5. I’m a Complete Fucking Goner
5
I’M A COMPLETE FUCKING GONER
EZRA
The island is quiet—eerily so.
Seagrove isn’t much to look at this time of year, its edges worn by relentless ocean winds, its skies smothered in dull, endless gray. To most people, it’s bleak—small and isolated, with no neighbors, no passing boats, and certainly no curious tourists.
But to me? It’s perfect.
A place untouched. Unbothered. Forgotten by the rest of the world.
Maybe, if the wind weren’t so brutal, insistent, like it’s trying to drive intruders back to the mainland—it would be even better.
But if I could keep Kruz here all to myself forever?
I would.
Winter in Seagrove is relentless. Unforgiving. The kind of cold that seeps into your soul and stays there.
On the rare days it isn’t raining, the fog rolls in so thick you can’t see more than a few feet ahead, turning the world into a hazy, muffled dreamscape. The ocean is never calm—always restless, always roaring, like it has something to say but no one to listen.
Occasionally, there’s snow. But it never stays—just a fleeting dusting, barely enough to appreciate before it melts into a slushy mess.
And yet, I love it.
There’s something about how raw and wild it all feels, like this place exists entirely on its own terms, indifferent to anyone’s expectations. Unapologetically itself.
But yeah, I could do without the wind stealing my hat every five minutes. Or the way my boots are perpetually damp, no matter how many times I set them by the fire.
The lighthouse looms over the rocky shoreline, its presence both steadfast and weathered, standing guard over a single, nearly dilapidated cottage tucked beneath its shadow. Beyond that, miles and miles of dark, unforgiving water stretch out in every direction, as far as the eye can see.
It’s isolated. Untamed. Brutal.
It’s exactly what I need it to be.
I’ve been here many times, but never like this. Never with someone else. And definitely never with a gorgeous hostage.
This island isn’t new to me. I’ve known about it for years—one of the Assembly’s hidden hubs, a place where deals were made in the dark and shipments moved without a trace. Trafficking, smuggling, quiet operations that never made the news but shaped the world in ways most people would never understand.
I came here before, shook hands with dangerous men, and walked these shores like I was untouchable. Because I was.
But now? Now, it’s different.
Because she’s here.
She doesn’t belong in this world—not even close. And yet, I’ve dragged her into it, bound her to it in a way I can’t take back.
I never planned on coming back here like this. But this time, it’s not about business. It’s about her.
Kruz is asleep on the couch, a tangled mess of limbs and a scowl even in unconsciousness.
She’s beautiful in a way that sneaks up on you, raw and unapologetic.
It’s not just her high cheekbones or full lips, though those definitely get to me.
It’s the way she moves, like she doesn’t care if the world is watching or not, and the way she says exactly what’s on her mind, no filter, no hesitation.
She’s messy and stubborn and so damn alive that it makes everything else feel dull in comparison.
Even now, with her dark curly hair a disaster and her sock half falling off, I can’t look away.
She’s chaos wrapped in beauty, all fire and edge and sweetness she doesn’t even realize she has.
And I’m a complete fucking goner.
I just hope I can pull some of that sweetness out of her again in time, because I haven’t been on the receiving end of it for quite some time now.
I would be lying if I said I wasn’t just as drawn to her sharp edges as I am to the softness she tries so hard to hide. There’s something intoxicating about the fire in her, the way she doesn’t hesitate to bare her teeth, to spit venom when she’s cornered. I love every side of her—the fury, the fight, the rare moments of warmth she probably doesn’t even know she’s capable of. It’s all-consuming. Maddening. And right now, completely out of my reach.
I’ve done my best to make the cottage livable, though calling it that feels like a stretch. The caretaker’s quarters—a single bedroom barely big enough for the old, lumpy mattress shoved against the wall, a cramped kitchen that looks like it hasn’t been updated in decades, and a living area dominated by a massive wood-burning fireplace—aren’t exactly meant for comfort. They’re meant to be functional.
Barely.
The man who usually stays here didn’t hesitate to take the little vacation I offered. He was well on his way before we ever arrived.
I brought supplies—enough canned food to last us a couple of weeks, though the options aren’t exactly gourmet. Soup, beans, and some dry goods that won’t go bad quickly. A first aid kit stocked with the basics, because knowing her, she’ll need it. And enough firewood to keep the place from turning into an icebox, at least at night.
The water situation isn’t ideal, but it’ll have to do. An old rain catchment system runs along the cottage roof, feeding into a rusted tank behind the building. It filters the water just enough to keep it from being a death sentence, but I’ll still have to boil it before we can drink it. It’s a crude setup, not much better than roughing it in the woods, but it’s enough to survive.
For now.
The electricity, though…
The single overhead bulb flickers ominously as I pull open the kitchen cabinets, erratic shadows splaying across the worn countertops. I take a slow breath, making a mental inventory of what’s left behind—dusty cans, half-used supplies, the kind of essentials that say someone was here once but never planned to stay long.
Power has always been an issue out here. A few years back, they installed a small array of solar panels near the lighthouse—just enough to keep the beacon operational without relying on fuel. The panels also feed into the cottage, but the energy they provide is unreliable at best. Cloudy days like today drain the reserves faster than they can replenish, and there’s no telling when the lights will go out completely. It’s just another reminder that this place was never meant for comfort.
The Assembly doesn’t care about luxury. They care about efficiency. About control. This place exists for one reason: storage. The drugs we move through here don’t need electricity, don’t care if the wiring is decades out of date or if the cold creeps in through the cracks. That’s all this place has ever been to me—a waypoint, a stopgap, a place to get in, get out, and do what needed to be done.
But now, with Kruz asleep on the couch, her scowl softened by exhaustion, I find myself looking at these walls differently. The isolation, the silence—it’s suffocating in a way I never noticed before.
The chill in the air feels heavier somehow, sinking into my skin and settling deep inside me. The silence, too, is louder, thick with something I can’t quite name. It’s not just an empty island anymore. It’s a place where she stands out—where her presence, her energy, disrupts the stillness in a way that shouldn’t even matter. But it does.
Maybe it’s the way she looks at things, like there’s something worth noticing in this forgotten, utilitarian place. It makes me notice things, too—the rough texture of the wooden walls, the way the wind howls through the cracks, the distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs. It’s the same as it’s always been, and yet, it feels different.
Maybe it’s just her. Maybe it’s just what she does to me. But even standing here, in this cold, filthy space, I can’t ignore the way it feels like everything’s a little… off. More alive. In ways I didn’t even know I wanted.
Behind me, she stirs, a soft groan escaping her lips. The sound shoots straight to my cock, immediate and unwelcome, especially given the fact that it’s more likely pain than anything else. I grit my teeth, swallowing down the reaction, but when I glance over my shoulder, the sight of her knocks the air from my lungs anyway.
Her brows are drawn, her lips slightly parted, dark curls spilling over the blanket I threw over her earlier. Even in discomfort, there’s something about her that gets under my skin, burrows deep, refuses to let go.
And for a moment, just one, it softens something inside me.
Her hair is a curly nest on top of her head, tangled and still streaked with saltwater from the boat ride. Her arms are folded tightly across her body, the bruise on her cheek stark against her pale skin.
Even now, battered and cold, she’s still the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.
Morte mea.
I’ve called her that since the first time I saw her.
My death.
Because that’s what she is.
I’ve always known she’d ruin me, and yet here I am, moving mountains to keep her alive and safe.
The pet name usually draws a look of irritation across her features.
Except in those moments when she’s in that floaty headspace after being properly used like the good little slut she is.
She definitely likes that pet name, especially when I have her on those pretty little knees for me.
I readjust myself in my pants.
Shaking off the thought, I turn my attention back to the task at hand. The fire in the hearth is barely holding on, flickering weakly against the encroaching cold, and I still need to check the solar inverter before the last of the daylight disappears.
Outside, the wind howls through the trees, rattling against the windows like it’s trying to claw its way inside, a stark contrast to the heavy silence stretching between us. I steel myself against the chill.
Kruz isn’t looking at me. Her gaze is locked somewhere beyond the window, but I know her well enough to recognize the storm brewing beneath the surface. There are a thousand thoughts running through her mind, tangled and sharp-edged, and I doubt any of them are good.
Finally, she speaks, her voice raw from whatever’s been building up inside her. Frustration. Exhaustion. Maybe even fear, though she’d never admit it.
She doesn’t look away. Her gaze is unrelenting, despite the exhaustion pressing into her limbs. And then, just as I knew she would, she asks the question I’ve been dreading.
"Why did those men kidnap me?"
Her voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it—a challenge, a demand. Like she’s daring me to lie. Daring me to give her some half-assed answer and see what happens.
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand down my face.
"They were just trying to do their job, though they did an absolutely shitty job at it."
She stiffens, her fingers tightening around the blanket like it’s the only thing keeping her anchored.
Her glare intensifies. "That’s not an answer."
I should’ve known she wouldn’t let me off that easily.
I lean back against the wall, arms crossed, stalling. There’s no version of this conversation that ends well, no way to explain without making myself look worse than I already do.
"They wanted leverage. A bargaining chip."
She lets out a short, humorless laugh. "Leverage for what? What could possibly be so important that they needed me for it?"
"It’s complicated."
That earns me another scoff. "Of course it is." She shakes her head, as if she already expected that answer, already bracing herself for the vague, useless half-truths I’m so good at giving.
“I’ve told you, it wasn’t you they meant to grab. This is all just some lucky coincidence.” As I say the words out loud, I realize they’re true and not the smart assed way I meant them to sound. I do feel lucky to have her here.
And then she looks at me again, eyes narrowing, cutting straight through the silence between us. "Why were you trying to kidnap anyone? "
I sigh, tilting my head back against the wall. Might as well just say it.
"Her husband has been stealing money from me." I shrug.
She freezes. Blinking. Processing.
It’s not that out of the ordinary for the Assembly, but I suppose for someone like her, someone normal…
Well. It probably sounds insane.
" What? "
I glance at her, jaw tight. "All that matters now is that it wasn’t supposed to be you. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Her mouth parts slightly, like she wants to say something but doesn’t quite know where to start. "So... what? You meant to kidnap another woman just because their husband is a piece of shit?"
I nod, slowly. "Yes."
She doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. "Why make her pay for his sins?"
"We wouldn’t have hurt her."
Irritation flickers across her face. "Yeah. Just like you didn’t hurt me."
My jaw tightens. " That was never supposed to happen, and the man who thought it was a good idea to be as rough with you as he was paid for that little misstep."
Silence stretches between us, thick and charged, before she finally exhales, shaking her head. "Jesus Christ."
She presses a hand to her forehead, like she’s trying to piece together the logic of it all, trying to make sense of how she got tangled up in this.
"So, let me get this straight. You were planning to kidnap some man’s wife, but instead, I got taken by mistake?"
I nod once. "That’s the gist of it."
Her laugh is disbelieving, barely there. "Unbelievable."
She looks away, toward the window, and for the first time since this conversation started, I can see it. The realization that none of this was about her, not really, that she’s caught in the crossfire of something she never asked to be a part of.
But then, after a beat, she speaks again. "And now what?"
I don’t have an answer for that, at least not one I can give her.
And judging by the way her shoulders tense, she knows it too.
“I guess we’ll just play it by ear,” I lie.
She glares at me. “We both know you’re full if shit, and I think if you want me to stop planning ways to bash your head in with the nearest blunt object, you’ll give me something more than that.”
That fire. That defiance. Even now, it makes something in me tighten.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I have a plan.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Her voice drips with sarcasm. “Why couldn’t you just let me go? Why bring me here?”
I meet her gaze, serious now. “Because if I had let you go, you’d be dead.”
She flinches. Just barely, but I see it. The reality is setting in.
Her next words are quieter. “Are we safe here?”
“For now.”
She studies me, as if she can pull the truth out of me with sheer will alone. “And after ‘now’?”
I really don’t have an answer for that.
Then she draws in a breath and looks away. “I hate you.”
I almost smile. “I know.”
She shifts, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, and I know the conversation is over—for now. But her questions will keep coming, and at some point, I’ll have to decide how much truth I’m willing to give her.
I push off the wall, heading toward the door. “Get some rest.”
She doesn’t respond.
“I promise to take care of everything,” I add. To take care of you.
“I’m sure you will,” she says dryly, but there’s no fight in her voice. “Fucking control freak.” The words are said under her breath, but I hear them anyway and turn back to her.
“You think this is about control? No. This is about keeping you breathing, and I’ll do whatever it takes.”
She may be mad at the situation we are in, but eventually she will understand how much worse it could have been for both of us if we had stayed in Hallow Ridge.
As I head toward the back door to check on the solar panels, I can still feel her gaze on me, heavy and unrelenting.
It’s always been like this with her.
An unbearable pull, like gravity shifts when she’s near—like the very air bends around her.
Even now, bruised and broken, she’s fucking radiant—her defiance burning beneath the exhaustion, the pain, the chaos.
She should be terrified. Should be retreating, folding in on herself.
But she isn’t.
She meets the storm head-on, eyes fierce, chin lifted, daring the world to break her.
And God help me—I want to be the one standing beside her when it tries.
I’m ruined, completely and irrevocably, and the worst part?
I don’t want to be saved from it.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Not like this. Not so fucking soon.
But maybe—just maybe—this is exactly what I needed.