CHAPTER 77 ROHAN
ROHAN
S he didn’t come back up. It had been more than a minute and two strikes of lightning in the distance, and Savannah had not come up .
Rohan had done everything he could since the yacht to shove her into Brady’s lap, to hasten the demise of their alliance, to give her the courtesy of the first betrayal, and in return, Savannah Grayson had given him the photographs he now held in his hands—the leverage she’d had, such as it was, over Brady.
I see you, Rohan.
He was the one who said things like that, the one who preyed upon the very human desire to be seen and recognized and known . He was the one who pulled the strings, the one who threw down gauntlets and backed opponents into corners.
Damn her. Rohan stripped off his jacket and tank top. The ocean was dark and undoubtedly cold, the water surrounding the docks of indeterminate depth. The last thing—the very last thing —that Rohan wanted to do was go in after her.
But she’d left him no choice.
He secured the photographs along with his jacket, and then he pulled the trigger, going in feet first. Dark water.
His body plunged downward into its freezing depths.
His ability to swim was strong enough for this, at least, but beneath the ocean’s surface— how is it so damn deep this close to shore? —memories circled like sharks.
Like there was chum in the water.
The sound of gentle humming came first. The smell of his mother—and then the weight of stones tied to his ankles.
Strong arms grabbed him, pulled him up. Rohan sucked in air, the way he had so many times before, and that was when he realized: Savannah Grayson had just pulled him up and under the dock.
She treaded water beside him. “Aren’t you going to sign the ledger?” she said, her voice echoing in the small expanse of space. It was well-lit in the hollow beneath the dock, and Rohan came fully back to himself—to the view of Savannah , wet and mostly submerged.
And triumphant.
Rohan followed Savannah’s gaze to an open ledger, attached to the bottom of the dock. Keeping himself afloat with his legs, Rohan lifted the arm bearing his watch and pressed it to the page. His name appeared, the third in the ledger, after Savannah’s, which appeared right under Lyra Kane’s.
“I suppose that answers that,” Rohan said. They weren’t the first.
“Lyra beat us this time,” Savannah replied, and the word us rang in Rohan’s mind. “But I am going to beat you both to the end.”
That was a promise, a familiar one, and Rohan thought about the way that Savannah had declared that he did not have her permission to end things. He’d pushed, and he’d pushed, cutting at the rope, willing her to walk away.
And still, she hadn’t. She hadn’t betrayed him. She hadn’t even tried to.
You do not get to decide whether or not I betray you. All you get to decide is whether you are really that scared . Of her. She’d accused him of being scared of her .
Fear was weakness, as bad as affection, not nearly as dangerous as trust.
Being here, with Savannah Grayson beneath the dock, in dark and freezing water, their bodies wet and far too close together was a threat on many fronts.
Rohan looked past her, searching their surroundings until he found what he was looking for: the next clue. No charm this time , he registered, just words . They were written in glowing script on the underside of the dock.
Respect the grayest pile
For the departed creature’s sake
That hovered there a while
“When I win,” Savannah declared forcefully, treading water beside him, her gaze locked on those same words, “I’ll give you the money you need.”
He would have rather she come at him with a knife. “Now why would you do a thing like that?” he challenged.
They were in freezing water—in a storm. Neither one of them had any business lingering there.
“Because,” Savannah said, “a key part of my strategy for winning this—on my terms, my way and no one else’s—is by wanting it more .”
Once upon a time, Savannah Grayson had told him that she didn’t want things, that she set goals and achieved them, end of story. Fair warning, love , Rohan had told her, I want it more .
In the hollow beneath the dock, having said her piece, Savannah put her hands on his shoulders. Rohan’s body tensed, preparing for her to push him under, but instead, Savannah Grayson raked her nails all the way down his back and brought her lips to his.
He kissed her back. Damn me. Damn him all the way to hell, he kissed her back.
“And the second I give that money to you,” she said, her lips brushing his with every word, “ then we’re done.” She pulled back. “I decide. Not you.”
Her body rotated in the water, and she pushed off the bottom of the dock with her legs.
Have it your way, love. Rohan’s gaze went back to the next clue. And then, he was off.