“Stop elbowing me, you big oaf!” I whisper-shout.
“Then move,” he growls. “For a tiny little thing, you take up a lot of fucking room.”
“Moi?” I ask, aghast, a hand to my chest. “Have you seen the circumference of one of your arms? It’s honestly concerning. You probably need to see a doctor for it.”
“I’m not the one who needs a doctor. Maybe you should go lie down. You still have a concussion, and it’s clearly warping your judgment.”
I narrow my eyes, huffing with irritation. “You are impossible,” I snap.
Whatever weird little truce Enzo and I came to is up in flames this very second. He’s just so… frustrating. Always thinks he’s right. A fucking know-it-all, too. And he’s always looking at me like he can’t tell if he wants to mutate into a shark and eat me or not. And I can’t tell if that’s attractive or not.
Honestly, it’s whatever if he does mutate. I think it’d be doing us both a favor at this point.
We’re searching for the beacon and have found ourselves in a small closet tucked away on the other side of the hallway. I thought maybe a door might be in here, but I can’t see shit around the behemoth of a man taking up the entire space.
“Move,” I mutter, elbowing him as I look behind a shelf full of… beans. Lots of beans.
“Look, the bean gods blessed you,” he mutters snidely.
“Shut up,” I snip. I retreat with another harsh exhale. “There’s nothing in here anyway.”
I go to slide past him, and while that is definitely something I accomplish, I also succeed in rubbing my ass against his dick. His hands fly to my hips, gripping them tightly and holding me hostage.
My breath stalls while my heart rockets up into my throat.
“Careful, bella,” he warns darkly. “You may not have forgiven me yet, but I have plenty of methods to ask for it.”
The only response I’m capable of is an embarrassing wheeze. He squeezes me tighter.
“I can get on my knees again and show you a blessing from a different type of god,” he purrs, his accent thickening and only making the words sound more salacious.
That. Is. Illegal.
The oxygen has evacuated from my lungs, and I quite literally can’t breathe. I wiggle out of his hold, casting a sassy look over my shoulder. Or at least I try to. I’m too distracted by the intense throb between my legs.
“You would sooner give yourself a concussion trying to fuck me in here rather than actually making me come.”
His spine straightens, and the look on his face solidifies into cool marble.
Oh, shit.
I dart out of the closet before he can make good on that challenge. I can’t let Enzo and his big dick distract me. The energy in this decrepit lighthouse is decaying as quickly as the structure.
Sylvester and Enzo positively hate each other—not that they ever cared for one another to begin with—and when Enzo isn’t around, Sylvester talks to me as if I’ve agreed to stay.
I’ve only decided to leave last night, but I can’t find the words to tell him that. I’m scared of what will happen once I do. So, in true Sawyer Bennett fashion, I keep my mouth shut and let him dream. Even if those dreams are nightmarish.
I know Enzo is aware of Sylvester’s growing obsession, but I haven’t told him how bad it’s gotten. They both have tempers, and I don’t want anything jeopardizing our chance to find the beacon and in turn, hopefully, get a one-way ticket off the island.
Ignoring Enzo’s heated stare from the closet, I peruse the short hallway. And then I pause, tripping over an idea I hadn’t considered before.
“What if the entrance isn’t on the second floor?” I wonder aloud. Then, I turn toward Enzo. He gazes at me with a furrowed brow, waiting for me to continue.
“I assumed the entrance would be up here because that’s logical, right? You get to the third floor by the second… But what if it’s on the bottom floor and leads all the way up?”
He tilts his head, considering that. After a moment, he purses his lips and nods, walking toward me and notching my chin with his knuckle as he passes.
“Good thinking, bella,” he croons, a devilish glint in his eye. As if answering a mating call, my clit pulses, and arousal gathers between my thighs.
It’s that fucking easy.
“Sylvester is downstairs still. We’re going to have to wait until he leaves,” Enzo continues as if he wasn’t two seconds away from staring down the center of my spread legs.
”It’s about to storm, and we’re supposed to get another tomorrow. How are we going to get him out?” I question, making sure to keep my voice quiet.
He shakes his head. “I haven’t figured that out yet. But we’re getting to that damn light.”
Pinching my lips, I nod and glance at the steps leading downstairs.
“Until then, I need to make nice with him.”
He gives me a sour look, as if I just shoved a lemon down his throat. Not very far off from its natural state. Enzo has a bad case of resting bitch face.
“That would only encourage him.”
“Yeah, encourage him to trust at least one of us,” I argue. “If he believes I might stay with him, he’s more likely to give me space. But if he thinks I’m not, he will cling harder.”
“I’m not leaving you alo—”
“You are because I asked you to,” I cut in. “Believe it or not, I haven’t made it this far because I’m incapable, and he isn’t the first creepy man I’ve dealt with.”
He studies me closely, an indecipherable emotion in his eye.
“I’ll trust you can handle yourself, Sawyer. But the second he takes it too far, or I feel you are in danger in any way, no more. I’m stepping in, and I’ll fucking kill the man. There won’t be any sneaking around then.”
My mouth parts in shock, and my eyes round.
He’s serious. Absolutely serious.
With one last heated glance, he warns, “I’ll be in the room.”
Did it get hot in here? I’ve begun to sweat, little beads forming along my hairline.
Attempting to shrug it off, I say, “You got it, dude.”
And then I take off toward the steps, needing air as much as I need fucking Jesus in my life.
God, this is so fucking uncomfortable.
When I came downstairs and asked Sylvester if he wanted to watch some TV, I was hoping I’d be able to distract myself with a soap opera, considering that’s all Sylvester seems to watch.
But the storm outside has already begun to brew, and we don’t have any signal. So now we’re just sitting on the couch, watching a crackling fire while we both try to carry on a conversation.
He’s out of practice, I get it. But I think I’d rather stick my finger down my throat and blow chunks for funsies at this point.
“Did you hear the ghosts again last night?” I ask when another topic fizzles out.
“Meh,” he harrumphs, waving a hand. “I’ve grown used to the noises by now. I sleep like a baby.”
“It sounded like something was scratching at the floor above us,” I go on. “Like they were trying to claw their way out or something.”
His gaze darkens for a moment. Despite how tolerant Sylvester is of the ghosts, he doesn’t like speaking of them. Maybe because the spirits that live here are by his own hand.
“Sorry ’bout that,” he mutters. “I don’t think it’ll be too much of a problem for you after ’while.”
“You think I’ll get used to them?” I wonder.
“Something like that. I think they’re just restless. I’ll take care of ’em, don’t you worry,” he assures, patting my knee. I try not to tense under the weight of his calloused palm, but it’s nearly impossible. It feels as if slimy bugs are crawling up my spine.
“Relax,” he laughs boisterously. “Ya don’t need to fear me. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”
I force a laugh, but I slide my knee out from beneath his hand anyway.
I may be trying to play nice, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him touch me. Sylvester is the type to push his luck. He’ll keep touching me until I tell him not to, and even then, he’ll push a little harder.
Enzo’s told him to get his hands off me before, yet, he still persists.
“Why you got a tattoo like that?” he asks, pointing out the two words Simon poked into my skin. Fuck You.
I look down, and unwittingly, a smile forms on my face as I brush my fingers across the black ink. I miss him. Probably more than I’ve ever missed anyone.
I’ve only met him twice, but he was my first real friend. My only friend.
My smile turns upside down. He probably thinks I disappeared on him willingly. And I’m sure he’d understand, but what if I never see him again? What if by the time I make it back, he’s disappeared himself?
Simon has said so once; he’s a wandering soul. Doesn’t stay in one place for long—like me. The thought of never seeing him again is enough to make the backs of my eyes burn.
“My friend did it for me,” I answer simply.
He harrumphs, sounding unimpressed. “Well, I’d like to ask you a question,” Sylvester starts, shifting uncomfortably. My heart drops, already knowing where this is going.
I clear my throat, my hands fidgeting with shit I didn’t give them permission to. They move from my hair to my shirt, then back to my hair again, and somehow land on my bottom lip.
“Sup?” I squeak. I’m so bad at handling awkward situations.
“I wanted to formally invite you to stay here.” After a weird pause, he tacks on, “With me.”
I think I clear my throat again, but I’m not sure over the sound of my heart beating. I’m not even sure why I’m so damn nervous. All I have to say is no thanks. Easy.
“Wow,” I breathe. “That’s so generous of you.”
He nods, like he already knows that.
“The thing is, I think it’d be best if I go back home and, uh, sort my shit out.” I end that with a strained chuckle.
He frowns and strokes his bushy beard.
“I don’t think that’s too smart. Sounds like you got yerself in a bad situation. Best ya stay here.” He pats my thigh like the decision has been settled on, then goes to get up.
“Uh, well, thanks for the input, but I’m leaving,” I cut in. He pauses, then settles back down. Great. I would’ve preferred he just accept it and keep it moving.
He sighs, assumingly preparing to share his wisdom that will forever change the trajectory of my life.
“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to live freely. You won’t even have a need for money no more.”
My discomfort grows. Honestly, I have no idea why I thought staying here would be a good idea. The thought of it now makes me feel entirely nauseous.
“Yeah, I appreciate that. Totally. But I think I’ll be okay.” I try to soften the blow with a smile, but there’s a darkness emanating from him.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and an ominous feeling invades whatever fragile peace Sylvester and I had. Adrenaline slowly releases into my veins, kicking up my heart rate as Sylvester stares at me.
“I’ll tell them who you are if you go,” he threatens, his tone deeper and severe.
I feel the crease between my brows deepening as I stare at him with bewilderment. My mouth opens, then closes, at a loss of what the hell to say.
“I imagine if the people after you are as powerful as you claim, they’ll be very interested to hear about your whereabouts. I suspect you’re runnin’ from the law and ain’t nothin’ stopping them from extraditing your arrest.”
My vision tunnels until it’s reduced to the eye of a needle, a heavy dose of panic mixing with astonishment.
“Why would you do that?”
“I want you to stay here. I could give ya a comfortable life if you’d allow me to.”
“By blackmailing me?” I fume, any nervousness forgotten. I’m too angry, and what gave him the impression that I don’t bite when backed into a corner?
“Ya know, any other fugitive would be chomping at the bit for an opportunity like this,” he snaps, avoiding my question.
“Yeah, like those prisoners you killed?” I mock. “What makes you think I’m a fugitive anyway?”
“Aw, come on, I may be old and a bit behind on the times, but I ain’t stupid. You expect me to believe that a young lady like yerself hasn’t done illegal things to get by?”
I open my mouth to respond, but he’s forging on.
“Prostitutin’ yerself, no doubt. Maybe even stealin’ from people. Either way, you ain’t free of sin. And I bet them cops would be happy to hear about your whereabouts.”
For several seconds, the only thing I’m capable of is gaping at him. I knew Sylvester wasn’t as friendly as he pretended to be, but I never thought he’d take things this far.
My fight or flight instincts have been activated, and I’m shooting to my feet, even as I try to process the situation. Clearly, he’s not going to just let me go. I feel so stupid for not seeing the depths of his loneliness before. Isolation has driven him mad, and he’s become desperate.
But while I may be a runner, I’m sure as hell not a fucking doormat. I will always fight back. That’s something Kev learned the hard way, and something Sylvester will learn, too.
“You’re right. I have done bad things to survive, and I’m definitely not free of sin. So don’t be mistaken and think you will be an exception,” I snarl.
Sylvester’s expression turns thunderous, my only warning before he stands and backhands me across the face, its force sending me crashing to my ass.
He points down at me and growls, “That is the last time you will disrespect me in my own home.”
Then, he’s charging toward the staircase as quickly as the wooden peg will allow. Reeling, it takes me a second to clear the stars from my vision, fire lancing across my cheek, and blood pooling in my mouth. I’ve had terrible things happen to me, but even Kev has never hit me like that.
“What are you doing?” I call, panicked as he rushes up the steps.
Scrambling to my feet, I chase after him, making it to the top of the stairs right when he raises his shotgun and points it directly at Enzo, who is halfway down the hallway, a fierce expression on his face.
At some point, he must’ve grabbed the gun on his way up.
“Get back in yer room, son,” Sylvester warns, his tone steady as if trying not to set off a wild bear.
“Not going to happen,” Enzo growls, prompting Sylvester to pump the forearm on the gun, a clear threat.
I swear to God, if he shoots, I will kick him in the peg and feel no remorse.
As if disturbed by the commotion, the sound of dragging chains interrupts whatever Sylvester was going to say. His head snaps up, glaring at the ceiling as the restless spirit paces across the floor, its footsteps heavy.
“You’ve made ’em angry,” he spits over his shoulder.
“Me?” I echo, taken aback. “You’re the one acting crazy.”
“You haven’t seen crazy, young lady. Now get in there!” The moment the last word leaves his mouth, the footsteps above freeze, heightening the sound of his voice to a thunderous level.
Get in where?
My question is quickly answered when it registers that he’s motioning with the gun in the direction of his room.
My eyes widen impossibly further.
“Fuck no,” I bark. “I’m not staying with you.”
Enzo steps toward the unhinged man, but Sylvester notices and thrusts his gun at him.
“Get back! I will blow your goddamn head off.”
“Enzo, just go,” I bark. His gaze darts to me over Sylvester’s shoulder.
Silently, I mouth, “Cave.”
He’s going to have to trust me to get away. It’s what I’m best at.
Enzo clenches his jaw, the muscle threatening to burst. His eyes are turning obsidian, and his stare promises death as he slowly backs toward the room again.
He doesn’t remove his gaze until the very last second. Sylvester slams our bedroom door shut and locks it with a key.
Before he can turn the weapon on me, I’m pivoting and sprinting for the stairs.
“Damn it, come back here!”
I speed down them fast enough to nearly send myself pitching forward face-first. Sylvester is storming down the hallway and pounding down the steps behind me, but I’m out of the front entrance before he can reach the last step.
“Get back here!” His shout is cut off by the slamming door. Breathing heavily, adrenaline and panic warring for a space in my bloodstream, I run toward the cave.
It’s the only place I can run to.
All I can do is hope he can’t find me there.
