66. Zeke
Zeke
T he island was too quiet. Still. As if it knew something was coming.
Palm leaves whispered secrets as we cut across the stone path toward her villa, sand clinging to my boots from the shoreline below. Kane walked ahead, humming some obnoxiously cheery tune, while Rhett lagged, shirt unbuttoned, looking half-feral.
“You think she’s even awake?” Kane asked, knocking his knuckles against her villa door.
“She’s always awake,” I muttered.
“She’s probably naked,” Rhett added, grinning.
Kane tilted his head, amused. “Think she’ll invite us in?”
“She won’t,” I said. “She’ll make you think she might. Then burn you alive.”
He knocked again—three short taps, sharp as gunshots.
“Unless you’re bringing breakfast or a better reason to be alive, fuck off.”
Rhett laughed. Kane pushed the door open without hesitation.
She was sprawled across the couch in nothing but a gray tank and black underwear, legs stretched, coffee in hand, perfectly unbothered.
Scarlett Monroe didn’t flinch.
Didn’t rush to cover up.
She just raised a brow. “Wasn’t expecting the three wise men this early.”
Rhett gave a low whistle. “I can be wise if you let me.”
“Pretty sure you were only wise enough to be dangerous,” she said, sipping again.
Kane leaned on the doorframe, sunglasses still on. “You’re late.”
She blinked. “For what?”
“Training,” I said.
She stared. “Training?”
“Trace’s orders.” I tossed the towel I’d brought onto the edge of the couch. It landed heavy.
Her gaze moved from the towel to me. “Daddy Trace wants me to get sweaty?”
Kane choked. Rhett outright laughed. I didn’t blink.
Scarlett didn’t back down. “Training for what, exactly?” Her voice had that edge again—sharp, suspicious. “Combat? Cardio? An apocalypse no one told me about?”
No one answered.
She stepped forward. “Have y’all finally decided to let me in on what the fuck is actually going on?” Her eyes scanned us one by one. “Or is this just another cryptic boy club initiation where I’m supposed to shut up and obey?”
I met her stare, unmoving. “Get dressed. Something you can bleed in, just in case.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, still smirking. “Wow. You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl.”
The room smelled of ocean wind and salt-damp stone. Morning sun filtered through the curtains, gilding her skin, her limbs, a don't-fuck-with-me glint in her eyes.
“In case of what?” she asked, folding one leg beneath her.
“In case someone decides you’re more valuable than we can protect,” I said.
For once, she didn’t fire back. Not immediately.
Then she stood—slow and lethal—stretching just enough to let the tank slide higher on her hips.
“Fine,” she said, brushing past Kane, voice light and cutting. “But I’m not sparring with anyone I’m sleeping with.”
Rhett’s eyebrows rose. “Yet?”
She shot a glance over her shoulder. “Just keeping things professional, boys.”
Then she disappeared down the hall.
Kane turned to me. “You know we’re all in trouble, right?”
“She’s not trouble,” I said. “She’s the warning before it hits.”
Outside, the wind shifted. Palm fronds shivered.
The island was waking up.
And Scarlett?
She already fucking owned it.