Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
Yosh
Pain hits the second I wake up. The morning sun blinds me, the world spinning like I’ve been tossed in a dryer.
Fuck, I haven’t been this wrecked in years.
I try to move, but it’s nearly impossible. Tom’s curled around me, arm locked tight at my waist. I’m pinned between him and the rock wall.
Above us, gulls are screeching. The wind drags my hair across my face.
Where the hell are we? This isn’t my bed.
I do a quick one-eighty.
Playa Tortuga? No. We’re at Playa Arcadia.
What the hell happened?
I squint against the light, trying to piece last night back together.
We’d left SeaBreeze. Tom was driving. Someone had spiked my drink. Fuck, I felt so unbelievably bad. We drove to West Cove, and then… the Gremlin.
I shoot up, shoving Tom aside.
MY GREMLIN!
My vision goes dark.
For a moment, I think I’ll pass out, but then a wave of nausea crashes through me. I stumble over Tom, running toward the waterline. My knees buckle as I reach a small rock formation. I grab onto it and empty my stomach onto the sand.
The next wave drags my puke away.
Tom’s beside me now. The slow circles of his hand on my back give me something to focus on.
His fingers gather my hair, holding it back from my face when my stomach decides a second round is necessary.
This is so embarrassing.
And just when it seems it can’t get worse, Deep Diver crawls out of the ocean in his tight, slick wetsuit.
The dive tank falls on the sand, my blurry vision comes back into focus.
He takes his sweet time watching me vomit while maniac McKenna bares his teeth at him.
A slow shake of his head. Probably disappointment. He turns and disappears behind the dive bar.
This is an absolute shit show. I’m right back where I once belonged, down in the gutter.
And I can’t go back there. I can’t. But it’s already scratching at the back of my mind. That shadow never really leaves, it just waits until it finds a weak spot. And last night, when I drank whatever the fuck was in that glass, I gave it exactly what it wanted.
Now the numbness is wearing off, and I hate that being spiked felt earned and safe, when it was anything but.
I try to breathe through this spiral. Slow. In, out.
I’m not going there again. I can’t.
What I need to do right now is pull myself together, sneak into my studio without being seen, call in sick, and get a tow truck to drag the Gremlin out of the ditch. Let’s focus on that.
God, I hope they haven’t stripped it for parts yet.
Tom grunts next to me, still holding my hair.
“The fuck was he starin’ at? Swear to God, if he’d taken one more step, I would’ve smashed him right back to the fishes myself.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my wrist.
“You really need to stop picking fights with guys twice your size. Your hands do have a day job, remember?”
He scoffs. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I’ve got you to patch me up.”
There are a million things I could say to that, but I won’t
“Come on,” I say hoarsely, my gaze drifting up the stairs. “Let’s head up.”
The gate’s unlocked. That’s something.
Tom helps me up from the rock. “You feeling okay? Your studio or mine?”
“Mine. I need to call a tow truck.”
“Ah, your sweet beloved Gremlin.”
He’s clearly biting his tongue. One look from me shuts him up.
We start climbing the stairs. I grip the railing tight; my legs still feel like jelly.
“Let’s get you some food. Trust me, everything gets better after some carbs.”
I press my hand to my stomach. “Please don’t talk about food.”
Nausea rises again, but this time I breathe through it. Deep inhales until the wave loosens its grip. I force my feet up another step. Then another. Just a few more.
The second we step onto the pool terrace, I notice something’s wrong. Deeply wrong.
The pool is empty, not a single ripple disturbing the surface. No sleepy guests sipping ginger water. No staff serving breakfast. Cups are still half full, toast and pancakes getting eaten by lizards and birds. Everyone… just vanished.
Tom comes up beside me, scanning the terrace with narrowed eyes. His hands curl into fists, because that’s what he does when instinct kicks in.
He says what’s already going through my mind. The blunt version.
“What kind of post-apocalyptic shit is this?”
“I don’t know, Sapphire, and I’m not sure I want to find out.”
We take the familiar path to my studio.
Rakes and shovels lie abandoned in the flower beds. The sprinklers still run, their soft tapping against the silence making everything worse.
Tom walks beside me like a stray cat in enemy territory, restlessly checking every corner.
We pass the tennis court, rackets and balls abandoned on the ground, until the path opens onto the main building.
Everyone is gathered in the square in front of the lobby. Staff. Guests. All of them.
Tom and I exchange looks.
“Why is everyone there?”
I lift a hand, signaling him to lower his voice. “We should join them. It won’t look good if we’re the only ones hanging back.”
He nods, falling into step with me.
“Maybe they found the Gremlin in the ditch and now they’re looking for us.”
A low hum leaves my throat. Not quite yes, not quite no.
“If that was the case,” I whisper back. “Wouldn’t they have sent people down to the beach already?”
But even as I say it, doubt crawls under my ribs. My gut—still flipped inside out—doesn’t trust my logic. It barely trusts the ground beneath my feet.
Then I see a wall of guards. Dozens. Law enforcement and private security.
And behind them—
Oh god. Dogs.
My head tips, dizziness threatens to take me out at the knees. Next to me, Tom goes rigid. I catch the flash of panic in his eyes before he buries it.
There’s no such thing as coincidence. I get spiked, and less than twelve hours later there’s a drug raid at Arcadia?
That’s exactly what this is. How the hell did Terrence manage to pull this off?
Everything speeds up.
A unit of guards circle the crowd, closing us in. One passes close enough that I catch the scent of cologne and leather. His eyes sweep over us, counting heads.
His gaze lands on me, staying a little longer than feels comfortable.
My mouth goes dry.
“Everyone, get in line!” he barks, pointing at the counter where more guards are setting up a checkpoint.
Tom bumps his shoulder against mine. “Stay with me. I’ll handle this.”
I nod, but it’s automatic. Empty.
My body forgets the headache, the nausea. Everything dulls except the part of me that knows how to survive.
Assess. Position. Exit.
There’s no exit.
The line begins to move.
Every few seconds, Tom glances back to check on me.
Weeks ago, he arrived here barely holding himself together. Now he’s the one watching over me.
It should comfort me.
Instead, it leaves me exposed.
Because I’ve always handled this alone. Always braced for impact without anyone noticing when I fell apart behind closed doors.
Tom notices, making it so much harder.
He steps out of line to get a better look, then turns back.
“They’re handing out cups. Stay calm. Promise me, love.”
Before I can answer, a guard shoves him back into line.
“No talking.”
Tom lifts his hands in mock surrender, like his last name isn’t McKenna.
The line advances, and within minutes we’re at the counter.
Tom takes his cup first. He plants himself in front of the line, arms crossed, grinning.
“Move on,” a guard snaps.
What the hell is he doing?
My turn.
I hand over my ID. The officer slides a cup toward me. My name is printed in capital letters, beneath it, my employee number and a barcode.
My pulse spikes.
This is it.
I’m done.
“Don’t block the line,” the guard warns. Tom stays at my side anyway.
“I’m not doing this. Do you even know who I am?”
“We don’t care. Keep moving.”
Tom doesn’t.
Instead, his hands tighten into fists.
My breath catches, because I know that look. When his fingers curl like that, it isn’t a warning anymore. It means the fuse is already lit.
Tom steps forward. Not to attack, but to provoke.
And it works.
The guard shoves him.
Tom dodges like it’s just another bar-fight.
The guard stumbles and slams into the table.
Plastic cups fly as the table tips over. Someone screams.
And then there was chaos.
Tom collides with me and we hit the ground. He lands on top of me, chest heaving, a gash split open above his brow. The world tilts.
Warm blood streaks down my cheek, his breath close against my ear.
“It’s okay. It’s all okay.”
My lungs won’t expand.
It’s happening again.
It’s happening again.
And I hear myself say the words I’ve only said once before.
“You’re not leaving me here.”
Six guards rip him off me, forcing him face-down, slamming cuffs around his wrists.
Everything snaps back into focus.
I move.
“Stop!” He’s my responsibility. Let me through!”
Hands seize my arms, dragging me back. I fight until I realize it’s useless. They’re stronger. There are too many of them and they are trained for this.
I twist just in time to see Tom being dragged away, face wrecked and bleeding.
And somehow he still turns.
He still finds me in the crowd.
He still smirks, even as he spits out a tooth.
One last wink, then they drag him out of sight.
I stare after him until a tap lands on my shoulder.
“Walk that way.”
We’re herded toward the toilet block near the dining room. A few guests protest that they can’t go on command. They’re pulled aside and sorted into a separate group. It’s just an extension of the path to the gallows. It won’t save them.
I step into one of the bathrooms. Let’s just get this over with.
The sting of disinfectant burns my nose. Around me, people complain and shout, and beneath it all the unmistakable sound of piss hitting porcelain.
How the hell did my perfect weekend turn into this nightmare?
Fuck.
My knuckles press into the cold marble wall.
“Hurry up!” a voice snaps from the hallway. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Arcadia is supposed to be a healing centre. With all these cops barking orders, it feels more like a prison.