Chapter 6
JASMINE
Trembling, I watched the door close and turned to Kai, awkwardly twisting my bound hands to cover my face. “Oh my God, that was awful." My voice cracked on awful, and the word didn’t even begin to cover it. "I can’t believe you talked them into leaving us.”
My body buzzed with leftover adrenaline, my pulse racing like it hadn’t caught up to the fact that the men were gone.
When Kai returned from the kitchen with a knife to cut my hands free, I thought I might throw up.
Every nerve screamed that it wasn’t over—that the silence they left behind was only temporary, a storm crouching just beyond the horizon.
Kai still had panic in his eyes, his chest rising and falling like he’d sprinted home from the bar. “I had to do something or we’d be chum by morning.”
His words landed like an anchor in my gut. Chum. The image was too vivid—our bodies broken, tossed in the water like bait. The picture was so clear it made me gag.
“Thanks, that really helps my anxiety,” I snapped, my tone sharper than I meant.
The fear was spilling out of me sideways, uncontrollable.
I hugged my knees to my chest, shaking. Considering the only way this night could be worse was if we already had bullets in our heads, I supposed I should be grateful to just be sobbing with Kai.
But gratitude was impossible. Gratitude required safety, and safety had just walked out with two guns and a promise to return.
It was still the worst moment of my life.
Granted, I’d thought I was dead nineteen times in the last hour, minimum. Every second had been its own death sentence. Time hadn’t passed normally—it had lurched, jagged, each heartbeat a countdown I couldn’t stop.
“Why were they here?” My voice pitched high, breathless. “I mean, I know you found the bale, but why do they think you stole it?”
Kai shoved a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck like it barely held him up. “Fuck if I know. Makes no sense at all if they watched my banking or anything. I clearly have not had hundreds of thousands of dollars moving through my accounts.”
The sharpness in his tone made me shrink, but it wasn’t aimed at me. He looked lost, his shoulders slumped, his hand still clutching his neck. For the first time since I’d met him, he didn’t look cocky or amused. He looked breakable.
“I don’t get the impression these guys were looking into your bank accounts.” My stomach clenched around the words. “But does drug money even end up in the bank? I don’t think so, right? I mean… isn’t the whole purpose of laundering? To keep it off the books?”
His head jerked toward me, eyes narrowed, like he couldn’t believe I was asking. “How would I know?” he snapped. “I don’t know shit about laundering money. Or dealing cocaine, for that matter.”
Heat rushed to my face. I crossed my arms, defensive even though I hadn’t meant it that way.
“Okay, but they think you have their coke and have sold it for profit,” I pressed, needing the puzzle to make sense so it didn’t feel like we were just dangling in unbearable chaos.
If I could put the pieces in a row, maybe I could survive this.
Kai let out a bitter scoff, shaking his head hard enough to make damp strands of hair cling to his forehead. “But I don’t and I haven’t. That’s why I suggested that we help them find their coke.”
“I understand.” I pressed my palms flat against my thighs to keep them from trembling. “But I honestly have no idea how to facilitate that.”
“Neither do I, really.” He gave a short, humorless laugh that chilled me more than silence. “It was the only idea that came to mind when he had the gun in my face.”
The words sucked the air out of me. For a moment, I was back there too—the gun, the zip ties, the reek of sweat and fear—just minutes ago. My heart pounded against my ribs. The memory was so strong it painted the walls darker, as though the goons’ shadows still lingered among us.
Kai's idea was a better one than I could’ve managed under that kind of pressure, but it only bought us time. “There’s like zero chance we’re actually going to find the stolen coke, right?” He nodded, looking defeated. “So, what then?” I pressed, as gently as I could.
His mouth tightened, his brows pulling together like storm clouds. “I think we have to beat them at their own game. I don’t know exactly how right now, but we have to figure out how to outsmart them.”
I stared at him, trying to catch my breath. “That doesn’t make me feel any better. I don’t like our odds.”
“I don’t like any of it.” His voice wavered.
“I’m so sorry to get you involved in this.
” He reached for my hand, his grip hesitant at first, then firmer as his fingers threaded through mine.
His hand was warm, grounding, but his eyes were full of regret.
“I was really looking forward to getting to know you better, but if you want me to take you home, I understand completely.”
The apology in his voice gutted me. My chest ached, torn between wanting to bolt and wanting to cling to him. The fear only accented the warmth curling through me at the way he held my hand.
He had been drinking for hours at the bar, but he sounded sober now. Maybe sobered by fear.
“It’s not worth the risk of a DUI,” I said softly, shaking my head. “We should probably avoid cops at all costs.” My throat tightened as I added, “Besides, the last thing I want is to be alone and afraid.”
“Right, no cops,” Kai said, biting his lip and shaking his head slowly. His expression twisted, frustration layered over exhaustion. “Sucks because the Sheriff is like an uncle to me, and my brother, Coulter, is dating one of his best detectives.”
The irony stung like salt in an open cut. I let out a weak laugh that turned into a sigh. “How are we supposed to find the drugs without letting on that the smuggler is shaking us down?”
“You’re a bartender,” he said with a shrug that was too casual, like he was forcing himself to play it off. “Ask anyone who looks like they might do coke if they know where to buy quantity. That’s what I was planning on doing.”
I blinked at him, stomach twisting. “Great.” The word dripped with sarcasm. Getting fired for soliciting large quantities of drugs from customers was better than a bullet to the head, but not by much. The thought alone made my throat dry—what the hell was I even doing here?
“I know.” He gave a short sigh, squeezing my hand again. “It sucks.”
His steady touch slowed my pulse a little.
“If you’re staying, you want that beer we’d planned on?” Kai asked casually but it sounded forced.
“Might as well,” I resigned. Although tequila was probably more appropriate for the circumstances. Something that burned all the way down, maybe, to cauterize the terror inside me.
My grip instinctively tightened when Kai tried to let go of my hand. Panic flared, irrational but unstoppable. He stopped, looking at me curiously, then tightened his fingers back around mine, placing his other hand over the top like he was holding me together.
“You okay?” he asked, quiet now, as if afraid the wrong tone would shatter me.
“Yeah, sorry, just jittery I guess.” My laugh sounded strangled. I forced myself to release him, drawing in a breath to steady my hands. “I’m fine,” I insisted as I stood. My knees wobbled, not convinced. “I’ll go with you. Maybe you can finally give me the tour?”
“Sure, although there’s not much to see,” he said, popping to his feet with a lightness I envied.
Even exhausted, even rattled, there was an ease about him I couldn’t look away from. It made me wonder if danger was just another tide for him, something he’d learned to float with while I was still thrashing.
He stopped on the way to the kitchen, his arm sweeping in the direction of the sofa. “You’ve seen the living room, of course, where we were held hostage.” His dry chuckle was the only hint of nervousness.
The words sent a shiver skating down my spine. The burn from the bindings still stung on my wrists, a phantom tightness.
“And here we have the kitchen,” he said, giving the four stools at the breakfast bar a wide berth as he went to the fridge.
The space was warm and bright, with white shaker cabinets and gray granite countertops gleaming in the overhead light.
The double oven looked straight out of a magazine.
It felt surreal to stand here, in this gleaming, perfect kitchen, while my skin still buzzed with fear.
Like stepping from a nightmare into a catalog page.
“I have kitchen envy,” I admitted, smiling despite myself.
“Yeah? You like to cook?” he asked, handing me a can of Coors Light. “Looks like we’ve only got boat beers. None of the good stuff.”
“That’s fine.” The can was icy against my palm. I looked up at him through my lashes. “Even though I could down a few shots of hard liquor right now, lighter is probably better.”
The first sip hit my tongue like pure magic. I tipped my head back, drinking deep, feeling it slip cool into my stomach and radiate outward, unclenching muscles one by one. “Strange how alcohol relieves anxiety almost immediately.”
“Too bad it’s temporary,” Kai said with a crooked grin. “But you’re in the right business, especially in Islamorada…the quaint little drinking village with a fishing problem.”
His delivery was so deadpan, so unexpected, I let out a startled laugh. “For paying bills, I suppose you’re right. If only the demand for art were so consistent, I might be able to make a living doing what I love.”
I winced even as I said it—the words felt fragile, like a dream that didn’t belong in this nightmare.
“If you keep at it, I have a feeling you’ll make it.”
“Thanks for having faith in me. I’m not sure if there’s a real market for my work here, but we’ll see.”
“You sold a painting today, didn’t you?” He said, chin tipping toward the canvas propped in the chair, a soft smile tugging at his mouth.
“True,” I admitted, chuckling. “One at a time.”
My voice was light, but inside, I squirmed. He had bought that painting. Pointing out his questionable motives for purchasing would have been rude, and I wasn’t sure if I could take the embarrassment if he admitted it had just been an attempt to get in my pants.
“No matter how high your confidence, that is the key,” he said, lifting his beer like he was making a toast. “The best of the best do it one sale at a time.”
I leaned back into the counter, trying to let the words sink in, trying to believe them. “So in your case it’s one fish at a time?”
He grinned. “More like one boat at a time.” He took a slow pull from his can, eyes glinting. “By the way, in case you weren’t aware, the number of boats owned directly correlates with level of insanity. We have six.”
I barked out a laugh, the sound surprising even me. “So that makes you a six out of ten on the crazy scale?”
“That tracks.” He smirked, shoulders relaxing, as if he enjoyed being called out. “Where are you on the crazy scale?”
My face scrunched automatically. I tapped the side of my beer can, pretending to calculate, even though the answer came easy. “I don’t see myself as crazy. Maybe a two?”
“Would your parents agree?”
The question slipped under my skin in an unexpected way.
My smile faltered. “If they knew I’d been tied up and detained by drug smugglers tonight, definitely not.
” The laugh I forced out was hollow. “They probably think I’m crazy for moving here at all.
Or thinking that I can make a living off my art. ”
His expression sobered, his eyes narrowing in concentration, like he was weighing my words. “Are either of them passionate about their work?”
I felt my shoulders sag. Images of my parents surfaced without my permission.
“Doubtful. Dad’s in marketing, been with the same company for twenty years.
He likes it okay, I suppose, but I’ve never seen him excited about his work.
And Mom hasn’t really worked much since she had me.
She’s been helping out a friend in her flower shop a couple of days a week the last few years.
She doesn’t make much money, but she likes the work. ”
He nodded slowly, his jaw flexing. “Passion is more important than money.”
“Are you passionate about fishing?”
His eyes softened, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “I wake up excited to do it most days, so I guess I am.” His voice dropped on that last part, like it was almost a confession.
“So you work with your family in the fishing business?”
“Yeah,” he said, and there was a weight behind the word. He set his can down on the counter and ran a hand through his hair. “Me and my brothers, and our dad. Mom basically ran it until she passed last year. We’ve been making do since.”
The grief threaded into his tone made my chest ache. I leaned toward him instinctively. “Oh wow. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, it sucked. She was only sixty.”
I flinched, my stomach clenching. Sixty wasn’t old. Not old enough. “What happened?”
“She had a heart attack and drowned, while we were all out fishing.”
The air punched out of me. My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh goodness, who found her? Please tell me it wasn’t you.”
“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head.
“Fortunately, or unfortunately for them I suppose, it was a tourist who happened into the empty shop and later discovered her floating by the dock. My oldest brother, Spence, was the first one back from charter that day, so he was the first to field the circus.”
The image seared itself into my mind, unwanted but vivid—a tourist stumbling upon the unthinkable, his brother carrying the weight first. “That sounds awful.”My voice was small.
“Gets easier with time, I suppose.”
I wanted to believe that. But as the memory of zip ties and cold steel pressed into my temple returned, my stomach twisted. Would this ever get easier with time? Or was I going to wake up with this fear in my veins forever?
“Shall we continue the tour?” I asked, desperate to chase the shadows away.