanna was right; there’s nothing in this world that would make Summer anything other than my sister. Family is more than blood.
Forge knew that too. He had Isaac . . . until Bastien killed him.
My heart clenches again, but I push away the feeling. I refuse to hurt for him, not after he threw me out—for the second time—like I was trash.
Summer’s expression goes blank, like she’s hiding something from me.
“You can tell me. I promise I’m not going to fall apart again.”
“Pretty good.”
Her reply has me raising my eyebrows. “Define pretty good.”
“It’s not bad. I mostly run and fetch like a gofer, but I’ve gotten to learn a lot. I’ve made some really great contacts.” Her shoulders slump. “I won’t keep working for her, though. I’m going to put in my notice.”
I shake my head, proud that I have zero inclination to cry. “No, don’t. There’s no reason to quit. I’m not worried about it. Make sure it’s worth putting on your résumé.”
“But—”
When Summer tries to object, I cut her off.
“What happened between me and Forge had nothing to do with your boss.”
“What did it have to do with then? You’re killing me here. I need to know if I should be hunting him down to kill him, or if he gets to live.”
My fierce, loyal sister.
“It ran its course. That’s all.”
Summer surveys my puffy eyes and gives me a that’s bullshit and you know it look.
“I caught feelings, and he didn’t.” I say it in a way that Summer will understand. She’s always been of the catch flights, not feelings mentality, at least when she’s coming off a breakup.
“Oh . . . shit. I’m sorry. That’s . . . not cool.”
And it’s as humiliating as I imagined.
“I just need some time to get it out of my system and move on.”
“Is that why . . .” Summer presses her lips together instead of finishing her sentence.
“Is that why what?” I ask.
“Juliette’s been asking about you a lot. And then she said something about you and Bastien—”
I reach out and wrap my palm around Summer’s wrist. “Stay away from Bastien. Far away. You hear me? Actually, you need to go buy a taser, and if you ever see him again, shock the fuck out of his ass before he can get close to you.”
Her stunned gaze drops to where I’m gripping her wrist. “Whoa. Why?”
“He’s no good. He’s deep in the drug scene, way deeper than I ever realized. And dangerous as hell. Don’t go anywhere near him. Ever.”
Summer bobs her head, and I think I’ve gotten through to my sister with a warning on the first try.
Just to make sure she understands, I add, “He’s the one who ordered those kids to trash Alanna’s efficiency apartment.”
From the kitchen, Alanna gasps. “He did not.”
“He did that, and who knows what else. We all need to be very careful. Don’t take unnecessary risks. Use your common sense. I don’t want anything happening to either of you. I couldn’t bear it.”
After we finish eating, Summer asks me if I want to come out with her to a club tonight. “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”
“I don’t think so.” I give her a hug and tell Alanna, “You don’t have to stay here. I’ll be okay. I’m just going to lick my wounds for a while, and I’ll join the living again. Just not yet.”
With concerned expressions, they both study me.
“I’ll be back to normal soon. Just . . . give me a little space.”
25
India
Two weeks later, Summer has had enough of my hibernating. Apparently, she doesn’t buy that I’m too busy with my latest Netflix series binge to leave the flat.
“You have to get out of here before you become furniture. Seriously, Indy. This isn’t you. You need to be out doing things. Living. That’s what you love.”
Love. What bullshit.
/> But I’m not about to spew my jaded views at my sister right now. “I showered today. What more do you want from me?”
Summer’s temper snaps. “I want you to leave this fucking flat and stop scaring Alanna to death! This isn’t only affecting you, you know.”
And here comes the guilt. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I . . . didn’t think about that.”
“Probably because you’re only feeling sorry for yourself.” She plops down on the table between me and the TV. “So what if your marriage is over. Your life isn’t. Go out and fucking live it. Your phone won’t stop buzzing with invites to games all over the world. People are talking about Prague and what a beast you were. If you don’t capitalize on it now, you might never get another chance like this.”
“Wait.” I hold up a finger. “How did you get in my phone?”
“You used my birthday as a pass code. It wasn’t hard.”
It reminds me of when Forge hacked into my phone, and now I know it wasn’t for the reason he gave me. He already knew my sister had been kidnapped.
I slam down the lid on the iron box that I’m keeping all Forge thoughts in. Stop thinking about him. It’s over. He tossed you out like rotten fish. Focus on the present.
I have my winnings from the Prague Grand Prix, and I have a $5 million side bet to collect from Belevich to add to my stash. And apparently, I have invitations to play all over the world.
The old Indy would scan through them with glee in her eyes, but I feel no such excitement. I feel . . . nothing. Like I’m dead inside.
Stop being so dramatic. That’s Summer’s MO.
But I’ve also never fallen in love like this before . . . Slam. The. Lid. Down.
I glance at my sister’s concerned face. Someday, I have to tell her that her mother was a kidnapper who lied about me being dead to my father, but not today.
“Where’s my phone?”
My sister hops off the table and scampers into the kitchen with way too much energy. A moment later, she drops it in my lap. I tap in the code, and sure enough, she’s opened all the texts that have been sent for the last couple weeks. Many of the games have already taken place.
I get to Belevich’s message.
* * *
Belevich: I’m back on Ibiza. I’ve got your money.
* * *
I want the money because I earned it fairly, and I’d like to thank him for what he did for me in Prague.
When grief rises up to swamp me, I can’t lock it down in the box. I should have gone to the funerals. Should have apologized to the families of the men who died. Told them it was my fault. But I’ve been hiding in my apartment like a little coward.
That stops today. I’m done hiding from the world. I’ve never needed a man in my life to define me before, and I don’t need one now.
I almost believe my own pep talk. At least that’s progress.
I respond to Belevich.
* * *
Indy: Address?
* * *
His reply is almost instantaneous.
I look up at my sister, finally feeling like I have a purpose. “I need to go out.”
Summer’s smile could light the world with its brilliance. “Good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Plus, I’m sure the security guys who have been trading shifts outside the building for the last couple weeks will like a change of scenery.”
“Still? They didn’t go away?”
Summer’s blond hair swings from side to side. “Not except to trade off shifts with some guys I didn’t recognize.”
My first thought is to call Forge and ask him who else he sent, but I won’t. Ever.
Instead, I call Alanna, tell her I’m ready to rejoin the land of the living, and go back to my room to change into clothes that haven’t been worn for three days straight.
Time to find Belevich.
I hit the steps to my building where Superman is standing guard.
Why would Forge still have them watching out for me?
I want to read into it. Tell myself that Forge still cares, but I can’t lie to myself like that. He’s doing it because of the guilt. That’s all. Even though pain stabs into my heart, I tell myself I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing. Numbness is a hell of a lot easier to deal with than the feelings that I still can’t manage to stamp out, no matter how hard I try.
Superman straightens as I walk by. “Ms. Baptiste. Are you going somewhere? Do you need a ride?”
The sound of my name on his lips, the one I’ve had for almost my entire life, nearly sends me running back into the building. I don’t know if the divorce could be final this fast, but clearly, Forge’s people know our marriage is definitely over.
“Yes and no,” I tell him. I jog to the sidewalk, intent on heading out to the main road so I can hail a taxi, because owning a car here has never made sense.
He follows on my heels. “We can give you a ride. That’s what we’re here for.”
“No, thank you. I’m going to get a cab.”
“Ma’am, if you’d please let us drive you—”
I pause and spin around to stare at him through his Clark Kent glasses. “I know you’re following orders, but I’m not your problem anymore. Go home. I’m sure you have a million better things to do.”
To myself, I add, instead of being here and giving me some hope that there’s a way out of my nightmare.
“But we can’t—”
I wave and keep walking.
Maybe it’s stupid to turn down security after everything that has happened, but I refuse to lean on them for safety. I have to fend for myself. That’s the way it’s always been and always will be.
Yet, a black car follows my taxi all the way to the address Belevich texted me. When we arrive at the gated entrance to the villa, I pay and hop out of the back.
There’s a keypad to the right, and I press the intercom button. Instead of someone asking me to identify myself, the gates swing open.
Here I go.
26
Forge
My phone buzzes with another message, and I ignore it.
It’s hot as hell in the engine room of the cargo ship Fortuna, but that’s where I belong. I’m covered in grease and sweat, having given the engineer whose job it was to replace this gasket a break so I could punish myself some more.
I’ve worked myself into the ground, barely sleeping. Eating just enough to keep my energy going. Drinking like a fish as soon as I hit my cabin, and praying I won’t dream about her again.
But prayers from a guy like me don’t get answered that often, which means I’m cursed to dream about her every fucking night. I can still smell her scent on my clothes. Can still hear her voice in my head.
I did the honorable thing. The noble thing. And being noble fucking blows.
I’ve heard from Federov once more. His Bratva connections have a buy set with Bastien for two days from now. After I landed on the Fortuna, I called up more security and ordered them to keep an eye on Indy 24/7, but not to give me any reports.
But still, the reports came in whether I wanted them or not.
I lower the wrench and grab a grease rag out of the pocket of my pants to wipe off my face and hands. My phone buzzes again, and I fish it out because I have a feeling it’s not going to stop.
* * *
Smith: She’s at Belevich’s. We can’t get inside. Unless you want us to ram the gate.
* * *
Fuck. There’s no question who the she is, and even just seeing the fucking pronoun makes my gut knot. I can still see her face when I told her we were done. I’ll never get that image out of my head. I’ll never forgive myself for it either. For any of it.
* * *
Smith: What do you want us to do? Try to get inside? This is the first time she’s left her flat.
* * *
It’s a shitty reminder of what I did. I can’t imagine the vibrant, incredible woman I knew holing up in her apartment for weeks. I hurt her . . . no, I fucking devastated her.
I can’t even manage to think the whole word because it’s so fucking ridiculous. Indy didn’t care about me like that. How could she? I lied, manipulated, coerced, and generally bullied her.
But that didn’t stop me from falling in love with her.
I type out a response to the text with fingers that smudge my screen with the remaining grease.
* * *
Forge: Watch from where you are. If there’s any sign of distress, drive through the gate.
* * *
After what Federov had told me—that Belevich is the one who helped Indy get out of the hotel and got Goliath help for his gunshot wound—I’m not worried about Belevich hurting her.
* * *
Smith: Yes, sir. Will do.
Forge: Keep me posted.
* * *
I shove my phone back into the pocket of the coveralls I haven’t worn since the last time I punished myself at sea in the months after Isaac died, and throw myself back into work.
27
India
Belevich opens the glass door of his villa before I hit the stamped concrete stairs leading to it.
“Here I thought I’d get to keep my money because you didn’t want it.”
“I never said that.”
He surveys me, and I feel like he sees too much—my sharpened features, eyes that may never not be puffy again, and clothes that hang a little too loose on my frame due to missing so many meals.
“You look like you’ve been gambling for a week with no sleep.”
“Nope, just going through a divorce.”