Chapter 5
DESTINY
Regan refused to tell me where we were going.
That should have been my first warning.
She came into my room that morning with sunglasses on her head, a white linen cover-up thrown over one arm, and a smile so smug I immediately trusted nothing about it.
The ocean wind pushed through my open balcony doors, lifting the curtains and carrying in the smell of salt, sunscreen, and rich people pretending they had never had problems in their lives.
“Happy birthday,” she said, way too brightly. “Get up.”
I pulled the sheet higher. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m asking.”
“You’re smiling like a criminal.”
“I married into crime. There’s a difference.”
I cracked one eye open. “There is absolutely not.”
Regan set a breakfast tray on the side table and started moving around my room like a woman with a schedule, which meant arguing was probably going to waste more energy than obeying.
She opened the closet, pulled out the teal swimsuit I had been avoiding because it looked like it had been designed by someone with a personal grudge against my composure, and tossed it onto the bed.
I stared at it.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“It has strings.”
“All swimsuits have strings.”
“Not enough strings.”
“It’s Cabo. Not a convent.”
I pushed myself up on one elbow and gave her my best glare. It had worked on weaker people. Regan only raised one eyebrow, which was deeply unfair because she had probably taught Edge how to look intimidating by accident.
“I’m eighteen today,” I said. “That means I should get voting rights on my own clothes.”
“You get voting rights after coffee.”
“That’s not democracy.”
“It’s survival.” She handed me the mug. “Drink.”
The cocoa had whipped cream on top even though it was morning.
Next to it was coffee because apparently Regan believed in emotional support beverages in pairs.
The tray also had fruit, toast, eggs, and little pastries dusted in sugar.
It was too much. Too pretty. Too thoughtful.
My chest got tight before I had even taken a sip.
I hated that birthdays could hurt.
For years, eighteen had been the magic number.
The door. The escape hatch. The line between belonging to other people’s choices and belonging to myself.
I thought I would wake up feeling powerful.
Instead, I woke up in a villa in Mexico with bruises fading under my skin, legal storms gathering back home, and no idea what came after surviving.
Regan must have seen some of that on my face because her bossy expression softened.
“Today is not for fear.”
I looked into my cocoa. “Fear didn’t get the memo.”
“Then fear can sit in the corner and shut up.” She reached for the swimsuit again.
“You are going on a catamaran. You are snorkeling. After that, there is a dolphin experience. You are going to eat something with lime on it. You are going to wear sunscreen. You are going to let people celebrate you.”
“People?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
Regan’s face went blank.
Too blank.
“What people?”
“Birthday people.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only answer you’re getting.”
I pointed at her. “You’re bad at hiding things.”
“I’m excellent at hiding things. You’re just nosy.”
“I learned from criminals.”
“You’re welcome.”
An hour later, I was in the SUV wearing the teal bikini under a white cover-up, giant sunglasses hiding half my face, and a birthday attitude that could best be described as suspicious but moisturized.
Regan sat beside me, tapping on her phone like she was coordinating a military extraction instead of a birthday outing. Which, knowing Regan, might have been the same thing.
“You know something,” I said.
“I know many things.”
“You know birthday things.”
“I know dolphin things.”
“You do not know dolphin things.”
“I watched a video.”
“That makes you dangerous.”
Regan smiled without looking up. “No one discuss the plan.”
“The plan?” I leaned forward. “There’s a plan?”
“There is always a plan.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It is to the adults.”
“I’m an adult now.”
Regan glanced over her sunglasses. “That is under review.”
I should have been annoyed, but the truth was I was trying not to smile.
The SUV rolled through Cabo’s bright morning streets, past hotels and shops and tourists already pink from the sun.
Everything smelled like salt and gasoline and breakfast frying somewhere nearby.
The world looked normal in a way that made me feel like I was watching it through glass.
People walked around holding iced coffees and beach bags while back home, people were trying to decide whether my name meant victim, villain, or headline.
I looked out the window and tried not to think about Dylan.
That lasted approximately six seconds.
He hadn’t come down that morning. Nate hadn’t either.
Regan said they were “busy,” which was the kind of vague answer people used when they were telling the truth and hiding all the pieces that mattered.
I told myself I was glad. Dylan had been giving me space. I understood why. I even respected it.
I hated it.
The marina was already alive when we pulled in. Boats rocked in their slips, ropes creaking, flags snapping in the wind. Crew members in polos loaded coolers and towels. Tourists laughed too loud. Someone was playing music with a beat that made my foot want to move before my brain approved.
I stepped out of the SUV and immediately scanned the docks before I could stop myself.
Men. Women. Crew. Families. A couple taking selfies.
Two boys arguing over a fishing rod. A man with a camera around his neck who looked at every boat except ours, which made him more interesting than if he’d stared directly.
Regan touched my elbow. “Safe.”
“I wasn’t?—”
“You were.”
I sighed.
She didn’t scold me. She just guided me toward the dock, staying close without making it obvious.
The catamaran waited near the end of the pier, big and white and gleaming under the sun, with blue towels rolled on every seat and snorkel gear stacked in neat piles.
It looked like something from an expensive travel ad, not something meant for me.
There were balloons tied to the rail, silver and teal, bobbing in the wind.
One said EIGHTEEN in huge glittering letters.
I stopped dead.
“Regan.”
“What?”
“There are balloons.”
“Yes.”
“On a boat.”
“Correct.”
“Why?”
“Because you turned eighteen, and I was told explosives were frowned upon at the marina.”
I was still staring at the balloons when someone on deck said, “You gonna stand there all day, birthday girl?”
The world tilted.
Edge stood on the catamaran.
For one second, my body forgot how to move.
He looked completely wrong in Cabo sunlight.
Not bad. Just wrong. Edge belonged to desert roads, clubhouses, motorcycles, and shadows where dangerous men made other dangerous men think twice.
Here, on a white catamaran with balloons bouncing behind him, he looked like a wolf someone had accidentally booked for a luxury excursion.
Beside him stood Tarak, arms crossed, dark sunglasses on, expression carved from stone. He looked even less like a boating person.
And near the rail, waving so hard she almost smacked Tarak in the shoulder, was Amber.
One Amber.
One very real, very excited Amber.
“Happy birthday!” she yelled.
I looked from her to Edge to Tarak, then slowly turned to Regan.
She gave me a sweet smile. “Birthday people.”
“You are impossible.”
“I know.”
I climbed onto the catamaran because my legs were moving before my brain had voted on it. Edge stepped forward, then stopped. That tiny hesitation nearly undid me. He was giving me the choice again. Letting me decide whether I wanted to close the distance.
I did.
I walked straight into him.
His arms came around me, careful at first, then firmer when I didn’t pull away. He smelled like leather even without the cut, like soap, sun, and the faint sharpness of stress he was trying to bury. My face pressed against his chest, and for one impossible second, the whole marina disappeared.
“Happy birthday, baby girl,” he said, his voice rough.
I closed my eyes.
Baby girl.
The words were too much. Not bad too much. Just too much for a heart still learning how to accept things without flinching.
“You came,” I whispered.
His hand moved once over the back of my head. “Of course I came.”
That was all he said.
It was enough.
Tarak hugged me next, hard enough to make my ribs complain and my throat close. “You keep aging like this and I’m gonna start feeling old.”
“You are old.”
He pulled back and gave me a look over his sunglasses. “That mouth survived to eighteen by miracle alone.”
“I had help.”
His expression shifted. Just for a second. The joke faded, and something fierce and protective took its place. He touched my cheek with two fingers, gentle as a prayer. “Yeah. You did.”
Amber rushed in next, wrapping me in a hug that smelled like perfume and travel. “You look amazing. I mean, slightly like you might stab someone with a snorkel, but amazing.”
“I might.”
“Birthday violence. Love it.”
The crew started moving around us, untying ropes, checking gear, offering drinks.
Regan stepped onto the boat like she owned it, which, honestly, she might have by the end of the day if someone annoyed her.
She accepted a sparkling water from one crew member and immediately started rearranging the seating situation like the captain had asked for tactical guidance.
“Where’s Janine?” I asked. “And Skye?”
“At the villa,” Regan said. “They sent love, and there’s a gift waiting for you later.”
“A gift?”
“A good one.”
“That sounds suspicious.”
“It is not alive, illegal, or sharp.”
Edge looked mildly offended. “Then why bother?”
Regan pointed at him without looking. “Do not start.”
Tarak leaned toward me. “She’s been like this all morning.”
“Efficient?”
“Terrifying.”