Page 87 of Gabriel

But I’d kissed him. Was that really handing him a blade? Or was it being impulsive foroncein my life, chasing something I wanted and craved?

I’d fantasized about his mouth and hands on me too many times over the past weeks.

“Dammit,” I whispered to myself, then instead of walking into the fire, I turned and strode away.

My feet were soundless against the deck floor as I made my way back into my cabin, where I got dressed and went to the comms bay.

The satellite console buzzed softly, waiting for a purpose. I stared at it, pretending to check weather patterns, my reflection flickering faintly in the screen’s glow.

But I wasn’t here for the weather.

Instead, I stared at Jet’s message, rereading it over and over since we’d kidnapped Gabriel.

To: A. If you get this, follow the coordinates. Snatch Santos. Jet.

Even all these weeks later, it made little sense. Jet left barely a breadcrumb with the coordinates and Gabriel’s name. There was no explanation. Just a cryptic directive I’d obeyed out of blind loyalty.

However, if Jet had apparently warned him away from me—and violently, from the sounds of it—why push him into my life?

Jet didn’t trust anyone, not unless he could use them. Did he intend to use Gabriel? Or was Gabriel the trap, and I was the goddamn bait?

My fingers hovered over the screen, wondering if Elira knew more than she was letting on. They were connected by something tighter than blood, and she’d kept secrets before, but never from me. At least, that’s what I believed.

Now, every glance and word she spoke felt a little too careful. Every silence dragged a little too long.

Alas, we’d stuck to each other like rubber and glue since we started this journey, even before Jet and the explosion in Paris. We’d been everywhere from Albania to Norway, and not once did I detect any unusual behavior. She hardly spoke to him on the phone, and when she did, I was right there with her. Right?

I could push her, but my gut warned I wouldn’t like what shook loose.

Something about all of this didn’t sit well with me.

I’d always hated being left in the dark.

And I especially didn’t enjoy this feeling that I was walking into a trap laid out by Jet.

And the glaring mystery:Why Albania?

Kian practically ruled that country, and he’d never allow anything to happen to me.

Gabriel

During my last night’s roaming about the yacht, I’d learned we’d reached the Mediterranean. We were slicing through the waves, steady and fast, and in less than a week, we’d be in the Ionian Sea and closer to the jagged Albanian coastline.

The yacht creaked beneath us like an old man complaining about the cold, the hull letting out the occasional low groan as it swayed with the lazy slap of waves. But with each slap, I could sense the storm building.

Although for now, the rhythmic hush of the water brushed against the sides and almost made it feel like peace.

Almost.

If you ignored the fact that my left wrist was cuffed to a steel pipe bolted just behind the couch I’d been so graciously moved to.

It wasn’t exactly five-star hostage treatment, but Amara had at least made an effort.

Tonight, I had a throw blanket tucked around me, a bowl of popcorn within reach, and I’d even been allowed to approve the movie that now played on the screen. Although the selectionof movies was questionable: horror, disturbing psycho type of movies, and more horror.

Nonetheless, it felt like we were just two friends killing time on a stormy night.

Her version of an olive branch, I guess.