“Piccola, wake up.”
“Hmm?” I mumble, rolling over only to be greeted with a shooting pain up my back.
Oh my God. I may be only twenty-eight, but it feels as if I have aged eighty years overnight. Sleeping on hard rock is terrible for anyone’s back, no matter how much of the night you spend sprawled on top of someone else.
“Sawyer, svegliati,” the voice says more sternly.
“I’m up,” I groan, flinching when I roll to my side. I release another long groan. “Fuck me up the nose, dude.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then, “What?”
My eyes are still closed, but I roll them anyway. He takes everything so literally.
“I’m going to need a serious yoga session,” I whine, sitting up and finally cracking open my eyes. Enzo is crouching in front of me, staring at me with a fierce expression on his face.
He never translated what he said last night when marking me everywhere with his cum. But whatever it was, it set off a deep thrill inside me. The type where you’re willingly walking into a dangerous situation for the adrenaline rush.
It was… passionate yet unhinged. Like, murder me and stuff me, then try to spoon-feed me beans because he thinks I’m still alive type of unhinged. Some Norman Bates shit. It was a mix of I want to strangle you and I’ll never let you go.
It’s how Kev used to look at me, and I recognize precisely what it is. Obsession.
Except this time, it sets my insides aflame, and I want to return that look with a smile that says Never let me go. I’ll die with your hands wrapped around my throat.
Wow. That’s fucked up. I need to find a therapist when I get home.
“Sylvester is gone,” Enzo says, his brow pinched with concern.
“You went back without me?” I ask, a little angry that he went alone. “Where did he go? How did he get out?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. The lock on the cellar was unlatched, so I don’t know if he slammed up against it until it came out or what. Regardless, we’re taking over, finding that fucking beacon, and contacting someone to come get us.”
Uneasiness floods my system.
His disappearing doesn’t make me feel better. Wherever he is, he’s still on this island. Sylvester knows this place far better than we do.
He’s not gone. He’s hiding.
But we can’t stay in this cave forever. We have no food or water, and my bladder is taking the opportunity to remind me that I need to pee really bad. And while I could squat in the corner of the cave somewhere, that’s not exactly an option for when the beans decide to go through me.
“He probably has a gun,” I surmise. Sylvester has several guns, and if Enzo could’ve predicted the possibility of him escaping, I know those guns would not have been left in the lighthouse overnight.
I feel terrible asking him to stay here instead. Sylvester never would’ve gotten free otherwise.
Enzo nods. “But so do we. We just need to be careful tonight.”
“Okay,” I mumble, my face contorting as I stand.
Jesus, my back hurts so bad, but it’s my own fault. I did want to sleep here, after all. And I don’t regret it. It was refreshing waking up to a different view, even if I did worry that one of the silk strings would drop into my mouth while I was sleeping.
When I straighten, Enzo is staring at me like a crazy person again.
“What?”
“You’re in pain,” he states bluntly.
I give him a side-eye. “Yeah, and?”
His eyes drop to the floor, like he’s considering punching the inanimate rock for daring to throw my back out of place. Ultimately, he grabs the blanket and shotgun, then lifts his eyes and says, “I’ll take care of that later. Let’s go, baby.”
Hesitating for only a moment—mainly because this new version of him still weirds me out—I trudge after him, being careful to keep the pain off my face. He keeps glancing back at me, as if expecting me to keel over and curl up like a dead spider any second—which usually only happens after he fucks me.
As we near the lighthouse, my heart begins to race. The sky is dark gray, the near-constant storms plaguing Raven Isle like it has a personal vendetta against it.
It only makes the lighthouse appear more sinister—the chipped red and white rings around the building darkening the atmosphere of the island. It feels like I’m in one of those horror video games. I’m forced to go into the scary place because that’s how I beat the game, but I know something in there will try and kill me. Every step is filled with dread, and it feels as if my heart is being weighed down by the doom headed my way.
Enzo readies the shotgun and quietly opens the front door, the loud creaking of the hinges shattering the silence.
The energy is thick in here—heavy like a weighted blanket. Except this isn’t the kind that makes you feel warm and safe, but everything opposite.
“Stay quiet,” Enzo whispers. I nod, though he’s not looking at me anyway, and shut the door as silently as possible. Which isn’t very quiet given the hinges sound like they came from a different century and have never been oiled.
He quickly walks to the kitchen, grabs a huge knife that Sylvester uses to fillet the fish, and then walks back to hand it to me.
“Stay here. I’m going to check every room to make sure he’s gone. If you see him, stab him.”
I stare down at the knife and begin to shake, nearly stabbing Enzo in my attempt to hand it back. I’d rather take the gun.
“No, thanks,” I say, my voice uneven and tight.
His brows lower. “Sawyer, I’m not leaving you unprotected. You need to take it.”
“Can’t I just go with you? Haven’t you seen the horror movies? Separating is never a good idea. And I’m in more danger of getting shot if you’re not here.”
“I’d still like you to hold on to it,” he insists, grabbing my wrist and forcing it in my fist. My face twists with discomfort, but I don’t argue.
He studies me closely, almost critically, as if trying to figure out a math problem. Eventually, he turns and heads toward the staircase while I follow close behind.
We try to keep our steps light, but the metal is no better than the door and groans beneath our weight as we ascend.
Up here, the air feels denser. For a moment, it feels like I can’t take in a deep enough breath. We check the small closet first, then our room, the bathroom, and lastly, Sylvester’s room.
He’s nowhere to be found. It’s deathly quiet in here and nearly impossible to move through this place without making some type of sound. Unless he’s standing as still as a statue—he’s not here.
I’m not sure if that makes me feel better. While living with Sylvester is far from comfortable, it was still the danger you know and all that. Now the danger is as unknown as his whereabouts.
We know the beacon is still in commission and that he’s had access from the day we shipwrecked, so there’s still a chance he’s here, just not anywhere we can see.
“We need to board up the windows and door so he can’t get in,” Enzo says quietly. The way he’s talking only confirms my own fears. He speaks as if Sylvester might hear us.
“What if we’re locking him in with us?” I ask.
The corners of his eyes tighten. “We’re going to make sure we have a quick escape route.”
Before I can question how, he heads into Sylvester’s room and slides open his closet. Then, he begins tearing clothing off the hangers and extra bedsheets from a shelf above.
After our arms are full, he heads back into our bedroom and softly closes the door.
It takes me only a second to catch on when he starts stringing the material together into a rope.
“This is going to be attached to our bed at all times,” he explains. “If anything happens, this is our way out.”
I frown. “The window is nailed shut.”
“No, it’s not.”
I blink, my brow pinching as I go to investigate. I distinctly remember the nails pinning it down when we arrived.
However, when I check over it now, I find that the nails have been removed.
“When…”
“I started removing them after we got here.”
My mouth pops open. This whole time, he’s been removing them, and I never noticed. Sylvester must not have, either. It’s definitely something he would’ve spoken up about if he had.
“You sneaky dog,” I mutter, grinning at him.
He gives me a pointed look. “I may have given the impression that I was playing by his rules, bella, but I will never allow someone to imprison me.”
He stalks toward me, and I’m immediately paralyzed by his stare. It’s only when he crouches down and starts tying the makeshift rope around the leg of the bed that I realize I’m standing right in front of it.
Heart in my stomach, I take a step back, giving him room to fashion it around the post securely, and then bundle the excess under the bed.
“I’ve snuck up here a few times to loosen the window. It was stiff at first, but you should be able to get it open no problem,” he explains. “Try it just in case.”
I don’t like this scenario. One where I’m escaping alone. But it’s smart to be prepared, so I plant my hands on the window and push up. It takes effort, but it’s doable.
“Good,” he says before shoving it back down for me. “Let’s find something to eat, and then I’ll start boarding up the place.”
“I can hel—”
“You need to relax,” he interrupts.
I blink. “Enzo, it’s not the first time I’ve experienced back pain. I’m not an invalid.”
He steps into my space and catches my chin between his fingers. I gasp, and an electric shiver zips down my spine.
“I’m more than aware that you’re a capable woman, Sawyer. But that doesn’t mean I won’t take care of you.”
My mouth falls open, but nothing escapes. There isn’t a coherent thought in my brain. I’m sure I look no different than a dopey dog. Look into their eyes and see nothing in there.
His stare drops to my parted lips and locks for a few seconds before he focuses on me again.
“Capito?”
“Yes,” I whisper, understanding what he’s asking for.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, a note of approval in his tone as he leans in and places a soft kiss on my forehead.
My heart might as well be an overheated baked potato. It’s exploding in my chest while my whole body is flushed.
His approval shouldn’t make me feel proud, yet it does. With one last loaded look, he nods in the direction of the door and then prowls toward it, the expectation to follow clear.
My oppositional side tells me to keep my feet firmly planted. However, my pathetic need to get another one of those forehead kisses is what ultimately has me following after him.
Sylvester was pretty strict about food portions, which was something Enzo nor I minded considering we’re guests and what would normally last him a month was cut into a third. We were just grateful to have food at all.
That meant we were restricted from scouring the cabinets, and it was something we were happy to respect.
Except after rummaging through them, we find that Sylvester has been hoarding a lot more food than he let on. Which I can’t really blame him for. If I lived on this island alone and the chances of being forgotten were fairly high, I’d probably do the same.
So, with that in mind, Enzo and I still keep our dinner very light. A single potato and a seasoned chicken breast.
Better than the bajillion Ensure bottles in the cabinet.
We’re both confident we can find a working radio somewhere or that the freight ship will come by eventually, but we have to prepare for the possibility that we’ll be here for a long time to come.
For all we know, that ship comes by a lot less frequently than Sylvester said. It’s better to conserve.
“Lie down,” Enzo says, pointing toward the couch. Sighing, I do as he says, not having the energy to argue. This peace between us is exhilarating, and I have no interest in shattering it because he’s actually being nice. That would just be stupid.
He gets the little fireplace going while I settle on the couch. Once I’m comfortable, he hands me the shotgun, a grim look on his face.
Staring up at him with wide eyes, I grab the weapon from him hesitantly.
“Sylvester hasn’t restocked the wood in the kitchen, so I need to get it from out back. I shouldn’t be gone for more than a few minutes. Just keep this close to be safe.”
“Okay,” I mutter. “Where the hell did he get wood from anyway? This place is practically devoid of plant life.”
“He had it imported like everything else. He’s got logs for the fire and some two-by-fours. Seems like he keeps it stocked.”
I nod, feeling a little burst of relief over that. It’s further proof that a ship does come by and confirmation that we will get off this island. It’s just a matter of when and how long we’ll need to live in fear before it happens.
A lot can happen between now and then.
The second Enzo shuts the front door behind him, the stillness grows heavier. I work to swallow, a pit of dread forming in my stomach.
Fuck. This is so creepy.
Just as I reach for the remote, something thumps from above. The muscle in my chest skips over, missing a beat and landing amid a heart attack.
Oh, fuck this.
I stand for no other reason than because it makes me feel less vulnerable. I strain my ears, listening for any more noises.
After thirty seconds, my shoulders relax just as soon as the distinct drag of chains starts up. From how distant it sounds, I’m confident it’s coming from the third floor, like it usually does. But it doesn’t make me feel any safer.
Adrenaline and terror are circulating throughout my system, mixing until there’s a dangerous cocktail in my bloodstream that is just on its knees and begging for me to go into cardiac arrest.
I dance on each foot, groaning softly under my breath for Enzo to hurry. If he doesn’t come back within a minute, I’m out of here.
The pacing stops suddenly, and that is one hundred percent scarier than the actual pacing. At least then, I could tell exactly where the spirit was. Now, it could be anywhere.
Whatever it is, it has a tight grip on my lungs. My chest aches from how little oxygen I’m taking in. I’m too scared to breathe correctly. Or rather, my brain is seized by fear, and it is no longer capable of sending signals to the rest of my body.
Shit, all my organs are going to give out by the time the thing even makes itself known, and I think I’m glad for it.
But then, there’s a quiet knock from above. It’s difficult to hear over the pounding in my ears, but after a few seconds, there’s another knock.
It sounds… curious. Like someone knocking on a door to greet their new neighbor with a freshly baked casserole.
For reasons I’ll never be able to explain, my feet carry me toward the stairs. I stop before them, and on cue, there’s another knock. Louder this time. More direct.
“Hello?” I call.
No one answers, and I feel stupid. But then there’s a loud thump as if it’s now slamming its fist into the wood. I jump, a startled scream slipping free.
“What’s wrong?”
This time, my scream is loud. I whip around to find Enzo standing at the front door, a concerned pinch to his brow.
He rushes toward me, but I quite literally can’t move or breathe.
“What happened?” he asks urgently, twisting my body back and forth to check for injury.
I manage to squeak out, “Ghost. Knocking. Scary. Get the water police.”
He relaxes, his shoulders dropping. Casting his gaze to the ceiling, his jaw pulses.
“It’s okay. It can’t hurt you.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not true. Have you ever seen The Conjuring? Or literally any other paranormal horror movie? They definitely get hurt. People die. Demons are like, serial killers, Enzo.”
I sound stupid—I know that—but I’m still struggling to get my brain back into working order, and one thing I am sure of is that whatever it is can hurt me. If it’s capable of slamming its fist into the floor, I’m confident it can do the same to my face.
“They’re not demons, they’re spirits,” he reminds me.
I shrug. “These spirits were evil people alive. What makes you think they’re not evil in death?”
He stares at me.
“Good point,” he concedes. “If I need to fight a ghost, I will. Just lay back down for now.”
His fists will do precisely zero damage, but since it’s a noble thought, I shut my trap and trudge back toward the couch. Enzo digs out some nails from Sylvester’s little toolbox he keeps in a closet in the kitchen, then gets to work.
With each two-by-four nailed across the doors and windows, I feel more and more claustrophobic.
This lighthouse is supposed to be safe compared to the cave. Yet, my life feels more in danger than when I was lost at sea.
There’s a shark in the water, and just like being in the ocean, we’re in his territory.
