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The staff at the airport saw us together.
The pilots. The limo driver.
Someone will talk.
Someone has to talk.
My pulse grows frantic, beating out of control.
Cole and his family have gotten away with a multitude of offences. He’s a walking, talking bucket list of unpunished criminal activity.
God, if his father can escape incarceration for sex trafficking and solicitation, what’s to stop Cole from covering up the disappearance of a disgraced FBI agent?
“Fuck.” I swallow over the horrid taste at the back of my throat and clasp my hands behind my head.
I need to think.
Think. Think. Think.
This is just another taunting game.
He’ll try to pretend I agreed to this impromptu vacation. Maybe he even has a video of me, drugged and disorderly, slurring through an agreement to accompany him here.
He would’ve covered his ass somehow, which means this is only temporary.
Once he’s had his fill of entertainment, I'll be worthless.
Meaningless.
My hands fall to my sides, and my focus shifts to the lone duffel still sitting on the wooden planks before me. I sink to my haunches, determined to find something useful—a weapon, a phone, I’d settle for matches to set this island ablaze—as I pull the zipper.
Material comes into view as I yank the opening wide. Material I begin to recognize as I scrounge around inside.
These are my clothes. My blouses. My jeans. My fucking underwear. Along with a large clip-lock bag containing my hair and toothbrushes, hair-ties, and moisturizer. Almost anything and everything that lived on the top of my bathroom vanity.
They’ve been in my apartment, scavenging through my belongings.
Cole thought of everything. This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment plan. He must have had each step and contingency in place. Maybe even from the moment he met me in the coffee shop.
He anticipated my retaliation. He knew I’d come after him when he made me his alibi. He created the perfect opportunity to offer me information in exchange for another meeting. He predicted I’d take him up on his offer. He fucking read me like a book.
I became distracted by my need for justice and never noticed the moves he made toward a far bigger game.
“Fucking hell.” I wipe a hand over my face and drag my feet back down the pier.
I don’t bother with the duffel. I leave it where it lays. Luca might expect me to haul my own luggage inside, but they’ll both get a surprise when they realize I have no intention of going back inside at all.
If they want entertainment, they won’t get it from me.
There will be no begging for freedom or bending to their will.
If Cole Torian wants to continue to make a fool out of me, he will need to come find me first.