Page 27 of When Hearts Unravel (The Orchid #6)

It’s the same smell again. Death.

Dewy and thick, the acrid saltiness mixing with damp earth. The stench burned into my nostrils when I found Mom’s body all those years ago.

My head throbs, courtesy of the nightmare, this time of Raya with the bullet wound in her chest, asking me to take her daughters to safety. It woke me up two and a half hours into my sleep. I tossed and turned for a long time before finally giving up and reaching for my trusty Velowake.

Four pills this time.

I wonder if I can overdose on caffeine pills.

Then, as my pulse rioted from the side effects, I pulled out my phone and looked at photos of her.

Olivia’s soft smile. Her kind eyes. The newest one I stole of her when she padded back to the cruise, clothes sticking to her damp skin after the cliff dive two days ago.

Those minutes with her felt more real than most of my life.

No fake smiles. No jokes. No pretending. No judgment.

She made me forget—about Mom and Raya’s deaths, about how screwed up I am with my blackouts, about being lost and half alive. One moment I was staring into the Adriatic, wondering how deep those waters were, and the next moment I was laughing, teasing her, tempting her, making her smile.

I was normal. I was truly alive.

I wanted to take a picture of the teeth marks on her shoulder. My mark.

Mine.

No. Not yours. Never yours.

I have to protect her reputation, her career, her heart.

The words aren’t sticking. After all, how can they, when in her presence, I can finally breathe?

The chilly wind bites into my skin as I stand on the balcony of my stateroom, waiting for Elias to show up with updates about his investigation into the kidnapping attempt.

The man didn’t tell me anything when he first boarded the ship.

He said I looked like shit and he was close to answers before disappearing like the phantom he was.

The endless ocean stretches in front of me, the rippling waters and muted skies warning me it won’t be smooth sailing in the future. I take another whiff, my lungs drawing in the same scent notes from my memories.

There was life before Mom’s death and life after. This smell was the demarcation line.

I once read that smell was the strongest sense tied to memories. It was strange how it wasn’t the sight or hearing.

What would Olivia say if I asked her in my session later today? Would she give me some biology textbook response or would she prod into my fascination with memories?

Knowing her, I smile, probably both.

But then her parting words in Dubrovnik echo in my mind.

“I’m a prisoner of grief and guilt. And that’s why I’m your doctor today. Because I think, I sense…you’re just like me.”

I don’t know how she knows, how she can see so clearly through me when no one else can.

But then again, she probably wonders the same thing about me.

There’s an invisible rope tying me to her. Whenever I’m around her, I want to push her away so she can’t wrench more secrets out of me, or confess my sins and tell her everything—all my secrets and issues.

It’ll be cathartic.

My cock stirs when I relive the sensations of her body against mine in the ocean—compact, soft, curves in the right places.

There’s a poison corrupting my veins, to possess every part of her as I drag out orgasms upon orgasms, her pleasure making me high.

She’ll never be sad again. I’ll make it my mission to make her smile.

I think about how she covered her eyes when I stripped down to my underwear on the cliff.

She isn’t experienced. Has she been well-fucked before? Is she a quiet squirmer, or does she let out the breathiest moans?

Shit. My cock is hard as granite now.

I groan and bury my face in my hands. I’m a sick bastard.

Then the air around me changes.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand.

“Things are getting chummy between you and the doctor, huh?” Casey murmurs and I jolt.

Am I that obvious now? I shift, angling my body away from him, so he doesn’t see the shaft sticking out of my pants.

“You really need to stop with this ‘Surprise, I’m at your front door!’ thing. Don’t you know it’s rude? Just because the door is open doesn’t mean you can just come in.”

I glance over my shoulder, finding his lips flattened, eyes narrowed.

Judgment again. Disappointment, exasperation—what else is new?

“I’ll take any opportunity to knock some sense into you.”

I scoff. “Please don’t act like a martyr. I haven’t seen you much these days. Busy partying it up in paradise without me?”

“It’s only a party if you’re happy. Otherwise, it’s just distraction or, in your case…”

He pauses, no doubt to emphasize his next point like a drama queen.

I turn around, and sure enough, Casey arches his brow.

“Spit it out. You have my full attention now.”

He smirks. “Addiction. You, my friend, are addicted to things that make you forget. You like to run away from your troubles.”

I roll my eyes. “So, what are you? Olivia’s apprentice now? Taking a page from her book to psychoanalyze me?”

“Brush me off all you want, but you know it’s true.” He steps forward, the earlier smugness gone. “Tell me, how many pills did you take this morning?”

I stiffen and look away. “None of your business. And they’re caffeine pills. Not hard drugs. So piss off.”

“Prescription pills, which you got off the black market. You need to sleep. So what if you have nightmares? We all do. Get over yourself.”

“Fuck off!”

A muscle twitches in his jaw, and just as he opens his mouth to respond, soft sounds of footsteps reach our ears.

Elias.

My eyes snap to Casey’s and he gives me a curt nod before stalking off.

A minute later, the man himself strides through the French doors.

Clad in a slim-fitting black suit and a white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, this is the first time I’ve seen the mobster not dressed in a three-piece outfit, looking like he’s stepped out of a turn of the century British TV drama featuring gentlemen gangsters.

My brow hikes up as I take in the casual tousle of his dark hair, a lock falling over his face, covering that long scar.

“Where’s the lighter? Who are you and what did you do with my big, bad crime boss?”

Elias ignores me, but I see the telltale glint of amusement in his green eyes. “I’m on vacation.”

“You’re wearing a ten-thousand-dollar Armani suit,” I deadpan.

He cocks his brow.

“What? I know my clothes. Do you think I look this sexy without effort?”

“I don’t even know why I’m entertaining you with an answer, but proper clothes are important. People respond to the way you dress,” he murmurs, and for a second, a shadow falls over his face and he glances away.

Before I can ask him about his expression, he takes out his lighter.

This time, he doesn’t flick it open. Instead, he stares at the silver-gold surface, an unidentified emotion in his eyes.

“It was The Association. Confirmed now. A John Doe was found in Athens last week. Bullet between the eyes, execution style. My men got hold of the photos and records. It was the other shooter in Santorini. They left a calling card.”

He pulls out a thick, black card from his pocket, engraved with the letter A.

My chest seizes, remembering the sheer horror spearing my heart when I saw the man pointing a gun at Olivia. “They’re eliminating loose ends and warning us.”

Elias nods.

“Bree is a loose end. You never told me what she has on them. Why is she so critical to move to a safe house?”

“The less you know, the better. You’re an Anderson. Since they still want your family to join them, they’re less likely to touch you. But push hard enough, and they’ll act. You don’t want to be their next target, do you?”

I scoff and turn back to the sea, watching the clouds in the distance thicken, a heavy weight pressing against the ocean in a declaration of war.

I have a feeling we’ll all be victims of it soon.

“It’s too late for me.”

I don’t think I spoke the words aloud, but apparently, I did because Elias frowns.

“Not too late, Rex. You’ve never seen what ‘too late’ looks like, trust me.” There’s a strange urgency in his voice—a warning, a confession, all rolled into one.

“I consider you a friend,” he continues, “you and your brothers. There aren’t many people in the world I’d say those words to. In my business, sentimentality gets you killed.”

He taps his fingers on the railing and stares at his lighter again. This time, he flicks it open and a small orange-blue flame appears. It flickers in the wind for a second before snuffing out.

A lump thickens in my throat. This is the most I’ve heard the man talk, and I just know he’s going to say something I don’t want to hear.

I do what I do best—deflect.

“Friend, huh? Wow.” Clasping my hand to my chest, I exaggerate a fainting motion. “I’m crying. See my tears?”

I pretend to wipe my eyes when something occurs to me. “Brothers? What about Lana? You’ve known her as long as you’ve known us.”

Grace and Tay, I won’t ask, since they’ve only been in our lives for the past few years.

Elias snaps his lighter shut, and a muscle pulses in his jaw. “I don’t know her well. Nor do I intend to.”

But before I can prod into his answer, his expression smooths into one of calmness again. “Don’t bother changing the subject. Normally, I’d try to find out what you’re hiding because I collect secrets. All the more for people to do my bidding.”

I open my mouth to interject, but he holds up his hand.

“If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s identifying people with skeletons in their closets.

And you reek of them, Rex. Now, I don’t know if they’re imaginary or real.

But with you, I didn’t need to extort you to help me.

You jumped at the opportunity when I mentioned ‘atonement.’ Some might say you’re fearless or stupid, but I don’t think so. It’s the damn skeletons baiting you.”

He clasps my shoulder. “Take it from me. Don’t carry the dead if you don’t have to. What happened to Raya wasn’t on you. Ditch the skeletons before they make you one of them. Because if you tempt death, he’ll come collecting.”

A lump forms in my throat. He’s worried about me.

Elias’s lips twitch into a faint smile. “I have everything under control. There are no more records of Bree on this ship. If they check the system, it’ll show she disembarked in Dubrovnik.

I’ve asked her to continue staying on board until Monaco.

We just need to make sure your friend, Greg Masters, doesn’t post photos of her online. She’s a ghost now.”

He walks toward the living room. Apparently, the strange, one-sided conversation is over. “Your job, Rex, is to deliver her to the drop-off point in Monaco. Don’t draw attention to yourself until then. Don’t piss Greg Masters off and get a scandal plastered online. You’ll be doing me a big favor.”

With a pointed look, he walks off, leaving me in stunned silence.