Chapter One #2
No one ever says this, but having a conscience is sometimes a curse.
Maybe there are days when it’s okay to be oblivious, to live a life where good and evil happen in the world and all you do is enjoy ignorant bliss, without ever caring enough to be bothered.
This moment is one of those times when I wish I didn’t have any common sense, because then I wouldn’t recognize the packages being hauled by those men.
But I do.
I know whatever’s inside those wrapped bundles is enough to bring down the full wrath of the law on everyone and everything that’s come in contact with it.
Ladies and liquor, Henry said.
I resist the urge to direct a curse at his stupid girlfriend for causing his absence. If only he knew that these items were far from smuggled alcohol, drunk idiots, or any type of supplies for a frat party.
And now, more than ever, I would appreciate the presence of another person, so we could figure out the next step together.
Chasing them with a slipper certainly isn’t going to cut it.
I should call the police. I consider calling Henry first, but immediately disregard the thought. He might contact Margaret, and that might make things worse. I don’t want either of them to show up here when drug smugglers are running around.
Oh, Elena.
I should have listened to that nagging voice that repeatedly begged me to turn back.
I didn’t work hard all those years ago—busting my behind at college, tediously fighting my way up the career ladder, landing this job—just to be caught in the whirlwind of an illegal shipment.
Technically, I shouldn’t even be here tonight. My eyes shouldn’t be witnessing any of this.
They move swiftly but handle the packages carefully, like whatever’s inside matters enough to kill over.
One of the men glances around again, and I catch the impatient tapping of his fingers against his thigh. I can’t see his face, but panic strikes hard through my chest when he grunts what sounds like an order in a hot rush of foreign words I can’t translate.
I duck back immediately, pressing myself against the railing as my heart slams against my chest so violently I can hear it pounding in my ears.
That nagging voice comes again, louder this time. Back away, Elena. Leave now.
The instinct to comply hits me fast and fiercely, and I don’t hesitate.
My breathing turns shallow as I slowly ease one sneaker backward along the dock, careful not to make a sound. I struggle to conquer my fear as I squeeze the tablet tightly against my chest, silently thinking words of affirmation that have always helped me in the past.
And it seems to be working.
Until the wood creaks. It’s a soft sound and could easily be lost in the wind. But whatever ill luck brought me out here in the first place seems to be working overtime, because the sound is noticeable enough to make my blood run cold.
The hushed voices on the deck stop completely, and every muscle in my body locks.
Just when I think I might make it through, that gruff voice says, “Did you hear that?”
I stop breathing, and the silence stretches for several terrifying seconds.
My body is stiff, rigid against the railing, my breath trapped somewhere high in my chest as their footsteps shift softly near the storage hatch. I can practically feel my heartbeat vibrating through my ribs.
So I do the first thing that crosses my mind.
I pray.
For the first time in a long while.
Five years ago, I was sixteen, young and frustrated to a point where I thought I needed supernatural intervention. It worked then.
But now it’s been so long that it feels like my prayers don’t move past the railing. There’s a disconnect. Maybe a shift in the cosmos, or a broken satellite.
Damn it!
Immense fear glues me in place.
And then I feel it.
A sharp prickle races down my spine so suddenly it almost hurts. It’s like a sizzle on my skin, an instinctive, ancient awareness that I’m being watched.
Deep down, I wish I was making up things in my head. But the sizzling sensation doesn’t fade.
With each passing second, it grows, like a burden placed on my shoulders that keeps getting heavier. A burden I can’t ignore.
Slowly, against every ounce of common sense screaming inside my head, I lift my gaze.
At first, all I see is the darkness layered across the upper deck of the yacht. Then, with the sudden whoosh of wind that hits me, he steps into the faint light.
His figure is intimidating: tall and muscular, the kind of physical power that can’t be hidden, even in darkness. And his gait is controlled, smooth and commanding in a way that steals the air straight from my lungs.
The mysterious man leans one hand against the railing above, dressed entirely in black. The dim marina lights catch the sharp outline of broad shoulders and the hard angle of his jaw.
That’s why I see the subtle twitch in his cheek and the menacing frown that moves over his thin lips.
My breath hitches in my throat.
I’m breathing now, but it’s still akin to suffocating. The air thins as it goes through my lungs and my brain fires up with loud warning sounds—
Retreat! Back away! Run, Elena, run!
Heavens know I want to flee, but his eyes are already on me. And it’s strange how clearly I see them through the night.
They aren’t startled or confused. Just cold, almost dead, and steady, like he’s been watching me this entire time.
My stomach drops, and for a second, neither of us moves.
In a flash, his gaze travels over me slowly, unsettlingly calm, taking in the oversized knitted sweater hanging off one shoulder, my wind-tangled hair, the tablet clutched against my chest.
I know what he’s doing. I’ve watched it on nature documentaries—the predator assessing its prey before it strikes.
This man is deciding exactly what to do with me.
And while fear unlike any I’ve never known spikes hot beneath my skin, something else slips in with it—a darker tingle that makes my pulse stumble in confusion.
He’s terrifying…and yet, though I can only make out outlines and hard edges in the dark, my heart asserts without a doubt that he’s devastatingly beautiful.
The kind of beautiful that causes scars, brutally claims territories, and triumphs over ruin. The kind of beautiful I should fear.
The ocean wind tears through the dock again, whipping my hair across my face, but he doesn’t blink or look away.
His attention pins me exactly where I stand, silently taunting. Patiently waiting for me to bolt.
I know I should.
Yet my body betrays me completely, remaining rooted to the spot beneath the mystic hold of those unreadable eyes.
Then his head tilts slightly, and I know a signal has been sent.
Because a split second later, a dock light flickers, and the gruff man who barked orders earlier turns sharply towards the railing. His beady eyes narrow at the ground below, zeroing in…
On me.
My eyes widen in stark terror as I realize the worst thing that could happen, finally has—I’ve been spotted.
Adrenaline floods my system and I finally succumb to the nagging voice that tried multiple times to save me. I do the one thing I should have from the minute I saw shadowy figures on the yacht.
I run.