24. Chapter 24
Sasha
Florida blurred into streetlights and salt-heavy air, the kind that stuck to your lungs and made everything feel slower than it actually was.
Addy eventually stopped trying to maintain eye contact with me through the mirror, leaning her head back against the seat.
She stared at the ceiling as though she’d boarded a plane she didn’t know she had bought a ticket for.
Kyrill sat next to me in silence, not glancing at my little devil again, which helped me to stay focused.
Addy lasted a whole seven minutes before she started talking again.
“So,” she said carefully, “are we going somewhere with a dress code? Because I’m pretty sure I didn’t pack more than three shirts.”
I watched her in the mirror. She was chewing the inside of her cheek. It wasn’t exactly fear, more like overstimulation.
“You’ll be fine.”
“That’s not an answer.” I could almost hear her rolling her eyes.
“It is when I say it.”
The closer we got to the marina, the quieter the roads became. Fewer cars also meant fewer potential witnesses. The city was dissolving into open stretches of dark water and dock lights flickering like lazy stars.
When we pulled into the marina, she sat up straighter.
“Oh.” Her voice was soft. “Oh my God. We’re going on a boat? Where are we going? I’ve never been on a boat. What if I get seasick?!”
“Good thing there’s ocean around us you can throw up in.” Kyrill’s comment was dry.
“We’re going to Puerto Rico. You’ll be fine.” I tried to reassure her.
“How would you know? Have you ever been on a boat?”
I glanced at her in the mirror. “Yes.”
“That was deeply uninformative.”
Kyrill didn’t even look back. “He’s been on several.”
She leaned forward immediately. “Why several?”
I kept my eyes on the road. “Circumstances.”
“Circumstances,” she repeated flatly. “You escaped federal prison three days ago. I feel like you don’t get to say ‘circumstances’ like you’re explaining a canceled brunch.”
“They were practical.”
“For what?” she pressed.
Kyrill, entirely unhelpful, added, “Meetings … and logistics.”
Her head whipped toward him. “What kind of logistics?”
I exhaled slowly, cursing Kyrill in my head. “You’re overthinking this.”
“I’m not overthinking,” she argued. “I’m applying basic pattern recognition.”
She paused.
“… this is like, super sketchy. You know that, right?”
Kyrill made a strangled noise. “This is the part you find sketchy? Not the break-in or kidnapping part?”
I ignored him. “You’re not going to get seasick.”
“That’s not even remotely the issue anymore.”
The marina lights were coming into view now, reflecting in long, fractured lines off the black water.
I pulled into the lot and killed the engine. She looked out of the window at the boats again before meeting my gaze in the mirror. “You didn’t steal this, right?”
I snorted, and I saw Kyrill bite back a laugh in the corner of my eye. “No.”
“Borrowed?”
“Nah.”
“Are these normal boats?”
“… yes? I guess so? What makes a boat normal?”
“How would I know? I’ve never been on one!” Addy threw her arms up in exasperation.
I shrugged. “I mean, they float. I’d say they’re normal.”
She narrowed her eyes at my reflection. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
There was a brief pause, during which I could literally see the gears in her head grinding. She exhaled slowly, briefly closing her eyes.
“You’re very calm for someone who is technically a fugitive.”
“What can I say? I’ve been planning this for a long time, and I tend to perform well under pressure.”
“That’s … not really comforting.”
“It should be.”
Leaning closer across the console, she lowered her voice as though about to ask something truly unhinged. “Do you have, like … people?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kyrill’s shoulders shake but I held her gaze firmly. “Everyone has people.”
“Not what I meant. Since I’m about to get on a boat in the middle of the night with an escaped felon who answers questions like a Bond villain and travels with a backup Bond villain, I would just like to have all the specifics.”
Kyrill scrunched his nose. “I prefer antihero.”
She groaned and dropped her head back against her seat. “If I end up on an international watchlist, I’m blaming you.”
Too late.
“You’re safe,” I assured her in a low voice.
Addy stared at me, searching my gaze for something.
“That’s either incredibly romantic,” she said slowly, “or deeply concerning.”
“It can be both.” I shrugged.
The boat was waiting where it should be, clean and unremarkable in the way expensive things are when they’re not supposed to be noticed by normal people. There was no flashy name across the hull; nothing really standing out or making it too remarkable.
“That is not a boat.”
“It is,” I replied, unbothered as I stepped out of the car and opened her door.
No need to let her find out it had been locked the whole ride. I didn’t expect her to throw herself out of the vehicle, but she was too important to risk it.
Addy got out cautiously, gaping at the final step of our escape route, and slowly shook her head. “No. No, that’s a yacht. That’s the kind of boat people buy after insider trading.”
Kyrill slammed his door shut, making her jump. “It’s not that big.”
She whipped around to face him. “It has a second level.”
I reached for her bag before she could grab it. “You said you didn’t pack much.”
“That’s not the point,” she hissed, still staring at the yacht. “You guys are escaped felons. You were in prison. Very recently. Why do you have access to something looking like it comes with a champagne butler?”
Addy slowly turned toward me.
“Like I said.” I winked at her. “I know people.”
There it was, the narrowing of her eyes making my cock stand at fucking attention. She was driving me insane and she had no idea.
“Literally the least reassuring answer you could have given.”
Kyrill walked ahead of us toward the dock like this was completely normal, just another day. “Boss has very loyal friends.”
She peered at me again, eyebrows raised. “You have loyal friends?”
“Yes.”
“Friends with yachts.”
The corner of my mouth twitched. “Yes.”
“And they’re just … fine with you using it?”
“Oh, yes.” I nodded. “Absolutely.”
She stared at my face for a long moment as she tried to read into it. If she was looking for signs of panic or guilt, she was out of luck. I wasn’t even sure if I could feel those kinds of emotions.
“Okay,” she breathed. “I need to ask something and you’re not allowed to get weird about it.”
Oh, this was going to be good.
“I won’t.”
“You promise?”
“No.” I grinned at her.
Addy huffed in irritation and then inhaled deeply, like she was about to jump off a cliff. “You’re not, like … mafia, right?”
Kyrill stopped walking so abruptly, I almost slammed into him.
Addy continued, words tumbling out of her now she’d started. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with organized … whatever. I just feel like it would’ve come up? Like, at least casually? ‘Hey, by the way, I’m in a centuries-old crime syndicate’. Feels first date relevant.”
I turned to look at her and raised an eyebrow.
Kyrill coughed into his fist. “We prefer the term—”
I cut him off with a furious glance. He was not going to fuck this up for me before we made it onto this goddamn boat.
Addy’s eyes darted between us. “Oh my God.”
“You’re okay,” I assured her. “Stop spiraling, baby.”
“I’m not spiraling,” she snapped. “I’m processing my, well, whatever the hell we are, apparently being not simply a murderer, but some kind of organized crime lord.”
“Not a lord. My position translates to captain, I guess?”
“Right, because that makes it better,” she deadpanned.
I stepped closer, not enough to corner her, but close enough for the dock light to catch the edge of her expression — flushed and overstimulated, but not necessarily scared.
“You knew I was a criminal,” I reminded her quietly.
I couldn’t let her slip through my fingers now, inches from the finish line. I simply wouldn’t allow it.
“Yes, but I thought it was like … impulsive crime. Not structured crime.”
Kyrill made a strangled noise that might have been laughter.
Addy pointed accusingly at him. “He keeps reacting like that.”
“It’s cold.” Kyrill shrugged, trying to keep a straight face as he looked at her over his shoulder.
“It’s eighty degrees.”
I held her gaze. “Does it matter?”
She hesitated. And there it was again — a choice she had to make. I held my breath, hoping she would make the right one, because she was coming with me either way. I’d just prefer her to come willingly.
“No,” she admitted. “It doesn’t.”
I reached for her hand again, deliberately twining our fingers together.
“You’re mine, Little Devil.”
Addy studied my face, searching for something, and it looked like she’d found what she was looking for.
“This is so fucked up,” she murmured. “There must be something wrong with me because I can’t actually be into this.”
I grinned as a deep sense of satisfaction spread through my chest. “You’re perfect.”
She exhaled sharply, a mixture of laughter and surrender. “If I find out you have a secret crime board somewhere with red string connecting rival families, I’m going to be so mad.”
Kyrill was already walking up the gangway.
I squeezed her hand once. “You’ll like the view … even if you’re puking.”
Addy glared at me, then looked at the yacht again. “This is the worst decision I’ve ever made.”
But she followed me anyway.
We walked down the dock, the wood creaking softly beneath her feet. She absently reached out, brushing her fingers along a mooring rope, as though she had wandered into an art installation instead of something carefully orchestrated.
Two men were already waiting near the stern. They weren’t wearing uniforms, just dark jackets, and their stance betrayed an air of discipline.
One of them, Arthur, glanced at Addy, who offered him a smile in return. It wasn’t flirtatious or even intentional; it was simply a reflex due to her open nature.
“Hi—”