51. Lilah
51
LILAH
My room was small but it had a killer view and glass doors that led right out to the patio, which looked like it hovered over the ocean but had stairs that descended to a pool area.
I didn’t care at all that it was sparsely furnished, with a simple bed covered in lightweight linens, a worn wood desk, a wardrobe, and a small dresser. I’d packed light and it took me all of ten minutes to put my clothes in the dresser, my laptop on the desk, and my few toiletries in the small but private bathroom attached to my room.
I sat at the desk and looked out over the ocean, hardly believing I was in Greece. I’d never even dreamed I’d be able to take a vacation, let alone travel overseas, and the Bastards had paid to get me an expedited passport.
The long flight had been comfortable thanks to the private plane the Bastards had chartered for the trip (I was starting to think they were truly loaded) and I’d felt surprisingly refreshed when we’d landed in Santorini, the closest island to Folegandros.
After that we’d taken a boat to Folegandros and picked up the rental car for the drive to the house.
I thought about Imperium Fratrum and the people behind it. Were they here on the island? Was that why Detective Rodriguez had mentioned it? The island obviously had some kind of connection to the missing girls in and around Blackwell Falls, but I was still shocked the guys had agreed to come.
I was guessing guilt had something to do with it, but at this point, I didn’t really care.
We were here. That was what mattered.
The Bastards had put out feelers with some contacts they had in Athens. In the meantime, they were going to do some casual recon on the island.
I opened my laptop and connected to the Wi-Fi. I was kind of proud it only took me a couple minutes to log into Tor. It had been a challenge figuring out how to use the network the first time, and I’d carefully followed the instructions I found online, terrified I was going to do something wrong or set off some kind of alarm that was going to alert the police I was cruising the dark web.
Now it was as easy as logging on to social media. My computer even remembered the password.
I navigated to the dark web and found my bookmark for Imperium Fratrum, clicked it to get to the picture of Versailles (I’d discovered it only worked through the link; there was no way to bookmark it outside of the dark web), went through Marie Antoinette’s face, and found myself back at the pink door.
I stared at it, willing it to open. “Okay, assholes,” I muttered. “I’m here.”
There was a tap on my door and I closed my laptop before telling whoever it was to come in. I hadn’t told the Bastards I’d been on the dark web. It didn’t matter. They’d already seen what was there and none of us were getting in without a username and invitation code.
The door to my room opened and I was surprised to find Rafe standing in the doorway. He looked like a giant in a hobbit’s house. His head barely cleared the frame and his shoulders filled it side to side, his biceps bulging against the sleeves of his T-shirt.
I still hadn’t forgiven him — for what he’d done to me in high school or for telling me to “get over it” — but damn.
The fucker was hot.
He’d finally taken off his sunglasses and I had to work not to fall into the storm of his eyes. He looked every bit the jet-setting playboy in dark jeans and a white linen shirt, left open to reveal his bare chest.
“We’re going to dinner in two hours,” he said.
“Cool. Thanks.”
This was how our conversations had been since the fight: cold, short.
For the best.
“You should, uh, dress in something nice,” he said.
“I didn’t bring anything nice.” As beautiful as Folegandros was, I wasn’t actually here for a vacation.
“There are a couple things in the armoire,” he said, tipping his head to the wardrobe against one wall.
I shook my head. “What do you mean?”
“I had some things delivered before we got here, in case you need them.” He shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “Or, you know, wear your regular clothes. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
He was gone before I could respond, and I got to my feet and walked to the wardrobe, wondering if he was just fucking with me. But nope, there were three dresses hanging inside, dresses I’d never seen before in my life.
I pulled them out one by one: a chaste high-necked midi number in pale pink, a classic short-sleeved cocktail dress that would hit my knees, and a drapey swath of fabric the color of the Aegean with the thinnest of straps that looked like it would barely cover my tits and ass.
I felt like Goldilocks. One of the dresses was made for modesty (even my mom would have approved), one was a safe middle-of-the-road option, and the other was downright sexy.
I picked up the black cocktail dress. It would be the smart choice. Sometime in the weeks I’d been living with the Bastards, I’d left “modest” in the rearview mirror, but I wasn’t entirely sure I was ready for “sex goddess."
Then again, I was in Greece, and I knew better than most that you only lived once.
I put the black dress back in the wardrobe and reached for the blue-green silk that reminded me of the sea.
Sex goddess it was.