Chapter 28
Journey stares at herself in the mirror with a frown, smoothing down the dress that clings perfectly to her body. A gift from my sperm donor a few hours before. Hand-delivered by Darrell and his unbreakable expression.
I can't take my eyes off her. My breath slips away with every swipe of her hands down her revealing dress. It draws me in. Hypnotizing me. It's long, black, nearly touching the ground, resembling the one she wore to our initiation ball. It dips in the front, exposing her tattoo and hidden scar.
My beautiful Little Tempest. My storm. She has no idea how powerful she is. Dressed like that or even in sweats, she could take Shadow down with the swish of her hips.
Add me to the damn list. Every second I stare, I fall deeper down the Journey rabbit hole, turning to steel in my pants.
"This is so creepy," she states, side-eyeing me with a frown, unaware of her effect on me. "He knows my perfect size. It's fucking weird." She turns slightly, checking out her ass in the mirror, her eyebrows furrowing. “Seriously? How the hell does he know?”
I’m wondering the same thing as I stare at the perfectly fitted black suit I was told to wear. Sure, we’ve had clothes delivered to us since, but it’s odd how Shadow knows the exact sizes we need, even in suits and dresses. My expression falls in the mirror as my hand glides along the dark fabric over my chest toward the simple bow tie around my throat. More gifts from my sperm donor. Along with a pair of shiny shoes.
I take her hand in mine, bringing her into me. The frantic beating of her heart slams through her chest into mine. Even the tiny hitch of her breath has my toes curling.
What I wouldn't give for privacy on this island to do bad things to her. Fuck. My eyes sweep down her body, admiring the dress painted on her body. He spared no expense for us. Expensive clothes and shoes. Including the makeup on her face.
No matter how my girl looks, I will always think she's the most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes on.
'You're gorgeous as always, Little Tempest,’ I mouth as she reads my lips.
Yesterday, we sat by the ocean as I taught her the basics of sign language. It's not something she'll be able to learn overnight, but it's a start to breaking through our communication barrier.
For now. Until I can find my voice again. I will—one day.
She blushes up at me. The redness of her cheeks stirring the thick emotions bubbling inside me.
She could have suffered through this alone. The caves. The fight. Starvation. Dehydration. Every fucking thing. Alone. Without me here to wipe her tears or be her pillow.
If I hadn't gone after her kidnappers or beaten Gabriel to a bloody pulp. I wouldn't be here with her.
My Little Tempest has survived a lot in life. She's a warrior. A fucking fighter. But this? Fuck. It's taking its toll on her and weighing her down with every breath she takes.
It's visible on her face and in her actions. Her body sways more. Unsteady on her feet. Darkness swirls in her eyes more often than not. Her thoughts are holding her in a prison of her own making.
And there's nothing I can do to stop it.
Not to mention, she’s having difficulty keeping food down. She always runs to the bathroom to vomit, and then she's better than ever.
"You're not too bad yourself," she murmurs, reaching up to adjust my bowtie. Getting on her tippy toes, she attempts to kiss my cheek, but I pull her in until my lips rest on hers in a gentle kiss. "Shepp," she whispers, clinging to my suit jacket.
My hand cradles the back of her skull, holding her tight against me. Her tongue sneaks into my mouth, swiping the emptiness with a soft moan. My cock stiffens more, eager to plunge deep inside her. Ready to take her again and again. To show her she matters and that the world would be bleaker without her.
Fuck. I feel so damn alive with my lips on hers, and her body pressed tightly against mine. I want to stay here forever. Hold her forever. And never let her go. There’s something about her that sparks something deep inside, like a flame flickering to life and eager to explode.
I never want to let this go.
She riles me up. Winding me tighter and tighter. Until pre-cum leaks from the tip of my cock, preparing for what won't come. Cameras are everywhere on the island, and guards patrol every inch of the hotel. So, who is to say they aren’t watching our every move from behind a screen as we speak? I’d love nothing more than to lay her down and gently fuck her until we both reach completion to calm our nerves.
But I won’t risk anyone else seeing her bare. That’s only reserved for me. Right now, at least. Once we’re free, she’s Arrow’s and Jericho’s, too.
My grip loosens on her, gently pulling back. Breathless, seeking oxygen. Our eyes connect, and our souls rejoice from being near one another.
‘I want you so badly,’ I mouth, kissing her hand.
She blushes again, resembling the color I want to take and put on my canvas. She’s my muse. My Little Tempest. My brushes call to me, and my fingers twitch in response. I want to lay her out again. Have a repeat of what we did in my room. Paint on her body. Paint on mine. Capture all her scars and imperfections again. Show her how truly beautiful she is. Inside and out.
“But we shouldn't.” She swallows hard, her eyes dilating.
‘Not in here,’ I mouth in agreement, pulling her hand into mine and gently kissing it.
Worry pulls down her features again when I pull back, and her brows furrow. No doubt, going back to the dark places in her mind, worrying over Sunshine and her fate.
I softly clear my throat, bringing her focus back to me. 'We'll be okay.'
"We have to be." She shrugs, attempting to shake off her thoughts. But she can't. "I just can't get over what Sunny said. I'm..."
Instinctively, she traces the scar hidden beneath her beautiful tattoo, which I've witnessed her do frequently as a comfort.
"I'm terrified, Shepp. I can't save her or help her. One wrong move..." There's something in her tone that sets my teeth on edge.
What I wouldn't give to remove all her fear and protect her from everything.
I've seen her scared before, sad, and concerned. Journey holds her emotions close—or as close as she can. I still remember the time in our kitchen when she hugged me. I held her tight, never wanting to let her go. She was so shocked by the hug—almost as if no one had held her like that for years. Or possibly in her entire existence.
Any time I can, I hold her in my arms. To show her she can have me. Us. Everything at her fingertips.
'I know. I'm scared, too,' I mouth, trying to reassure her . ‘But Sunshine is a tough girl.’ Sometimes I think she's stronger than me and she’s only fourteen. She went into this situation with her head held high, having no idea what was in store for her. That takes bravery. ‘She’ll be okay.’
Journey nods, swallowing a lump in her throat. She's still not convinced. Even after breaking down last night at the beach and admitting her defeat. It's futile; no matter what we do, Sunshine is determined to marry Mikhail.
Everything in the future depends on what happens at the dinner with Shadow, Naum, and Mikhail tonight. A dinner from fucking hell.
Will we survive it? I'm sure Naum won't. Shadow—because that's all he is to me, not a father any longer—has made it clear that Naum was about to meet his end.
If only I knew how and when.
Will this help to ease Journey's worry? Probably not. It'll only make it worse. Force her to backtrack and return to her thoughts on taking Sunshine with us.
A knock on the door before opening has us turning around to inspect Darrell. He raises a silent brow in our direction before nodding at us to follow him.
"Such a man of many words," Journey quips with a snort.
Darrell barely reacts to her dig, only rolling his eyes as he gestures for us to follow again. Grabbing Journey's hand, I gently squeeze three times.
We'll be okay. I love you—anything to soothe her worries.
We follow Darrell into the silent hall as our door shuts behind us.
“This way,” he grunts, moving in front of us quickly until we walk to the elevators, climb in, and take it down.
This time, he doesn't hit extra buttons or type in the code to take us to the lower level. Sometime soon, I'll get on this elevator and do the same. I'll discover what my father has in his secret office—one way or another.
As we step out into the main lobby, I tightly grip Journey and hold her close. I can’t risk losing her in the fray of the chaos. My muscles stiffen at the sight of everyone milling around, talking loudly, and laughing together in fancy attire.
It's a goddamn party.
People pack the lounge, sipping what I can only assume are alcoholic beverages and sampling appetizers in large groups. Several servers in blue vests carry trays around the room, greeting everyone with smiles and offering free samples.
“Guests,” Darrell grunts, gesturing to them without emotion.
“Russian?” Journey murmurs, tightening her hold on me as her eyes scan the area.
She takes them in. One by one. Just like I do. At least fifty of them mill around, speaking to one another in Russian and dressed in their best outfits. Suits and ties. Women in long dresses clinging to their men with smiles.
The entire fucking Bratva followed Naum to this secret island.
Fuck. This isn’t a good sign. If Shadow is inviting strangers to his secret hideout and exposing what he has, then there’s no telling what he’s liable to do in the future by exposing himself.
“Mhmm,” Darrell barely confirms in his non-committal way.
Journey squeezes my hand as we walk through the thick crowds of people until we reach a quiet corridor devoid of guests. Darrell doesn’t utter another word or grunt when he pauses and turns to look at us with an expectant stare.
“He's waiting.” Darrell’s features tighten like unsaid words rest on his tongue, and he’s eager to warn us about something. But he keeps to himself and shakes his head, throwing the door open and ushering us into the dining hall.
A massive weight rests on my chest when we enter the mostly empty room, except for Shadow. Who grins the moment we walk into what feels like our execution. Standing from his chair, he fixes his suit jacket and straightens his crooked tie while chuckling at our bewildered expense. His eyes rove over our bodies, taking in our attire, and he grunts his approval.
“Welcome to the party,” he says ominously with a grin, gesturing for us to sit across from him.
And what a fucking party it will become.