Page 40 of Immoral (Park Avenue Kings #3)

DIMITRI

H E WAS GONE.

It had happened. The inevitable.

I knew it the second I woke. Not because I opened my eyes but because I could feel his absence as acutely as a lost limb.

The sun was just now trickling through the open windows as I rolled to my back and stared at the empty pillow. I could still see the indentation from Benoit’s head and found myself reaching out to touch, just in case it was a dream.

But no, it was real.

He was gone.

I sat up and turned to look out at the beautiful view that greeted me, the sun sparkling off the blue of the Aegean Sea, and not even that could fill the void Benoit’s absence had left. Nor did it replace the loneliness that threatened to reclaim me.

Damn it.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to hurt this fucking much. But as I sat there in the place that used to be my sanctuary, my refuge, I felt alone.

I looked over at the empty side of the bed, at the rumpled sheets, and remembered Benoit’s smile as he’d drifted off to sleep: peaceful, satisfied, and a little bit sad.

I lay there for hours after that, memorizing everything about him—his long lashes, full lips, his delicate jaw and the messy hair I’d run my hands through as I held him close—refusing to acknowledge I’d have to let him go.

But when I finally drifted off, it had been into a sleep so deep, I hadn’t even heard him wake. Maybe he’d planned it that way. After all, he was a master thief, a skilled pickpocket. Maybe he’d slipped out in silence on purpose, not wanting to face “the end” head-on either.

I shoved the sheet aside and got to my feet, wondering what time he’d actually made his move. It was just turning seven now, so when had King sent in his men? The ass crack of?—

Whop. Whop. Whop.

The familiar thumping sound of rotor blades overhead had me grabbing the robe off the chair in the corner and shrugging it on. I pulled open the sliding door and stepped outside as a sleek black H130 helicopter soared over my house and headed toward the landing zone.

Benoit…

He had left the house, but not my island.

Not yet, anyway.

I quickly belted my robe and crossed the terrace as the helicopter began its descent, and when I reached the edge of my property, I spotted him.

Benoit was standing with his back to the house, the linen pants and shirt he wore plastered to his body.

I wanted to call out to him—to say what, I had no fucking clue.

But he was too far away and the sound from the blades was too loud.

The wind was whipping his hair around his head in a way that wouldn’t allow him to hear a thing as he stared up at the black bird that had come to rescue him.

From the mission.

From the island.

From me. The monster.

A growl rumbled up inside of me, every possessive instinct clawing to the surface as the skids touched down and the door to the helicopter was pulled open. Then that motherfucker Lachlan— of course it’s him —waved Benoit forward.

Fuck. That.

I ran toward the path that led down to the landing zone, and as my bare feet hit the gravel I stepped on several cactus spines that had fallen off. I cursed as the pain sliced through me, and I wasn’t sure if he heard me or felt me there, but Benoit stopped as he reached the door of the helicopter.

He looked back over his shoulder to where I stood as though frozen in time, and the second our eyes met, I knew—it was really over.

It didn’t matter if I hobbled down to him or crawled—he was going to get in that helicopter and fly back to whatever life he had before me, and I just needed to get on with mine here, without him.

It was easy, right? I’d done it before. Existed without him.

So why did it feel as though he tore my heart out of my chest when he turned back to Lachlan and climbed into the helicopter?

I stood there at the top of the hill and watched as he slammed the door shut on what we had, and as the helicopter began its ascent, I heard the faint ringing of my phone from inside the house.

Like a man in a trance, I turned from the life that might’ve been and headed inside to the life that was to answer the call.

“Stavros here.”

“Boss.” Omar’s voice was like a hard, cold slap back to reality. “Sorry to bother you so early, but I just got a call you need to take. Are you back at work?”

As the helicopter faded in the distance, I shoved aside any fanciful notions I might’ve had about falling in love, having a life beyond the violent one designated to me as a child, and instead focused on what was.

It was time to wake the fuck up. Time to remember who I was.

And with that I snapped, “Yes. Put them through.”