Chapter 7 - Wolfson
I wake slowly, immediately assaulted by plaguing questions.
Why do vegans hate plants so much if they’re all about protecting nature? Is it the same reason they pretend to enjoy kale? Who hurt them?
And if civilization is so advanced, why is toilet paper still the best we’ve come up with?
Why are some people still insisting we all came from one incestuous family? First with Adam and Eve. Then with Noah. The God of the Bible made incest necessary for human existence to continue, and I’m really struggling with that.
Am I supposed to just get over my childhood trauma because the tyrant of heaven is pro-incest?
Nope. Nuh-uh. His Holiness can fuck right off with that.
I groan.
Overthinking should come after coffee, not before pants.
Opening my eyes, I find Leo beside me, propped on one elbow and staring intently. His gold eye glints with mischief, and his blue eye just looks lazy and dumb.
“Sweet icy goatballs.” I shove his face away. “Ignoring personal boundaries is my thing, you creep. Get your own thing.”
“Morning to you, too, Sleeping Beauty.” He flops to his back and drums his fingers on his chest. “Thought you’d want to know your bride is on the dock. Looks like she’s making a run for it.”
“What?” I jackknife to a sitting position, pulse racing.
“Seems your little runaway is eager to run away from you.” He stretches and yawns. “Can’t say I blame her.”
“Dammit.” I scramble out of bed, hot panic surging through my system.
“Relax.” He follows me into the bathroom and leans against the doorway while I piss. “It’s not like she has keys to the yachts. Apparently, she prefers yacht-jacking to asking for things.”
I keep my back to him and strip off my shirt, hiding the scars that mar my chest and abdomen. Stepping quickly into the shower, I angle myself so he can’t see the damaged skin. “She’s not a thief.”
“You sure about that?”
She stole my cigarette last night. Not the same as hot-wiring a yacht.
I lather up in record time, anxious to find out how much hell she’s managed to raise without me.
“She was up before the rest of us, sneaking around the yachts as if hoping to find a key.” Leo chuckles at my back. “The woman on the dock looks nothing like the bride you brought home last night.”
I pause mid-rinse, still shielding my scars from his gaze. “Explain.”
“Nah.” He crosses his arms. “You gotta see this for yourself. I will say… The reboot is way more your style.”
“Stop being a cryptic bitch and tell me everything.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
I grab the handheld showerhead and aim it over my shoulder, directly at his infuriating face.
Water drenches his beard, his braids, and the entire front of his body. He throws back his head and roars with laughter, widening his mouth, sticking out his tongue, and shaking his face in the spray like a wild dog.
Turning off the water, I reach for a towel. “You can put lipstick on a yeti, and he’ll still piss in snowbanks and eat your cat.”
That only makes the yeti laugh harder.
“Get out, you idiot.”
“Fine, fine.” He backs away, still grinning obnoxiously. “But you owe us a conversation. I’m not leaving without it.”
“I need some privacy first.”
“Since when?” He fixes me with an intense glare, and just like that, Playful Leo has left the chat. “I know about the scars.”
Fuck.
Fuck him, fuck the scars, and fuck the demon who cut them into me.
“Not today, Sunshine.” I shoulder past him and pull open the closet, grabbing clothes that match my mood.
A pair of electric blue jeans patterned with purple lightning bolts, a loose white shirt with ragged edges, and a glittery black cardigan that swallows me whole.
“Dove’s stepbrother is Jag Rath.” I tug on knee-high rain boots painted with daisies, knowing they’ll withstand the soggy misery of Sitka. “I broke his wrist last night. On purpose.”
“Start from the beginning.” He perches on the bed.
While brushing my teeth and finger-raking my hair, I tell him everything. The confrontation in the tattoo parlor, the brawl in the alley, and every nibble of information I pried from Dove.
“She’s not big on words.” I shove on my beanie. “One of my favorite things about her. But I need to understand her relationship with Jag if I’m gonna figure out how the hell to help.”
“Sounds like she doesn’t want your help.”
“Yeah, she’s doing that stubborn I can fix it myself routine. Full-blown mechanic girl energy. She’ll come around.”
“Before or after her stepbrother comes around and hurts her?”
“He’ll have to go through me.” I shrug on my leather jacket and head out the door. “In the meantime, double up on Frankie’s security.”
“Already done.”
He follows me back to the main house, and I dash into the kitchen, stuffing two apples and a handful of granola bars into my pockets.
Frankie stands at the island, coffee mug in one hand and phone in the other. Dressed in her scrubs with her fiery red hair tied back in a high ponytail, she looks like she’s ready to tackle the world. Or stitch up its wounds.
She glances up, eyebrows raised in question. Then her gaze flicks to Leo behind me. “Why are you wet?”
“Why aren’t you?” Grinning like a berserker, he crosses the kitchen in two long strides, lifts her off her feet, and smashes her against his soaked clothes.
With a shriek, she pounds her fists against his back, which only encourages him to grind her face into his wet shirt.
Ah, yes. Nothing says I love you like waterboarding your soul mate before breakfast.
I leave them to their foreplay and sprint out the door toward the dock.
The scent of damp earth and brine awakens my lungs as I hurry down the winding path. A thin veil of fog drapes over the water, evaporating slowly as the morning sun climbs higher.
And there she is, standing boldly against the backdrop of a glittering sea and hazy mountains.
Dove’s silhouette is fragile yet fiercely resilient. The kind of fragile that fools people right before she punches them in the throat.
She’s built like poetry and barbed wire. Delicate enough to catch the light. Sharp enough to leave me bleeding.
But Leo wasn’t exaggerating.
Her hair is no longer blonde. Bright electric blue strands shine vividly in the sunlight, twisted into two messy buns atop her head.
Now that is a choice.
One I wholeheartedly approve.
She notices me, her gaze defiant and challenging. Same unforgettable expression I remember. Except now her face is adorned with metal. Septum, lip, and eyebrow piercings, and numerous studs line her ears.
Yesterday, she was every bit the traditional princess in her white wedding gown.
Today, she radiates a delicious, sexy-as-fuck, cyberpunk superpower. Bold. Untouchable. Rare. The sort of rare that doesn’t want to be kept.
Makes me want to keep her even more.
My pulse quickens. My skin heats, and my boxers feel too damn tight.
I pause longer than necessary, drinking in how the sunlight kisses her cheeks, how the breeze teases the blue strands that frame her face.
She wears an oversized bomber jacket with a patch that says NO GODS NO MASTERS. The crop top underneath is printed with an anatomical heart made of gears and wires. Her high-waisted cargo pants cinch at the ankles with buckles, and green neon cords lace her combat boots.
Hot. Every single inch of her.
She touches her chin to her shoulder, watching me with a death glare. Then she turns away.
Playing hard to get. I’m down.
I approach carefully, curiosity burning. “When did you decide to join the rebellion?”
She ignores me, her gaze directed stubbornly out at sea.
“Don’t leave me hanging.” I sidestep into her line of vision, tipping my head. “That blue? That glare? You’re either going to break my heart or my nose. Either way, I’m here for it.”
She still refuses to acknowledge me.
“You know…” I lean in, putting my face in hers. “Silence only makes me more persistent. And I can be incredibly persuasive.”
I reach into my pocket and hold up an apple in offering.
She stares into my eyes. “Did you poison it?”
“Depends. Do you consider charm a slow-acting drug?”
“Can’t you take a hint?” She snatches the apple.
“I don’t do subtle, Princess Leia. I do obsession and revenge.” Stepping back, I dig out the other apple and bite into it. “Why the wedding-day disguise?”
“Gavin’s family.” She rotates the fruit, examining it. “Conservative assholes. They didn’t exactly jump for joy about him marrying a mechanic with piercings and blue hair. He asked me to tone it down for the day.” Her voice tightens. “I agreed. Cleaned up. Looked normal. I hated myself for it.”
I believe her. Of all the things she packed in that one bag, she made sure it included her hair dye and body jewelry.
Makes me wonder where else she’s pierced.
“Normal is boring. This…” I gesture at her with my apple. “This is badass. Not that you don’t make a gorgeous princess bride. But the real you is extraordinary.”
Her gaze holds mine, a flash of vulnerability, there and gone.
“Stop flattering me or there will be blood.” She turns back to the ocean and bites into her apple. “I thought we were leaving.”
I draw my lips between my teeth, trying not to smile. I can’t help it. Her fucking attitude… Christ, she makes me so damn hard.
We board the yacht in silence. She keeps her distance at the stern, her gaze locked on the horizon.
I let her be, gripping the wheel, mind spinning with questions I know she won’t answer.
When we dock, she leaps onto the pier and vanishes into the crowd without a word or a backward glance.
I follow at a distance, shadowing her movements as she weaves around clusters of locals and tourists with graceful confidence.
A few blocks later, she disappears into the auto mechanic shop she found last night.
Safe. For now.