Chapter 12
Josephine
My hearing comes and goes, as if each sound is circling on a racetrack.
The whoosh of the water. The squawk of seagulls and the chirp of chickadees. The rustle of the leaves on the trees along the shore. The distant shouts of the people I love… the people I need.
Any of them.
All of them.
Just not him.
My shins ache as my weight presses into the rough carpet of the pontoon.
Shoulders hunched, head hanging, unable to rise.
Trapped. Forced into this situation. At the mercy of this man. At the mercy of my mind.
I’m conscious, but the all too familiar black orbs dance in my vision, taunting me, beckoning me to get lost in the recesses of my mind. I can’t get a grip on the volume of the world around me. I’m so close to being gone… I’m always so damn close.
“You’re okay. You’re doing it, Josephine. You’re okay.”
The words oscillate from one side to the other, then back again, as tingles race along my back. The repetition helps—focusing on the syllables, on the pressure creeping up and down my spine.
Time is abstract in this state, but eventually, my mind calms enough to register my surroundings and the details of my situation.
I’m still on the floor of the boat—squarely in the middle of the vessel, desperate to stay as far away from the sides as possible. Decker is beside me—petting my hair, rubbing my back, awkwardly holding me without getting too close.
“You’re okay,” he repeats for what might be the hundredth time.
I’ve lost track of time, place, space. I’ve lost track of it all.
Damp hair clings to my forehead. I bat it out of my eyes, then wipe the sweat from my brow.
Beside me, Decker is laser focused on my face, his expression marred with intense, authentic concern.
As if he isn’t the cause of this breakdown. Motherfucker.
“Why?” I demand on a shaky breath.
With a long exhale, he visibly relaxes, shifting off his knees until he’s seated beside me instead of hovering.
He crosses his arms over his bent knees, regarding me with cool concern, but he doesn’t speak.
“Why, Decker?”
He owes me some fucking answers.
He owes me so much, but I can’t even consider collecting until he stops racking up debt with all the offenses he continues to launch against my autonomy and sense of self.
“Get your phone out and text Kyl. Let him know you’re okay.”
Bossy motherfucker.
“I’m pretty tired of you thinking you can force me to do whatever you want, whenever you want, Cap.”
His eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “Suit yourself. My suggestion was more for his benefit than mine. He’s freaking the fuck out on the shore. I figured you’d want him to know you’re okay.”
We glare at each other, neither of us blinking, but my concern for Kylian wins out in the end. Agitated, I pull out my phone and shoot off a text.
Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I squint against the setting sun. “What now, Cap?”
“Now…” He hops to his feet and offers me a hand. “We see if you can keep it together.”
Panic shoots through me as I consider his extended arm and the idea of pulling myself off the floor. Down here, I can’t see the water, can’t gauge how far we are from shore.
Yet here he is, still expecting me to push past it and fall in line—do what he says, go where he wants me to go, react how he wants me to react.
I swat at his stupid big hand with enough force that an audible slap rings out.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I sit back on my heels, glaring and getting comfy.
“Don’t be mad,” Decker says, like he’s scolding a bratty child. As if those three words are a simple request rather than a dismissive order that belittles just about every one of my traumas—both recent and long ago.
“Mad? You think I’m mad? I’m so far beyond mad, Decker.” I have to fight back the impulse to literally stomp my feet. “You’re insufferable. Unforgivable. I hate you.”
He glances back to shore, his jaw ticking and his breaths deep. Right now, he’s doing his best to hold back the fire he wants to spew right back at me.
Blowing out one more breath, he pulls his hand back and plows it through his still-damp hair, then he runs it along the back of his head and scratches at his neck.
“I can take it.” He gives me a dark look, his head bowed. “I’ll do what it takes to help you, Siren. Even if it means being the bad guy in your story.”
The gall of this motherfucker.
It’s the ego. The arrogance. The silver-spoon lifestyle he’s used to. The lifetime of being surrounded by yes-men and people willing to do his bidding, no matter when or where.
His cockiness is infuriating. And it ends fucking now.
Scrambling to my feet, I steel myself. It takes two strides to reach him before I’m shoving my fists into his chest. It does next to nothing to dislodge his footing, but it still feels good.
“You think you’re helping me?” I challenge.
His lip quirks. “It’s working, isn’t it? You’re doing it.”
“Doing what?” I demand.
“You’re on a boat. On the water. Not spiraling. Not succumbing to the panic.”
I jolt back as if he’s struck me, all the air knocked from my lungs.
He’s not wrong.
Dammit, he’s not wrong.
Doesn’t mean what he’s doing or the way he’s going about it is right.
“You’re on a boat, Josephine, and you’re keeping it together. You’re doing it, and you’re doing it so beautifully. You’ve got this. And I’ve got you.”
His attempt at placating just fans the flames of my rage.
“Really? You’ve got me?” I mock.
Nothing about this situation is right. My blood is absolutely boiling. I won’t know peace until I temper the audacity of this man and knock him down several pegs.
“You know what you’ve got? A one-track mind and an ego the size of Atlanta. You don’t fucking got me, Cap. You grabbed me and forced me onto a boat… again! I swear you’re as bad as them!”
I don’t have to elaborate for the insult to land. This time he recoils, turning away from me and grumbling as he stalks toward the helm.
As soon as he gives me his back, the anxiety creeps in, slowly darkening the edges of my vision and tingling up my extremities. The longer he doesn’t look at me, the harder I have to fight to keep the panic at bay.
Shit on a crumbly cracker.
My chest tightens with each step he takes. And with every second that ticks by, it gets harder to pull air into my lungs.
Though I loathe the revelation, it’s obvious I need him to look at me to keep me in this moment.
But I sure as hell don’t want to admit that to him.
Stalking after him, I grab his arm and pull until he’s facing me again.
“What’s this really about? Is it about Kylian? Locke? Greedy?” I challenge.
His scowl deepens, and the anger swirling around him intensifies. “Why are you trying to fight me right now? I’m trying to help you, Josephine.”
“Yet you just keep hurting me!”
I pace a few feet away, toward the stern, careful to stay as far from either side as I can, but enough that I can put a bit of distance between us.
Though this pontoon is enormous, I can’t go far, and when I turn, prepared to continue my argument, he’s watching me, wearing a satisfied smirk.
“What’s that look for?” I demand, chest heaving. Dammit. It’s not lost on me that it’s easier to breathe now that he’s facing me again.
“You want to fight,” he surmises. “You need to fight.” Chin held high, he stalks toward me until he’s towering over my frame. “Want it. Need it. Crave it, even. There’s so much fire in you, Siren. You need an outlet. And you know you don’t have to tamp it down with me.”
God dammit.
I hate that he’s right. And I’ll never admit how close he is to my truth.
It does feel good to unleash this tension. Especially after the last twenty-four hours. Though I’m the one who experienced the trauma, I’ve spent most of my time since being released from the hospital placating everyone else and assuring them all that I’m okay.
I’m not okay. I haven’t been fucking okay for years.
But I haven’t stopped trying, either.
My efforts go unnoticed more often than not, but not with Decker. He sees through every coping mechanism, every layer of the carefully constructed mask I wear.
He sees them, and he’s not afraid to rip them away and face the ugly, raw parts of me forged over the years as I struggled to survive.
Reaching out, he twirls a loose strand of my hair around his finger. “You want to fight.” He tugs, pulling just hard enough to piss me off. “So let’s fight. Give me your worst.”
I glare up at him, resisting the urge to swat his hand away as he baits me.
But then he tugs on my hair again. “What were you going to do?” he challenges. “Never leave the isle? Make Kylian bust out his military-grade ATV to take you to campus every day? Move away?”
The last question sends me.
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Planting my hands on my hips, I glare up at the man who’s held me captive in his mansion for weeks. “Keeping me.”
“No.” His response comes far too quickly.
“It is,” I taunt, calling him on his shit. If he wants to dish it, I can serve it right back to him.
“It’s not,” he grits out through clenched teeth.
“I don’t believe you.”
If Decker wants to fight, I’ll show him just how calm and docile I can be.
Decidedly, I plop down onto one of the plush leather benches, then cross my legs and lean back, as if I don’t have a care in the world.
It’s Decker’s turn to rage.
Satisfaction surges through me when his gaze narrows and he clenches his jaw so hard it looks like he might crack a tooth.
Good. He deserves the pain of extensive dental work at my expense.
Sneering, he shakes his head. “You’re serious right now? After everything that’s transpired, you still think that little of me?”
Expression successfully schooled, I blink at him through my lashes. “So am I free to go?”
Silence ensues.
On his end, that is, because I can’t help but press the issue.
“Am I free to leave, Cap? Can I start packing when we get back to shore?”