Chapter Thirteen
“Smile, sweetheart,” I murmur, curling Bree to my side as our luxury tender boat sweeps us toward Tragonisi Island Caves, located off the southeast coast of Mykonos.
Unfortunately, the damn Greg Masters, the sleazy bastard from Gossip Times, is also here, watching us like a vulture. Fuck Maxwell for insisting on Ron to tag along on this trip. It’s the right PR move—staging controlled photo ops to show all is well with me and the cruise.
But it’s so damn annoying.
Bree stiffens, her face flushed from the sun beating down on us. She’s sitting ramrod straight, and I inwardly groan.
With me sleeping less than three hours a night, the random blackouts occurring more frequently, I’m not on my A-game and am most definitely going out of my mind.
But even I can smell the bullshit.
We can’t sell a fake fling if I don’t even believe it myself. But I need the press and public to buy the cover—that she’s just my usual arm candy, like on every other vacation. Because everyone knows Rex Anderson doesn’t do relationships.
And if she’s just another pretty distraction, The Association won’t look twice.
The women I used to be seen with? Fame-chasing models and actresses, not someone who’d risk everything to hack and take down a criminal network.
That’s the game—hiding her in plain sight by giving her the ultimate spotlight. It’s a calculated risk.
But damn it, we aren’t selling it.
Grabbing the glass of cucumber water, I give Bree my toothpaste commercial worthy smile.
Her eyes widen when I press the water into her hands.
“Drink up, sweetheart. As much as I love women swooning at my feet, I don’t want you fainting inside the caves and falling into the water.
Then I’d have to perform CPR. Not that I’m complaining.
But you might not need CPR with me nearby. I restart hearts with my presence.”
An incredulous snort reaches my ears and I freeze, recognizing the sound before I turn around.
Olivia, clad in a one-piece black swimsuit and a white cover up, looking as perfectly put together as ever, shakes her head and turns toward the turquoise waters, her camera in her hand.
It’s interesting. I see her carrying that thing everywhere and it looks like an older model.
I wonder why she doesn’t have something new and shiny or use her phone to take pictures like most tourists.
A conundrum, the infuriating woman.
I don’t know how she does it—gets under my skin so easily. The surface-level grace and calm, lulling you into thinking she’s a harmless kitten, then she unsheathes her claws and shows you she’s a fucking tigress.
I almost lost control yesterday on the sun deck.
That’s never happened to me before. Thankfully, Casey wasn’t there to witness it or else I’d get an earful from him.
God knows where he’s at these days. I thought he’d trail me everywhere on the cruise, but so far, I’d only seen him once—last night when I was nursing a drink at the bar.
The man’s an unwanted fucking shadow. And if he were here, he’d psychoanalyze my obsession with Olivia.
Something about how she doesn’t back down or take my bullshit has my cock resurrecting, my blood boiling. Her sweet scent of cotton and honey awakens my senses. She ignites a maddening craving to unnerve her the same way she carves up my insides.
God, when her lips parted as I described the lewd acts I thought would be too raunchy for her good-girl ears, I almost came in my pants.
Because if there’s anything I know, it’s women.
And this little innocent angel isn’t so innocent, it turns out.
She was fucking turned on.
And I wanted to do every fucking thing I described to her, and more. And I think she’d take it, and take it well.
It’s strange. This feeling toward her. Unnerving, even.
She makes me feel things other than emptiness.
My cock twitches and I swallow a groan because everything in my life—my mental state, my health, this cruise, this mission, all of it—is a mess.
I drag my gaze away from the good doctor to the woman next to me.
Focus, Rex. Flirt with Bree. Play the damn part.
“Nervous about Monaco?” I skate my fingers on Bree’s exposed thigh for the cameras. She’s clad in an enticing red bikini, which should inflame my senses, but does absolutely nothing for me.
Because a certain no-nonsense doctor has bewitched me. Shit.
“Who wouldn’t be? It’s a big move, but I’ve made my choice.”
The move. A.k.a. her hacking into The Association’s servers and her present predicament of fleeing for safety and dropping off the face of the earth.
“What spawned the move then?” I roll the words around, careful of the phrasing. “What did you unearth at your previous home?”
Her eyes flare and snag on mine. She knows what I’m asking—what she found and why she’s a high-level target for one of the most dangerous organizations in the world.
There’s something bigger at play. When Elias first gave me the mission, I was so desperate for a chance at redemption, I didn’t question anything.
But now I wonder. Things don’t add up. Elias could disappear her without me helping.
He could have a low-level lackey help her.
Why is he personally overseeing the transport?
With Raya, it made sense. Her husband was a high-level financier, and she discovered the identities of key people in the organization.
But what does a thirty-something-year-old hacker have that is so important?
What am I missing?
“I-I don’t want to talk about it.” She fidgets and I grab her hand to stop her from giving herself away.
“Let’s just say there was a landfill under where I was living.
I needed to clean up the trash, or I’d get sick.
Not only me, but also others around me. And even if I weren’t successful, at least I’d have tried. My life would have meaning.”
My throat constricts. We aren’t talking about moving or garbage collection, but I know exactly what she means.
Two years ago, it was my search for meaning that landed me on a rescue mission with Elias. And when everything went sideways, not only did I not find clarity, I only dug my grave deeper, accumulating more debt than I could possibly repay.
It’s why I’m on this little yacht tender right now, sailing the deep seas under the guise of relaxation, knowing I may lose my life and Bree’s if I make one wrong move.
Because there’s no way The Association isn’t hot on our tails. They have resources. If Bree’s on the run, it means they’re onto her, or at least, her hacker identity.
They don’t like loose ends.
A quiet shutter sound reaches my ears and I give Bree a perfunctory peck on her shoulder because Greg Masters is eyeing us from the back corner.
More camera clicks follow in rapid succession, but this time, it’s from Olivia snapping away at everything—the clear skies today, no clouds to be seen, the vibrant turquoise waters we’d never see in New York, the dramatic rock formations and partially submerged caves jutting out in the distance.
When she sets down her camera, she lets out a heavy sigh, her lips tilting in a bittersweet smile. Her throat ripples as she blinks rapidly.
Is she fighting back tears?
I start to get up before I can stop myself. But then I freeze, remembering the eyes on me.
The thought of her being upset is unbearable. I want to haul her into my arms and tell her to let it out.
To cry, to hit me, or to scream.
Then to tell me what’s wrong, so I can hunt down the bastards who hurt her and unleash my pent-up violence on them.
Why are you sad, little Olive?
I touched a raw nerve yesterday when I accused her of hiding because she was getting through my defenses.
But now, watching her whiskey eyes take on a faraway look, I’m surer than before.
She’s haunted by something. Her perfectly collected exterior is as fake as my Rex-a-Million persona.
Unbidden, I whip out my phone and point it toward the ocean, pretending I’m taking a picture of the view.
But all I’m doing is capturing her, because something about her is captivating. Bewitching. Inflames my senses.
I know I can’t have her, that I’m a fuckup and shouldn’t drag anyone into hell with me, least of all the kindhearted Olivia, who’s battling demons but still trying her damned best to heal others.
But I’m selfish. I want to steal a little piece of her for those lonely nights when I wake up bathed in sweat. I want to imagine a world where I was deserving of someone like her, gentle and beautiful from the inside out.
In this imaginary world, I’d have my own happy ending like Maxwell, a doting wife who loves me, a cheeky son with my smirk, or a cute daughter hugging me like I’m her hero.
But I won’t get that. These dreams. Who’d want a man slowly going out of his mind?
And so I take photos of Olivia, the woman who’s come closest to seeing my darkest parts. Stealing a sliver of light I’ve no right to touch.
I’ll add thief to my titles after murderer.
A few minutes later, the guide stops our boats and sets the stage for the “Float and Forget” theme of this excursion, where we’ll drift on saltwater in the semi-submerged caves, wearing waterproof headphones preloaded with custom sound therapy.
An hour later, we’ll be reborn, our troubles forgotten.
It’s a load of shit, but it’s luxe, and we’ve paid a hefty sum to rent out the entire area so no other visitors can intrude.
The patrons are gobbling it up.
“There are myths surrounding these caves. They say there once was a beautiful siren, Calliope. She, unlike her sisters, protected the ships sailing past these cliffs because Helios, a handsome sailor from Athens, would pass by this route monthly.” Our guide, Helena, gestures toward the caves in front of us.
“But one day, her older sister, Daphne, fed up with her tactics, which would send the men far away, leaving the sisters hungry, decided to punish her. She told Calliope that Helios wanted to thank her for protecting him. That he was also secretly in love with her. Overjoyed when Helios passed by with his fleet this time, Calliope allowed her sisters to use their voices to lure the men in, so they could have a sweet moment before sending them back out to sea.”
Olivia gasps, her hand flying to cover her mouth. My lips twitch. For someone who believes in science, she sure is paying rapt attention to a mythical story.
Helena says, “Daphne lied. As soon as the men were reeled in, the sisters tied Calliope up and feasted on the sailors in front of her, teaching her a lesson that sirens and humans could never be together. They were forbidden. Brokenhearted, Calliope refused to eat or drink, eventually wasting away and dying in these caves. It’s said her soft cries can sometimes be heard inside, usually to people in danger of following in her footsteps. ”
Helena continues with her story and some instructions, and I don’t really pay attention. I watch a staff member set circular, multicolored floats onto the water, each containing a bottle of water, a plate of fruit, and a headset. He’s helping passengers into their individual floats.
“Perhaps the stories sound outlandish—but knowing what these caves have seen over the years, can anything truly be impossible? One thing is for sure—there’s magic in these caves. People come out changed for the better. Rejuvenated, enlightened. Ladies and gentlemen, enjoy your excursion.”
I shake my head. Ridiculous story, but she sold it. I make a note to give her a good tip later on.
Olivia gets on her bright yellow float, her camera left behind, no doubt for safety, and I watch her drift away, her eyes closed, a silver headset over her ears.
I help Bree into hers and murmur, “Enjoy yourself. We have everything under control. Soon, this will be in the past. You’ll start a new life, safe and sound.”
I assist the other passengers in disembarking. After all, we Andersons are known for our impeccable manners. A few women bat their eyelashes at me, and I automatically return winks of my own.
When the small boat is finally empty, I look at the caves, my gaze sweeping over the small rainbow-colored floats dotting the crystal waters like a modern art installation, when my attention snags on an anomaly.
A single yellow float out on its own, crashing against the jagged walls of the farthest cliff in the distance.
Empty.
Olivia’s float, but where is she?
My chest seizes, and without thinking, I yank off my shirt and dive in.