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  He grunted and bucked his hips.

  “God, this is what I have been missing?” he whispered with a gruff tone.

  I took him deeper, stroking him with my lips and tongue until I felt his strong hands on the back of my head. He was close. So damned close, but I wouldn’t let him come. Not yet.

  I pulled away, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and got rid of his pants completely. I stood and let him watch me remove the last barrier of clothing.

  “You’re so beautiful, Stephanie. Do you know how many nights I’ve dreamed of taking you, how hard it was to resist not fucking you when you were naked in my arms?”

  I knew because I felt the same.

  I lowered myself, kneeling beside him once again, trailing my fingertip from his collarbone between his chiseled pecs and over the hard ridges of his ripped abs. His smooth, tight olive skin seemed like it had been poured over the muscles. “I won’t ever get tired of looking at you.” I sighed, wanting to remember the feel of him underneath my fingertips.

  I ran my hand to his shaft, which stood almost straight up. It twitched as I glided my fingers over the textured silky skin.

  “What are you doing besides trying to drive me mad?” he asked.

  “Making sure I never forget.” I glanced at him. “It’s my first time, too.”

  He frowned in question.

  “I’ve never been with a man who made me feel like this,” I explained.

  He sat up and gripped me by the shoulders, opening his mouth to say something. Instead he kissed me with scorching emotion.

  He suddenly pushed me down onto the furs and rolled on top of me, nestling himself between my thighs.

  I opened my eyes, knowing what would come next and wanting to recall every second.

  Rook stared into my eyes. “Thank God. He finally listened to my prayers.”

  I brushed wild strands of black hair from his forehead. “What did you pray for?”

  “Bitch. Wake the fuck up.” One of Warner’s henchmen stood in the doorway of my prison cell.

  I catapulted upright, pressing my palm over my pounding heart. What just happened? One minute, I was here. The next, I was back on the island, reliving the night when I realized I loved James Rook and couldn’t run from the insanity of it any longer.

  It felt so real. Almost like someone or something refused to let me forget.

  Ridiculous. It was just a dream. I placed my fingertips to my tingling mouth. But then, why can I still smell him on my skin and taste his kiss on my lips?

  “Hey. I’m talking to you, cunt,” said the six-foot man with a wide scar on the right side of his face, one hazy brown eye, and a patchwork of crosses tattooed all over his neck. Oh, wait. And a naked lady sucking on a revolver. I’ll call you Mr. Classy.

  “Let me guess; you’re here to read the Bible to me,” I said, full of false bravado, hiding my utter freak-out.

  He narrowed his soulless eye. “Shut the fuck up. Warner wants to see you.”

  Crap. Had Warner changed his mind about letting me live a few more days? But that didn’t make sense. This was their killing room in their slaughterhouse. The drain in the floor said it all. If Warner wanted me dead, his guy would have done it. Here. Now.

  “What’s he want?” I asked.

  “Like I give a shit. Now move your ass.”

  I didn’t want to test the man since he had a rapy vibe, so I scooted past him. Once outside, I noticed the basement they had me in contained several other doors like mine. I could only guess I wasn’t alone at Club Warner.

  We went up the stairs, which led to a large empty warehouse smelling of old fish and mold, and then outside to a waiting black SUV with tinted windows.

  Fuck. Where are they taking me?

  Suddenly, the back window lowered, exposing Warner’s icy dark eyes.

  “Go.” Mr. Classy gave me a shove, and I stumbled toward the vehicle. I didn’t want Warner to see my fear, so I pasted on a smile. He was the sort of man who didn’t tolerate weakness of any sort—something I had discovered when we first met in his office in Queens. The only reason he’d agreed to loan me money was because I’d acted tough and he thought I could be of use to him after he got a hold of the island.

  “Warner.” I dipped my head. “Let me compliment you on the accommodations. If you don’t kill me, I’m sure breathing all of that rat shit will.”

  Warner flashed a wicked smile. “What do you mean ‘if’?”

  I shrugged. “I’d hoped you might consider letting me live if this all works out. At the very least, I hope you’ll let me watch you kill Rook.”

  Why did I just say that? My heart instantly felt like it was being smothered to death. After everything, was it still hoping that Rook hadn’t lied about Cici and wasn’t involved in her death? Stupid fucking heart. I would never trust it again. It had blinded me to the truth all along. It had told me to love a monster.

  “We’ll see. In the meantime…” Warner held up his phone. “Your father found a lot of blood in your kitchen.”

  It was from my injured foot.

  He continued, “We’re going to make him a little video to prove you’re alive.” Warner tossed a rolled-up newspaper at my feet. “Pick that up and hold the front page under your chin.”

  I unfolded it and considered what face to make—something to tell my dad to be careful. Warner was not to be double-crossed. Not ever. But sadly, I could make any face I liked and my father wouldn’t know what to make of it. He’d spent so much time on the road in war zones that he hardly knew me. Cici raised me. God, I miss her so much.

  Sadness and pain in my eyes, I held the paper under my chin, and Warner tapped his phone to start the video.

  “Tell your father where all the blood came from,” Warner said.

  “I cut my foot.”

  “Besides that, you injured?” Warner asked.

  “No.”

  “Tell your father what we’re going to do to you if he doesn’t give us five million dollars.”

  Five million? What the hell? More proof that Warner was a cutthroat, greedy sonofabitch. It wasn’t enough for him to just get a hold of the island.

  I swallowed hard and looked into the camera. “He’ll kill me.” I wanted to add that my dad needed to go to Rook for help, but that would be too obvious. I had to trust my instincts. My father knew a lot of people, but none with piles of cash on hand, and he certainly didn’t have much money saved. Hell, he still drove the beige Volvo he’d given my mother before she died. Our home, located in a middle-class suburb north of New York City, was no prize either. Weeds had taken over the front yard a decade ago, the yellow paint was peeling, and I couldn’t count the number of repairs needed. My sister and I did what we could, but we barely had enough to pay the electric bill each month. My father’s meager salary only paid the mortgage and for our food. Without any money, my father’s only option would be to go to the man who’d already offered him some.

  Are you willing to bet your life on it? I asked myself.

  “Anything else you wanna say?” Warner asked.

  Staring into the camera, I lifted my chin. “I’m sorry, Dad. I know after losing Cici this must feel like a nightmare, but hopefully you can find someone to help you, someone who understands what you’ve already lost.” Rook.

  Warner dropped the phone. “Good girl. Let’s hope you’re right about this Rook givin’ a shit about you, because I sure don’t.”

  “Goes without saying,” I threw back. As for my father? He cared so little about me, it was laughable to call him “my father.” He’d abandoned me and Cici to part-time sitters and nannies after my mother passed, throwing himself into work. I maybe saw him a few times a year, and when I did, no one was home upstairs.

  “You getting smart?” Warner snarled at my glib comeback.

  “If I were smart, I never would’ve borrowed money from you.”

  Warner shook a finger at me through the car window. “Smart people make deals with me all the time. Bu
t unlike you, they keep them.” He jerked his head at Mr. Classy, who grabbed me by the back of my black dress and began shoving me back toward the warehouse.

  “Thanks for the shittiest last days of life anyone could ever wish for!” I barked out, waving my hand in the air. My chances of living were so low at this point, what did it matter if I pissed Warner off? All I could hope for now was a quick and painless death. Little did I know, however, that wasn’t in store for me. Warner had other plans, and they weren’t nice.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Rook

  I didn’t know the hour, how many days I’d been asleep, or how much time I had left to live, but the sky outside was dark now, and my lungs felt heavy, as if the muscles were too tired to pump oxygen any longer. My skin felt cold, and my vision was blurry. Not that there was anything I wished to see. I’d had a life filled with every image known to man—blazing orange sunsets, tropical flowers that defied the imagination, glowing fish, and an ocean with every possible shade of green and blue. I’d seen people fall in lust, love, and into despair when they realized their totality. And, before the time of technology and the internet, I’d traveled the world, searching for the descendants of the men who helped kill my family.

  In these final moments, my body growing weaker, the only thing my life lacked was the knowledge that Stephanie would find happiness, that she would find love. It no longer mattered to me why she left or that I was not enough in the end.

  “Stephanie,” I mumbled to my empty room, “I will always love you.” And I would. I’d protected her from that lagoon and its curse. I’d stood my ground and demanded my aunt leave the island once we discovered who Stephanie really was all those weeks ago—not a guest, but Cici’s sister. “No one will touch her,” I had said.

  “You think you’re stronger than this place, than the souls in that lagoon?” my aunt had asked.

  “No. I think if anyone crosses me, I’ll rescind my vows.”

  “You wouldn’t dare. Not for some low-life scum like her.”

  Stephanie was not scum simply because over two centuries ago, a group of men had decided to come onto our island and hunt us down. Their ship sank after leaving here, but many survived and had children. “Taking the life of someone like Stephanie or her sister doesn’t right the wrong done to us. It will never bring back your baby, my parents or my brother.”

  “No. But allowing them to die so that others can live longer and do good in this world is a worthy cause. Especially when Stephanie will die someday regardless.”

  As my mind replayed the hundreds of conversations my aunt and I had over the years, I felt the shame eating away at me. The things I once felt were justified no longer were. I’d been blinded by the impossible magic surrounding this place and by my need to feel important. I was changing the world. I was on a crusade. Really, I was justifying the deaths and my desire to remain young forever.

  “Uncle, there’s a call for you.” Pulling me from my thoughts, Luke shoved my cell into my hand. “You might want to take it.”

  “I do not wish to speak with anyone.”

  “It’s Stephanie’s father. He says she’s been taken.”

  Unsure if my aging ears had heard correctly, I simply stared. “What do you mean, taken?”

  Luke shook the phone at me. “Take it. Hurry, dammit.”

  I slowly opened my wrinkled, trembling hand and placed the phone to my ear. “Hello.”

  “Rook, it’s Grant Fitzgerald.” His voice cracked with emotion. “A man has taken Stephanie.”

  “What man?” I muttered.

  “His name is Warner Price. I’ve done some research, and he’s the real deal—linked to human trafficking, drugs, murder. He’s been arrested four times, but the charges never stuck.”

  This makes no sense. “Why would he want Stephanie?” My breath came out ragged and weak. I could feel a throbbing ache in my heart as it tried to beat faster but simply couldn’t.

  “He says he loaned her some money—one hundred thousand dollars, which she never paid back. Now he wants five million. Five. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who else to ask.”

  One hundred thousand. The exact amount of money she paid to come to my island as a guest. I’d already requested the funds be returned to her, but what did that matter? I’d overlooked something I shouldn’t have. I’d never asked where she got the money in the first place.

  The pain in my heart went from a throbbing ache to sharp jabs. Am I having a heart attack? Fuck. I think I am. My body was giving out.

  I handed the phone to Luke. “Call Dr. Rosy, and get Stephanie’s father on a plane here. Immediately.”

  “Are you okay?” Luke asked.

  I winced. “No. And just in case I’m dead before he arrives, he’s going to need five million dollars to take back with him.”

  “What?”

  “Stephanie has made a very big mistake, and we must fix it.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Rook, there’s little I can do for you other than prescribe painkillers and blood thinners. Your heart is on its last leg.” Dr. Rosy shoved her stethoscope into her bag. “You have a day at most; a few hours at worst.”

  I needed to hang on long enough to ensure Stephanie was safe.

  She added, “Are you certain you do not want to rethink your—”

  “No. I am not going to retake my fucking vows,” I grumbled. “No one else will die in that lagoon.”

  She let out a sigh. “I understand. I truly do. We’ve all been given so much as it is, and I’m not alone when I say that I feel guilty for the extra time we’ve had. I mean, I swam once and still have plenty of years before time catches up.” She shook her head at the floor. “But it’s not enough, and I think it never will be.” Dr. Rosy, a portly woman in her late sixties, with dark olive skin and bottle-cap glasses, was one hundred and five, just ten years older than Luke.

  “It is a shame that we don’t value life until it’s being taken from us,” I said, speaking from the heart.

  “So true.”

  “All I ask is that you help me live a few more days—long enough to know that Stephanie is free.”

  Dr. Rosy nodded. “I will do everything in my power, sir.”

  “Thank you,” I sputtered.

  “No. Thank you. It’s been a true pleasure serving you and this island. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine my life would mean so much.”

  I hesitated to respond, unwilling to burst her bubble. Our lives meant nothing. We’d accomplished nothing. The world was just as doomed now as the day I’d been born.

  “Call me if you need anything,” she added.

  “Rook?” Luke appeared in the doorway. “Stephanie’s father will be landing in forty minutes.”

  “So fast?” I said.

  “You’ve been asleep for hours while Dr. Rosy monitored you.”

  I then noticed it was daylight outside again. “Oh.”

  “Shall I get your suit?” he asked.

  “No. I do not have the strength to dress.” I coughed hard, feeling tissue and blood push up from my lungs. “Make sure he comes straight here. I do not have time to lose.”

  Luke narrowed his eyes. I knew he wanted to say something—scream, shake me, roar with his demands—but he held back. He understood there was nothing he could say to convince me to kill one more person in the name of our longevity.

  “Well?” I griped.

  “Of course, Uncle.” He dipped his head. “Whatever you need.”

  “What I need is your loyalty. What I need is your promise to help Stephanie and to make arrangements for her after I am gone.”

  “Of course.”

  It felt as though only a moment had passed before Grant Fitzgerald was standing at my bedside. His hair was white like mine, and his brown eyes reminded me of Stephanie’s—so much turmoil behind them.

  “Who’s this?” Grant asked. “I said I needed to talk to Mr. Rook.”

  “You’re looking at ’im,” Luke said with a nod in my direction.r />
  Grant blinked a few times. “I-I don’t understand. Is this some joke? My daughter’s life is on the line, and the clock is ticking.”

  The problem was, I’d met Grant before. It was right after Cici died. I’d tracked him down to personally deliver the news, though I lied about the circumstances. It was then I offered Grant help. “Anything you need,” I had said, handing him a card with a number that routed to me here on the island. “Assistance with the funeral, money, anything at all. Just ask.” He’d seemed distant and unaware at the time. I never heard from him again.

  Nevertheless, the man he now looked at lying in this bed was not the same man he’d met about four months ago.

  I coughed and moved to sit up. “I am Mr. Rook. This is no joke.”

  Grant frowned. “That’s impossible.”

  “Not impossible. But do not worry, my illness isn’t contagious. Now,” I pushed myself up against the wrought-iron headboard, and Luke assisted with a pillow, “if you don’t mind, tell us what happened. What did this man Warner say?”

  “He claims that Stephanie borrowed money and never paid him back. He gave me a few days to come up with five million dollars. I told him I needed proof he had her. This morning he sent a video with today’s paper in it.”

  Something wasn’t making sense.

  I looked at Luke. “What did you find out about this Warner Price?”

  “He’s your standard thug with mob ties. He operates several shitty restaurants, a pawnshop, and a bunch of other cash-only businesses. According to our friends, he deals mostly in women and drugs.”

  Our “friends” were the sort of government officials who kept tabs on the Warners of the world.

  “So what’s this man really want?” I asked, suspecting that someone like Warner wasn’t likely after cash. Men like him usually had a different kind of problem—laundering money, staying out of jail, etc.

  “Five million dollars!” barked Grant. “Can you help me or not? Because I came all this way to beg if I have to.”

  “Something’s not right,” I muttered. “Tell me again what Warner said.”