Chapter 20
KATE
I feel like I’m in the twilight zone as dinner begins. We aren’t sitting at the head table, thankfully. A tiny woman with an unbelievable voice is on a small stage, singing. The chatter around us is minimal. I’m dying to ask Luke what he has against Garrison.
It must have something to do with Reid’s death.
He continues to drink like he just survived a month in the desert. If I had even half as much alcohol as him, I’d be in a hospital bed, getting my stomach pumped.
If he wasn’t my boss, I might have said something because I’m honestly concerned for his health. But this situation is out of the ordinary.
He sways in his seat, and for a moment, I fear he could topple over.
He doesn’t eat any of the food placed in front of him, and I barely nibble on mine even though I’m sure it’s the most expensive sustenance I’ll ever taste. My belly is tight. I guess our night swimming and midnight-deck rendezvous is canceled, considering he would probably drown.
He was a Navy SEAL. They can swim for miles . . . sober.
The end of the scheduled part of the evening finally arrives, and people begin to rise from their seats to mingle.
“Should we go back to the bungalow?” I ask him.
He’s shifted closer to me throughout the meal, extending his arm around the back of my chair. His eyes are dilated as they focus in on my mouth. My pulse races.
“Yes,” he growls, swaying as he stands.
I reach out to steady him, gripping his arm.
“Luke,” a male voice says from behind him.
I look around him to see Garrison. Luke slowly turns to face him, eyes darkening.
“What?” Luke bites out, muscles tensing under my hand.
“I’m glad you came,” Garrison says.
Luke doesn’t respond for a few seconds, glaring at him. I see Fallon in the corner of my eye on the other side of the deck, next to an older woman.
“You have everything you want now, don’t you?” Luke’s words are slurred, but I can still hear the mocking undertone in his voice.
Garrison’s jaw tics, and he takes a deep breath.
“You’re wrong, Luke. Whatever it is you think happened out there . . . you’ve got it wrong.” He turns to walk away, but Luke reaches out to grab his arm.
I take a step away, steadying myself on a chair as my throat tightens.
It happens in slow motion. Garrison jerks his arm away, his face a mask of anger. I can’t see Luke’s expression, but my jaw drops as his fist connects with his future brother-in-law’s jaw. The cracking sound that fills the air is sickening.
The speed picks up, and I gasp in horror as Garrison’s body falls back to the ground.
Luke attacks him, blood splattering on the pure white tablecloth that went down with him.
They roll on the floor, knocking over a display of flowers.
Several screams erupt, and I realize one of them was Fallon as she sprints toward them in her gown.
Garrison gets a good hit in on Luke, and I wince as the contact draws blood from his eye. He isn’t fazed, but it’s clear that he’s intoxicated, as his reactions are slightly delayed.
The brawl is intense, and it’s obvious that they’re both well trained. They seem evenly matched, except that Luke is inebriated. He also seems to be running on pure adrenaline and hatred as he pounds his fist into Garrison’s ribs.
Thankfully, Fallon is smart enough to stand back, screaming for them to stop. Henrik is behind her, his face a mask of indifference, but it’s the first time I’ve seen him not smiling.
My heart is thundering in my chest, fear shooting through my bloodstream. I’ve never seen a fight in real life, and this one is bloody and brutal.
It’s personal, and it’s not their first time doing this.
Luke doesn’t seem to feel pain. He rebounds from Garrison’s assault almost like he has no sensory nerves.
“Garrison, please stop!” Fallon wails. She turns to Henrik, begging him to step in.
Her fiancé finally gets Luke in a hold that he seems to be incapable of getting out of for a few seconds. His jugular is being crushed by Garrison’s forearm, but he won’t tap out.
Somehow, Luke shoves him off, nearly gaining the upper hand before Garrison jumps back, roaring at him, “Stop it, you psycho!”
Every head on the deck is turned toward them, and other than Luke’s and Garrison’s labored breathing and the lapping waves, there is only silence.
They’re both bruised and bloody, white shirts spattered red. Luke looks like he might attack again at any moment, but Fallon steps between them. Henrik is behind her, a wrinkle of concern between his brows.
Fallon presses a hand up to her brother’s chest, and he backs away, shaking his head. He stumbles in the other direction, guests parting the way.
I follow him, hoping I can somehow guide him back to the bungalow. He looks like he needs to see a doctor, but I have no idea how to even begin finding one here.
I knew he hated Garrison, but holy shit that was intense . . .
I catch up just in time to save him from collapsing over the side railing next to the exit plank. My hand snakes around his waist as I attempt to pull back on his weight. His arm rests on my shoulders, but thankfully, he is still able to walk on his own . . . mostly.
“Kate . . . Kate, why are you here?” he asks, his words slurred. He sounds like he’s in pain.
“You invited me along as your assistant,” I tell him, thankful to see one of the golf carts that brought us from the bungalows available for passengers.
He collapses on the seat, and the young boy driving looks up at me with wide, fearful eyes.
“The east side bungalows, please.” I attempt a reassuring smile.
“No . . . no, I didn’t want you to be here for that,” he murmurs, his head falling into the side of my neck.
I take a deep breath, hoping to hear some kind of elaboration on what he just said.
“That’s what you told me I was here for.”
Keep him talking.
I can feel him smile into my neck.
“Hmm. I never . . . I never drink like this.”
“Well, I did it the first night we met. It’s okay.”
The warm, sticky blood from his eye is on my neck and possibly staining my dress. He sighs, reaching his hand around to curl it over my hip.
“You’re so . . . so sweet. Why are you so sweet?”
I don’t know how to respond, so I wait for him to keep going on his own.
“That first night I met you, I thought you weren’t even real. How’d your asshole ex ever let you go?”
I stiffen at his words. How does he know about Stephen?
The cart pulls up next to our bungalow, and I tell the boy to stop. Luke seems to be nearly asleep against me, but I push him up enough to get him to stand. The boy is a saint, helping me support the giant man as we shuffle through the door.
Luke finally seems to become aware of where we are, walking somewhat on his own until he gets to the bed, collapsing on it.
“Thank you so much.” I pull out a few francs, the Tahitian currency Luke gave me a roll of when we arrived.
“Merci, merci,” the boy says, exiting with a smile on his face. I must have tipped well.
Luke is bleeding all over the white bedspread. I’m sure he can afford to cover the cost, but I should at least try to help him undress.
His shoes are easy enough to tug off, but the pants are a different story.
“You know something, Kate? You’re too sexy and sweet to be a spy.”
A spy?
I’ve undone the button and zipper of his pants, but they won’t budge down his hips.
“Are you trying to seduce me for my secrets . . . right now?” His words seem to be more slurred than before.
“Um, sure, yes. I want information. Can you lift up?”
He somehow follows the order, and I get the pants down, nearly bringing his underwear with them by accident. The V shape of his muscles distracts me for a moment, but I manage to continue the task.
“I’ll tell you . . . right now, all I want . . . is to kiss you again.”
He reaches for my hands that are working on the buttons of his bloody shirt, pulling me down toward his mouth.
“Okay, okay, but . . . you’re super drunk, so . . .”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t kiss you still.”
I could resist, but I don’t want to. He pulls me closer, but instead of our lips meeting, my heel gets caught on the comforter. I fall into his chest, and he grunts in pain.
“I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”
He sighs, “Kate . . .”
I’m halfway lying on top of him, my hands bracing me up on the bed so I don’t put pressure on any of his wounds.
“What?” I whisper back to him.
His eyes are barely visible in the dark room, but I can see that he’s looking at the ceiling.
“I saw it. I saw him . . . what he did. I knew Lion was the mole.”
He’s not making any sense, his speech slurred. It sounds like he’s talking in code.
If only Becky were here . . . she’d know what he’s saying.
“I’m going to prove it, Kate. They’re taking too long. I have to . . . prove it . . .”
His eyes are closed now. His chest is rising and falling steadily.
I slowly roll off of him, going to the bathroom to find a washcloth.
I get it damp under the faucet before returning to the bed to wipe away as much of the blood as I can.
His expression is relaxed as I gently clean around the gash next to his eye.
With how beat up he is and his drunken state, my chest is tight with worry.
It takes several trips back and forth from the bed to the bathroom before I get everywhere I can see. I strip down, putting on the silky set of pajamas Mel packed me. I climb into the bed next to him, curling close to his warmth.