Chapter 21
Gaby stood at the open balcony doors, listening to the surf crashing onto the beach below. She hadn’t slept. Neither had Rhys. She’d known it by the way his breathing never quite deepened, by the tension that lingered even in rest.
When she turned, he was already dressed and had become crisp, controlled Lucien Blackwood once more. The tailored lines of his clothes erased the man who had held her through the night, replacing him with the art dealer álvarez expected.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then the distant echo of footsteps and voices drifted up from the estate grounds as the island came to life.
“It’s time,” Rhys announced quietly.
She nodded.
They left the guest suite together and moved down the west wing corridor, its long stretch of glass opening to the Pacific. Sunlight glittered off the water, blue and endless, the view deceptively peaceful.
The smell hit her halfway down the hall. Bacon, coffee, and something freshly baked. Probably rich and indulgent. Exactly what álvarez believed men like him deserved before sport.
Gaby’s stomach growled, loud enough for Rhys to hear.
He glanced down at her, a faint crease forming between his brows. “You didn’t eat dinner last night.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t recall it being offered. Not that I was hungry after… that.”
“You’ll need something on your stomach this morning,” he said decisively as the corridor opened into the main house.
The grand foyer rose around them, three stories of stone and glass, meant to impress. álvarez was waiting near the center of the space, flanked by men in dark shooting jackets, gloves, and boots. His gaze swept over Rhys’s suit, his lip curling faintly.
Rhys evidently hadn’t gotten the wardrobe memo.
Gaby bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smirking. These self-indulgent, entitled men, wrapped in their expensive costumes, had no idea how foolish they looked beside him. Or how inferior.
“Lucien,” álvarez greeted smoothly. “I trust you rested well.”
Rhys inclined his head. “I did.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the dining room. “Though I woke with a fierce appetite. Must be all the fresh, salty air.”
álvarez smiled thinly. “We’ll have refreshments available at the range. We shouldn’t keep the targets waiting.”
“What about Camille? She won’t be joining us but still needs to eat.”
His attention slid to Gaby, brief and dismissive. She was unimportant, after all. A possession, not a person.
“Have her dine with my muses,” álvarez said, waving his hand as if he couldn’t be bothered with such minutiae, already moving away.
Rhys stepped closer to her, his voice pitched low. “An invitation,” he murmured. “It doesn’t get any easier than that.”
As he passed, his arm brushed hers, subtle and unremarkable to anyone watching. To her, deliberate and encouraging.
Rhys followed álvarez and the others. His spine stiffened. She felt the moment he wanted to look back. And didn’t.
When he disappeared around the corner, Gaby was alone for the first time since arriving on the island. Strangely, it wasn’t freeing. It was unsettling. She’d grown used to looking over and finding him there.
Mateo appeared at her side, solid and quiet. His gaze flicked to her face. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
He held her eyes a beat longer then looked toward the house. “Where to first?”
“The courtyard,” she said, hesitating as she took in the branching hallways and the doors that opened off the foyer. “This place is the size of a palace. We either followed a servant or Rhy… uh, Mr. Blackwood, who seemed to know where he was going, led the way.”
“Sounds like Mr. Blackwood,” he said drily.
“Do you know which way it is?”
Mateo followed her gaze, cataloging angles and exits. “No clue. Leland and I were assigned less opulent quarters out back. I explored the grounds then grabbed some shuteye while he took first watch.”
Gaby frowned, trying to get her bearings. “We didn’t pass it on our way here. Rhys must have gone a different route than last night. We’ll have to ask someone.”
“Who?” he said, turning in a circle. They were alone. No staff or guests in sight. His gaze settled on a sun-drenched corridor. “East is that way. We should start there.”
She nodded, determined. “Let’s find my sister.”
***
Ten minutes later, after locating the kitchen and several short halls that led nowhere, the air changed, becoming warmer and heavier. Soap and clean cotton replaced the scent of salt air and the last traces of breakfast.
Mateo slowed. “Laundry.”
Gaby nodded. “This must be the service corridor.”
“Which means we’re no closer to where we want to be.”
They turned back and nearly collided with a middle-aged man and woman in crisp uniforms, both moving with the careful efficiency of people who knew they were always being watched.
Their expressions changed upon seeing Gaby. Not alarmed, but cautious.
Mateo moved slightly ahead of her and addressed them in Spanish, his tone calm yet authoritative.
The man nodded once, gesturing as he replied rapidly. Gaby regretted not having paid more attention to learning her ancestral language in school.
“Gracias,” Mateo said, one of the few words she knew. Then he took her arm and guided her forward.
Once they were out of earshot, Gaby leaned closer. “What did you say to them?”
“The truth. We were lost and trying to find our way back to the courtyard.”
Gaby shot him a look. “Smooth.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m not just a pretty face, if you hadn’t figured that out by now.” Then, more seriously, “Come on. Before we attract the wrong kind of attention.”
After four turns and a half flight of stairs she knew she had never taken, they emerged onto a covered walkway on the perimeter of the courtyard.
At first glance, the wide, sunlit space seemed serene: pale stone, tropical greenery, a fountain burbling softly at its center.
But the calm felt staged, the plants and short palms arranged to conceal the iron gate on the far side.
“How should we approach this?” she whispered.
“Like you were invited by Mr. álvarez, which you were.”
His fingers closed around her upper arm, as expected from an escort. The brief squeeze that followed was for her alone. They moved forward along the center path, bold and unhurried, as if this were exactly where they belonged.
A single guard stood watch, posture relaxed, rifle slung low. He glanced at them, his expression bored rather than suspicious.
“Ella está aquí para el desayuno,” Mateo said casually.
Even rusty, Gaby caught the word for breakfast.
The guard nodded, pressed his thumb to the scanner, and pulled the gate open without a single question.
Gaby blinked as her eyes adjusted from bright daylight to shadow. It was quieter here, and cooler, but the floor was bare, the walls drab and plain, and the doors too many. She’d seen jails more uplifting.
When the gate clanged shut behind them, she twisted and looked back. Something about the ease of their entry didn’t sit right.
Then she understood. The guard and iron bars weren’t there to keep people out. They were there to keep them in.
“This is an island,” she murmured. “Where would they even escape to?”
In the dimness, she saw his gaze flick to the nearest window. Hers followed. Ornamental bars on the outside blocked much of the light. Like the gate, they were heavy, metal, inescapable. Beyond them, jagged cliffs dropped to rocks and the pounding sea below.
“Oh my God,” Gaby gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
“Fucking bastard,” Mateo muttered, his fingers tightening. “We’ll see that he pays for this, Gaby, but first we need to find Natalie.”
She nodded, more determined than ever to bring down this house of horrors and the man behind it.
They moved carefully, opening doors just wide enough to see inside. Some rooms were unoccupied—immaculate beds, untouched chairs. Others were not.
Young women sat or stood in silence. Some stared blankly. Some watched them with guarded curiosity. Others shrank back at the sight of strangers.
Gaby’s throat closed, wondering which version Natalie had become after more than three months.
She forced herself to keep moving. Near the end of the hall, she saw her. Natalie sat on the edge of a narrow bed, hands folded in her lap, staring at the floor as though she’d learned to look nowhere else. She was thinner, paler, less vibrant. The light in her had faded.
Mateo squeezed her arm, giving her the little nudge she needed to step through.
“Natalie,” she said softly, cautious, not rushing in to hug her tight as she wanted to.
No response.
She knelt in front of her sister, lowering herself into her line of sight.
“Natalie,” she repeated, lightly touching her cold hand.
Her eyes lifted, unfocused at first, then they widened. “Gaby?”
Smiling through a sheen of tears, she replied, “Yeah, sweetie. It’s me.”
Surprise turned to fear. “What are you doing here?” Natalie breathed. “Don’t tell me they took you too.”
Gaby closed both hands around hers. “No. I’m here for you. I’m getting you out.”
Hope crossed her face before settling into resignation. “No one gets out of this place.”
“We for damn sure are,” she said fiercely.
“We?” Natalie asked.
When she glanced toward the doorway, Natalie turned and froze at the sight of Mateo filling the frame.
“He’s with me,” Gaby said quickly. “He’s also a badass. And he’s not alone. I brought others.”
Natalie searched her face. “He’ll kill you for this.”
“Not if we get to him first,” Gaby replied, feeling a little badass herself.
“We need to move,” Mateo said.
There was urgency in his voice, and she knew why. A distant rumble rolled through the air. It didn’t fade like thunder. The whop-whop grew louder, moving closer—helicopter blades, far off but unmistakable. Shouts of alarm from outside followed.
“Hear that?” she asked. “That’s the cavalry.”
“Now, Gaby,” Mateo urged.
“Right,” she said, clasping Natalie’s hand. Her sister didn’t resist or ask anything else when she tugged her to her feet and led her to the door.