Page 144 of Cruel Pleasures

In hindsight, I’m aware of how truthful but misguided this belief has been.

It is true that Asami was special. She would always haunt my thoughts and occupy my heart like a ghost only I could see. She was the bright spot in my joyless, violent life that I had been living before she appeared.

But her tragic passing did not mean someday another special connection could not be made. It did not diminish our past and it did not place one as more important or valuable than the other. They were incomparable by virtue of being the different women they were.

Unique in their own way.

I had finally accepted this as I held eye contact with Imani and we shared in pleasure that I could not deny myself any second.

Yet I’m not the only one who feels this way. Hurst clearly has grown an attachment to her of his own, and though we shared last night, it was an exception. One singular moment where we were on the same page and gave in to the impulses driving us.

By no means was it sustainable. There can be only one victor.

As the three of us pick up our forks and begin our meal, it’s an unspoken reality.

Hurst’s face is tight and disgruntled, like he’s experiencing his own realization about our circumstances. Imani’s mouth has dipped into a frown as she picks at her plate of food and takes the occasional sip of coffee.

Finally, Hurst seems incapable of holding back a second more. His fork drops to his plate with a loud clang in the silence, and he says, “We need to talk about arrangements off the isle. Ry, a plane will be waiting for you this afternoon.”

Imani’s head snaps in his direction. “And me? I’m the one that’s been begging to get off this damn isle from the moment I set foot in this place.”

“You and I will talk about your stay later,” Hurst says.

“The fuck we will, Archer. I decide where I go.”

“The Hostess is dead. So is everyone else. There’s no rush for you to go anywhere.”

“Says who?”

“Ry, the plane will be ready by four,” Archer says, ignoring the question. “Get all your things—if you even believe in belongings—and make sure you’re gone.”

I remain detached on the outside. The cold mask I’m skilled at wearing. “As you wish, Hurst. I’ll be gone. Along with Imani.”

He grits his teeth. “Imani goes nowhere.”

“Imani will be leaving with me.”

“She’s staying with me.”

“She wants to leave,” I say simply. “And she will… with me. If you are having a difficult time accepting that, Hurst, we can always step outside to discuss matters further.”

He tosses his napkin and leaps to his feet, fuming already. “You mean a chance to finally jam one of my knives into that deadpan face of yours? My pleasure.”

“Careful. I went easy on you the last time.” I stand up in a calmer fashion, unbothered in comparison.

“Excuse me!” Imani yells between us. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Some duel over me? Some fight to the death for my hand in marriage? Did we take a time machine back to the nineteenth century?”

“Outside,” Hurst says.

“Lead the way.”

The two of us turn toward the door. Imani’s sprang out of her chair to stop us. Hurst is no longer the only hotheaded one in the room—she’s fuming enough that her chest heaves in ragged breaths.

“I said I decide where I go!” she growls fiercely. “I decide… who I’m with.”

“Imani,” Hurst warns.

“You heard me! What have I told you both? I’m no prize to be won! I’m my own fucking woman and I won’t let you turn me into some competition. And if you expect me to choose…”