Chapter Twenty
Caymen
It was a perfect day.
Food, sun, sex, no distractions—just a chance to be alone without a threat hanging over our heads.
It seemed like we could finally relax fully.
And, fuck, a relaxed Noa was the most stunning thing imaginable.
She was constantly smiling and quick to laugh. She teased and felt comfortable enough to be silly.
We’d already shared so much about our pasts, but we talked almost endlessly, sharing things big and small.
Apparently, she’d gone through a phase as a teen where she was obsessed with the idea of making her own clothes. Only to spend thousands of dollars of her father’s money to end up with an uneven hem.
When she first moved into her Florida apartment, she decided she wanted to be a plant mom. Then proceeded to slaughter hundreds of dollars’ worth of plants.
Though we did learn, through that story, that there’d already been a little invisible string tying us together because the plant shop she’d spent all that money in was the one that belonged to Kylo’s girl, Rue.
I told her shit I hadn’t even realized I remembered.
And everything just felt right.
So right that I suddenly understood how the guys in the club went from single as could be one moment to locked down tight the next.
When it was right, it was right.
Suddenly, it didn’t seem possible to look into the future and not see Noa. What’s more, I didn’t want to.
Some part of me was laying out a five-year-plan. One that involved moving out of the clubhouse, finding a nice place for us to live, to set down roots. It would have a big TV for family movie nights and built-ins for Noa’s DVD collection.
Maybe one day, we’d raise a family there.
And it would be a home full of this shit I’d never known: comfort, safety, affection, and love. No one there would know hunger or fear.
The more I thought about it, the more I wanted it.
And, yeah, we totally needed a fucking boat. Hell, I was half-tempted to buy this exact one off of Zayn. Just for the memories.
Of course, those were all thoughts I had before going to sleep that night.
“What?” Noa grumbled when I sat up in bed, taking her with me since she’d fallen asleep on my chest.
“Dunno,” I admitted. But my heart was racing, like the unconscious part of me heard something.
“It was probably just a dream,” Noa said, dropping down on the pillow with a sigh.
There was no good reason for me not to agree with her and go back to sleep. Aside form the strange churning sensation in my gut. And the way my heart was slamming against my ribcage.
Something felt wrong.
Maybe that was paranoia. Just evidence of a traumatic childhood that forced me to be hyperaware and then an adult career that did the same.
But I couldn’t shake the skittering sensation of my pulse, the cold dread snaking up my spine.
“Babe, get up.”
“No.”
“Noa.” My tone came out sharper, making her eyes pop open, her body going stiff.
“What is it?”
“I dunno. Can’t shake this feeling. I’m gonna go check things out.”
She sat up at that.
“We’ll go together.”
“No. Stay here. No point getting your boot on if it’s nothing.”
“Fine. But if you’re not back in five minutes, I’m coming to look for you, so don’t dawdle. Take the gun.”
I wasn’t going to fight her on that.
“Do me a favor and lock the door.”
“Alright,” she agreed, getting up on one foot and hopping on one foot toward the door.
I grabbed the gun, checked the mag, then made my way to the door.
“Five minutes,” Noa said, back in broker mode, everything about her serious and aware.
“I’ll only need three.” I leaned down, pressed a hard kiss to her lips, then moved out of the bedroom. “Lock the door.”
With that, I moved down the couple of steps from the main bedroom.
I paused to check the bathroom, then the guest room, taking the extra few seconds to open the wardrobe and look inside.
The boat was rocking harder than it’d been when we’d gone to bed, making me wonder if what woke me up was a possible crash of thunder from an oncoming storm.
There was a quick surge of panic, not sure what the fuck to do about a really bad storm while on a boat.
Even if I’d been true to my word and read every page of the damn instruction manual.
So I knew there was not only a life raft, but also something called a ‘tender.’ Which was basically a tiny little boat with an engine.
We were also not that far from shore. Growing up near the ocean—and thanks to a pool at the clubhouse that allowed me to do laps most days— I was a pretty strong swimmer.
I didn’t know if that was the case for Noa.
Though, judging by what she’d told me about her father so far, I imagined he saw swimming lessons as an essential part of her education.
I shook off those thoughts. It wasn’t the time of year for really severe storms. There was no solid reason to think we might need to make a middle-of-the-night escape via some tiny boat we didn’t even know how to pilot, let alone swim to shore.
I moved through the kitchen and living space, spending next to no time there, since there wasn’t anywhere for anyone to hide.
I made my way to the door, pausing, surprised at the way some part of me said to stop this, to go back to bed, to curl up with Noa and laugh off this weird gut feeling that something was off.
We were in the middle of the fucking ocean, for chrissakes.
My hand went to the lock, disengaging it, just as the boat rocked a little harder.
My stomach sloshed.
And I really hoped this was not the time to discover I had some mild seasickness as I stepped out of the kitchen and onto the small enclosed deck.
I unlatched the small deck door and moved out onto the slippery platform with steps leading up to the next level.
The front of the ship had nothing but a forgotten bottle of soda in a cupholder we’d left behind when the harsh afternoon sun sent us to the shadows at the rear of the boat.
I took another set of steps upward, checking out the flybridge, a place Noa insisted I stand, hands on the stainless steel wheel, and pose for her so she could snap a few pictures.
But it was a small space. The chance of anything suspicious being around were slim.
I went down the steps on the opposite side, wanting to make sure I hadn’t missed something, then checked the cockpit, before finally dragging my stupid ass back to bed.
We’d have a laugh about it.
Then, both being a little too jazzed up to go right back to sleep, maybe we’d have some fun rolling around the sheets first.
I was just about to step onto the lowest step when something not on the boat, but directly beside it, caught my attention.
It was as dark as hell night.
And without any city lights nearby, the water was damn near pitch black.
But that was why I saw whatever it was.
It was white.
Noticeable.
Big.
Was that all it was? Had some sea garbage slammed up against the boat with the rough current, startling me awake?
But as I took a step forward to lean over the rail and check to see what it was, the door to the cockpit flew open, knocking me backward.
I crashed down on the steps on my side, the impact rattling through my ribs as the gun fell from my fingers and slid down the steps near my feet.
There wasn’t even time to panic.
This guy, whoever the fuck he was, meant business.
He leaned down, grabbing the front of my shirt to keep me from scrambling away, cocked back and swung. Once. Twice.
I pulled up a leg, wedging it between us, then landing a kick to his stomach, sending him back. Stumbling, not falling, but I’d take anything I could get.
This guy was big.
I was tall.
He still had a few inches on me.
And while he wasn’t as wide, he had some kind of sleeper build, because he was strong as fuck.
I shot to my feet, not taking a chance by bending down for the gun.
I had to get him down or disoriented before I could take that chance.
He lunged.
Without anywhere to go in such a cramped space, I also moved forward.
My punch was faster.
There was a satisfying crack in the night air as it landed on his jaw.
But it didn’t slow him down.
He moved into the cage of my body, making it hard to land a solid punch to his face while he pummeled my stomach and ribs.
With a growl as the pain shot through my already aching ribs, I shoved him backward. Then swung. Once. Twice.
I could tell by the way he shook his head that he was lightheaded enough to be distracted.
I stepped back, ducked down, and grabbed the gun. My hold was tenuous, with everything outside covered in a fine mist.
But I managed to grip it, slide my finger to the trigger, only to have him charge, landing an uppercut, then grabbing my wrist in one almost continuous move.
If this wasn’t so life or death, if Noa wasn’t at risk down in the bedroom without a gun, I would have been impressed.
As it was, I was pissed.
I swung out with my left arm as his right hand and mine fought over the gun.
He wasn’t even trying to deflect the punches.
Both of his hands went to my wrist, grabbing it hard, lifting up, then slamming it down on the railing.
The pain exploded.
My fingers loosened automatically.
And the fucking gun dropped into the water below.
Fuck.
Fuck .
Without the gun, I was painfully aware of how well-matched we were.
His lip and nose bled.
My ribs and wrist throbbed.
One wrong move on my part could have me out cold. And Noa unprotected.
Sure, she could fight.
But not likely against this guy.
Centering my weight and dropping lower, I shoved with everything I had, sending him stumbling back. He would have fallen, too, if the fucking cabin door hadn’t been slightly ajar still, letting him grab it to steady himself.
But as I’d been bracing for another advance, he did something unexpected.
He went backward.
He went down the steps, heading back toward the front of the boat.
I was right behind him, grabbing the railing with all my strength so I didn’t slip.
There was a slight blind spot.
But he wasn’t in it.
And it was right then that I should have known he had a plan.
My system was too flooded with adrenaline, though, to be thinking logically.
I just went with my instinct.
And that was to charge.
His? To swivel just enough to not be knocked over. To bend down. To hook me under the knees. To lift.
I felt the scrape of the railing over my aching ribs and stomach.
Then the free fall sensation in my gut as I flew overboard.
I sucked in a deep breath and threw my arms out in front of me.
Just in time for the cold water to envelop me.