Chapter Thirty-Five
Thirty-Five
Axe
Someone at SynthoTech would be getting the sack if it weren’t for Josie’s obvious fondness for the Nautical Nook.
I shouldn’t be surprised, though. She always manages to find the silver lining in any cloud.
When the rain stops, we decide to spend the afternoon strolling the boardwalk, and I have to admit, even on a cold, wet day, the charms of Shimmy Beach are growing on me.
The streets are lined with pastel-colored buildings painted with murals of the sea and surfing.
The few shops that are open are all the usual kitsch, from the Flamingo Fiesta’s dancing flamingos, hula ornaments, and refrigerator magnets to my personal favorite, Bubble & Squeak, a bath and body shop.
The skies are low and dark, and Lake Erie stretches out before us like black glass. It’s a moody backdrop that feels familiar.
“Think the Nautical Nook’s got a backup generator?
” I ask. Josie laughs, and it’s fast becoming my new favorite sound.
She’s been downright giddy since we got here, with just a wee bit of nerves underneath.
I’m nervous, too, if I’m honest. She knows that after dinner, we’re meant to be putting on those haptic suits.
We were supposed to be communicating virtually, from totally separate rooms, as per the contract.
Not real sex, of course, but a simulated approximation.
I cannot fathom how we’ll make this work in one king bed.
I know how I’d like to make it work: without haptic suits and data recording and remanufacturing our date into someone else’s fantasy. I want my skin on her skin. My lips on her lips. I want to lick the curve of her hip.
I want to hear her gasp my name and then beg for more. I want to plunder her.
She’s mine, I think. Like a stupid goddamn pirate who thinks he’s entitled to treasure he doesn’t deserve.
“Yeah, unlikely. But there really is a brass-bound chest at the end of the bed. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are flashlights in there,” she says. “That or a fake skeleton.”
“And here I thought it would be filled with gold coins.”
“You have enough gold coins, MacKenzie.”
“My work— Watch it,” I say as I notice a drunken old man who I clocked stumbling out of a pub a few minutes ago lurching toward us.
Although he seems harmless—likely a local who had one too many rainy-day pints—I instinctively pull Josie closer, wrapping my arm tightly around her and guiding her far out of his reach.
I firmly clasp her hand in mine and tuck them both into my pocket to keep her fingers warm and safe.
“My work has actually never been about money for me,” I say, picking up the conversation.
“Then why do it?” she asks, and I feel a flicker of shame. I shrug, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut. She’s working for insulin and rent. I’ve never had to think about either of those things.
Me, I’m working for revenge.
“Tell me something I don’t already know about you,” she says, sensing I’m pulling back. “Something no one else knows.”
“You know a fair bit about me,” I say. “Too much, I reckon. We’ve shared enough text adventures to write a saga.”
“True,” she says. “But with you, there’s always another twist.”
“Let me think.” She likes my stories about boarding school. “Ah, there was that one time at the Queen Victoria School when I dressed up as Father Christmas, and I gave out pies to all the teachers.”
“That’s so sweet,” she says. “I can totally picture you as Santa.”
“Aye, but the kicker is they gave everyone food poisoning!” I throw back my head in a laugh. “Nearly got myself expelled. They thought I had done it on purpose. It took Hamish to bail me out.”
“Hamish?” she asks, curious.
I hadn’t meant to let that name slip. But there’s something about Josie that makes me want to share things I’ve kept buried. “My half brother,” I tell her. “He died. Many years ago.”
“Oh,” she says gently. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right. I barely knew him, to be honest. He was a good bit older. But when the headmaster accused me of spiking the pies and making everyone rat-arsed sick, Hamish came down and said he’d been the one who sent the cakes. Got me out of a right mess.”
“Nice save. You must have had such a special bond,” she says.
“We did,” I say. “But then things changed—he changed—and we drifted apart. I hadn’t seen or even spoken to him in a decade when I heard he’d passed. He was living the fast life. Hard drugs, drinking, you know the type.”
Josie nods. Watching me.
I take a breath. “So when I heard he’d crashed his Porsche, it wasn’t too much of a surprise.”
“Sounds like he was a lot to handle,” she says quietly.
“He was.” I nod, my mind slipping back to memories I’ve tried to bury.
“What a loss, though,” she says. “I always wanted a sibling.” She touches my arm gently.
“I’m here anytime if you want to talk about him.
” Her smile is soft, her eyes full of understanding.
I’m still startled that I’ve spoken Hamish’s name—I’ve not said it once since he died—but I’m even more surprised by how much comfort Josie’s words have brought me.
Her gaze locks with mine, and that undeniable electric tension builds between us, drawing us closer together.
In this moment, all the words we’ve shared evaporate, leaving only the heat of connection between us.
It feels like we’re the only two people on the boardwalk, maybe the only two people in the whole wide world.
I lean in slowly, feeling my heart hammer as she moves closer.
I’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly in my life.
Our lips meet chastely at first, but then our kiss deepens in heat, urgency.
I trail kisses along her jawline and softly across her cheeks, savoring the warmth of her skin.
Each touch sends a shiver through me, and I can feel her responding with the same intensity—
My phone rings, snapping me out of it.
I groan and pull back, torn between answering it and staying in this perfect moment with Josie.
It’s Strike. I’ve got to take it. I know he’s got an answer for me.