Chapter 8 #2
I can’t actually argue with that, so I don’t. I lean back in my chair and let the breeze come off the water, then tip my face toward it for a second. The warm air, the sound of the waves, and the smell of whatever’s coming from the kitchen are calming me down.
“So, how long do you plan to stay in Oahu?” Ace asks.
“Well, I recently quit my job back in LA. Hence, I have no time limit on my vacation, except I may need to get a job so I can stay here for months.” I smile at him pleasantly.
“What did you do for a job?” Luca asks.
“Brand strategist for an advertising agency, so I worked with clients and our creative team. It wasn’t bad except for being a middle person and trying to please everyone.
” I grin, remembering how stressful it got at times.
Then I did something stupid and started flirting with the big boss of the agency, Daniel. I sigh at my stupidity.
The drinks arrive, and I sip the mai tai right away, the fresh pineapple juice divine. The guys are chatting about some upcoming surfing tournament, Luca and Ace going back and forth about a particular break on the North Shore, while North stares at me.
“You okay?” he asks, low enough that it’s just to me.
“Getting there,” I say truthfully.
He nods, and I appreciate that he doesn’t push me.
The food arrives in stages and then all at once, and the table becomes overflowing.
Fish tacos with mango salsa. Battered fish in golden crisp pieces.
A kalua pork sandwich, Korean steak street tacos, a cheeseburger, a full rib and chicken plate that takes up a quarter of the table on its own.
Fish and chips. A second table appears beside ours to hold the overflow.
People around us are absolutely staring, and my face goes warm.
“We might have gone overboard,” I say.
“This is normal,” Luca says, already reaching for the pork sandwich. He points at the fish tacos. “Start there.”
I do, and the dish is genuinely one of the best things I’ve eaten in recent memory, the fish perfectly crisp and the mango cutting through it. I moan at how incredible it tastes, grabbing all of their attention. I grin and wipe my mouth with a napkin, loving how responsive they are.
We eat, and it’s surprisingly easy how the four of us are sitting around a table with too much food and the ocean right there, enjoying the feast. The guys argue about which shaved-ice place on the island is worth the drive and which ones are tourist traps.
North tells me about a beach on the east side that nobody goes to because it’s a forty-minute walk from the nearest parking.
Luca keeps pushing things toward me without comment—the fish and chips, a second taco, a spoonful of the kimchi from the Korean plate—and I eat all of it because I’m apparently starving and also because turning down food feels rude.
The breeze coming off the water, blows past me and toward the guys, and every few minutes, one of them shifts in his seat or goes still for a half second before picking up whatever he was saying.
Luca rolls his shoulders once. Ace blinks slowly.
North straightens almost imperceptibly and then relaxes again.
I don’t know what that’s about, but it’s mildly fascinating.
“The huli huli chicken,” Luca says, pointing his spoon at North like this is a matter of public importance. “Tell her.”
North doesn’t even crack a smile. “Best barbecue chicken on the island. North Shore truck. You smell it before you see it, and once you do, you’re done for.”
“I need to try this,” I say.
“We’ll take you,” Ace says.
I glance at him across the table.
He says it so easily. No big production, no hesitation. Just, like, of course they’ll take me as if this is already a thing now and I’ve slipped into their plans without meaning to.
I drop my gaze back to my plate before that can settle anywhere dangerous.
“I can’t eat another thing,” I announce, which is when I realize the table is almost clear. Three giant men, one lunch I’m pretty sure could’ve fed a small wedding, and somehow there are only scraps left. “Seriously. How did you all do that?”
Luca leans back in his chair, pleased with himself. “We warned you.”
“Not properly.”
North wipes his mouth with his napkin. “You underestimated the situation.”
“I did.”
“Common mistake,” Luca says. Then he lifts one finger like a man struck by divine inspiration. “Dessert.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Hula pie,” he tells the waitress as she passes, in a tone that suggests this decision has already been made by higher powers. “One. Four spoons.”
The waitress laughs and heads inside, then returns very soon. The pie lands in front of us on a large plate. Macadamia crust. Ice cream. Chocolate sauce poured over it like somebody in the kitchen had recently been through a breakup.
I take one bite and close my eyes. “Oh, no.”
Luca grins. “Yeah.”
“This is obscene.”
“Correct,” North says.
“I’m going to need this again.”
Ace’s mouth curves. “That can be arranged.”
I open my eyes just in time to catch them watching me in that quiet way that seems too intense for a public place.
Then Luca’s phone rings. He glances at the screen, lifts two fingers at us in a wait a second gesture, and answers. “Yeah.”
He listens while the rest of us dive into the dessert.
“When?” Another pause. “All four?” Luca’s expression hardens by degrees, the humor gone clean off it. “You’re sure,” he says, sounding like he already knows the answer.
Then he hangs up. Luca sets his phone down and looks straight at me. “That was the garage.”
Something cold starts crawling up my spine.
“All four tires were slashed,” he says.
“But there were only two when we left.” My voice comes out flat.
Luca nods once. “I checked them before we called the tow. Someone went back.”
North’s chair creaks as he leans forward, forearms on the table, all easy charm stripped out of him now. “So someone was watching you both.”
I can see it so clearly it makes me feel sick.
The beach. The waiting. The van left alone.
“They were waiting to see if I’d be alone,” I say. “And maybe when I wasn’t, they went back and finished it.” My fingers flatten against the table. I concentrate on the wood under my palms. On breathing in. Out. In.
North’s dark eyes hold mine. “Who’s after you, Adelaide?”
I stare out at the ocean. The beautiful, indifferent, endlessly blue Pacific doing its thing with zero awareness of or interest in my problems.
“I don’t know,” I answer. It’s technically true.
Ace, across the table, is watching me with those green-gold eyes. “Stay with us,” he urges. “A few days, until the van is sorted and we figure out what’s going on. We’ve got space. Separate from the main house so you have your freedom.”
“That’s—” I shake my head. “No, if they followed me here, they could follow me to yours, and then I’d be bringing this to your door and—”
“Our place has security,” North says. “And trust me, they don’t want to deal with us.”
“And anyone who tries something on our property,” Luca adds, in the tone of a man describing a straightforward, practical matter, “is going to have a very unpleasant time.”
I believe him completely; that’s the problem.
I sit there and think about Daniel texting me, saying, Don’t do anything stupid.
Don’t go anywhere. I think about four slashed tires, Clio’s apartment, and how much I don’t want any of my mess anywhere near them.
I haven’t been to Clio’s for the last two weeks, and I never told Daniel her surname, so I’m hoping that means he can’t track her town as he searches for me.
Then there are these three men I met on surfboards, who didn’t ask questions when I paddled up to them with a problem. Even now, they’re still here, still helping, still offering to take me in and give me a room at their place.
And I hate how tempting that is because every instinct I have says, Don’t do it.
Don’t rely on anyone or hand people the sharp edge of your life and trust them not to bleed for it.
Since arriving in Oahu, I’ve spent weeks moving, adjusting, staying light on my feet, and none of that fits with going home with three Alphas I barely know.
But smart choices are becoming scarce.
My van is out. I won’t endanger Clio. Hotels could be dangerous. Whoever is after me knows where I am. So the thought of staying anywhere alone tonight turns my stomach.
I don’t really have a choice, not one I can live with, anyway. “I need to send my friend your details first,” I say. “All of you. Names, address. If I go missing, she reports it.”
Luca doesn’t blink. “Smart.”
He glances at the other two, and all three of them pull out their IDs.
I notice that they have no photos on them, but they have names and addresses.
The guys set them on the table so fast and neatly that it’s almost ridiculous.
Coordinated enough to be funny if I weren’t busy deciding whether I’m having a lapse in judgment or just adapting to disaster.
I photograph them anyway and type Clio a message. Just in case I ever go missing. Three men, including Ace. I’m staying with them for a few days. I’ll explain later, promise.
“Okay,” I say finally and push back my chair. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”
Luca is already on his feet.
My phone starts buzzing immediately. Clio. Message after message. What’s going on? Seriously, Adelaide. Can you actually trust them?
I stare at the screen for a second longer than I should.
But I trust the way Luca didn’t hesitate when he saw the van.
I trust the way North watches everything.
I trust the fact that Ace was so upset that I’d ditched him on the plane.
Sure, they could be over-obsessed, but they seem caring. I hope I’m not making a mistake.
I type back. Yes, and I’ll call you later. Then I grab my backpack and swing it over my shoulder.
Ace and North are still at the table as Luca starts steering us toward the door. I glance back. They’re both watching me with that same focused, unreadable attention, as if they know this is difficult for me.
I turn and follow Luca out into the warm Hawaiian afternoon, my pulse still too high, my life a mess, and one thought keeps circling through my mind.
I’m absolutely in over my head.
The only question left is whether agreeing to stay with them is the stupidest thing I’ve done today… or the only smart one.
Given the four slashed tires, I’m going with smart.
For now.