corner. “Hale? Any word from Raven Team?”
The man hesitates. “No, sir. Not yet. We’re—”
“Incompetence!” He explodes, kicking at the table so hard the glass cracks, then shatters apart. “To hell with this. Take us out to sea right now! We’ll feed these two and their mother to the sharks and come back for Calum and his minions later.”
Hale scrambles across the room to the bar, pulling out a bottle. Cornaro rakes both hands through his coal black hair.
“Never mind the drink!” Glaring at me, nostrils flared, he growls, “I’ll get it myself. That’s the only way anything ever gets done properly.”
At the door, he whips around, jabbing a finger at me. “If you’re lying to me, Ms. Gerard, you’ll pay dearly. You’ll suffer abominably before shuffling off your mortal coil.”
I have half a mind to shrug and tell him he’s already planning on feeding me to the sharks, but I see the stupidity in that. He’s incensed, showing all the signs of a violent rage waiting to be tripped.
I can’t buy time if he strangles us with his bare hands.
Cornaro storms out of the room.
I try to take in a deep breath, but I can’t. The boat rumbles faintly, the engines engaging.
Ugh. What have I done?
I’m going to get us all killed. Worse yet, I may have already gotten Flint killed. Leaving Bryce without a father. Without anyone but Beverly.
Poor Beverly.
I just killed her son.
And my mother’s son.
And myself.
I’m so flipping stupid!
I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself to think. Just think.
“It’s going to be okay, Val,” Ray says. “I’ll...I’ll think of something.”
I want to lash out at him, tell him it’s too late for that, but I hold it in.
It’s a miracle he’s even alive right now. I squeeze his hand, holding back the tears.
“I’m sorry, sis. Not just for putting you through this King Heron shit. I’m sorry as hell for...for everything. I didn’t treat you right.”
I’m almost hyperventilating when I meet my brother’s eyes.
His sincerity nearly breaks me on the spot.
I can’t see the monster who stole my conch shell or the vicious boy who always selfishly put himself above everyone else. Not now.
There’s just this battered man, desperate to make amends before the bitter end.
I squeeze his hand harder, nodding as the tears fall.
If we survive, I’ll need more than a heartfelt apology to get over the pain he’s inflicted. But for now, if this is all we get?
“It’s okay, Ray. I know...I know you tried.” My voice cracks, my mind drifting to someone else who’s out there, trying to save our lives.
God, this can’t be happening.
If Flint survives and I don’t, by some miracle, he’ll wind up blaming himself. Just like that woman in Bali. I can’t let that happen.
I release Ray’s hand and squeeze my own together. My finger skims the ring. The gorgeous black pearl is still there. My mind goes to silly pirate movies.
The films where there’s no higher ideal than freedom, and captains love their ships like family. Those ships set them free. So does their treasure, gold and jewels and exquisite pearls just like this one.
Bringing the ring closer, I stare at it harder.
That’s what Flint did for me. Gave me freedom when I didn’t know who I was. He gave me hope, wisdom, and so much love.
My throat burns. I can’t hold it in anymore.
Love.
I do love him. No question. More than I ever imagined possible.
I love Bryce, too.
And I want to keep loving them forever.
The ring goes blurry through my tears, but I can still see how it sparkles and shines.
The black pearl. Freedom. So pure and wild no one can ever take it away.
That’s what I need to become.
Free.
I swipe away the tears and grab Ray’s hand, whispering so the goon standing by the door can’t hear. “You have to get up. We need to hide.”
Ray shakes his head. “There’s nowhere to hide on this ship.” He nods at the door. “He has men watching our every move.”
Crud, he’s right. Free doesn’t mean hiding and cowering, anyway.
It means listening to your inner muse when it whispers, improvise.
Scanning the room, I look for something, anything. A reflection on the floor catches my eye.
The broken table.
Its top is shattered into several good-sized glassy pieces sitting in a pile of tiny beads. I stretch my foot under the table and slowly drag a few of the bigger chunks closer to the sofa, then plant my feet over the top of them.
They’ll do just fine.
20
Tough Stuff (Flint)
The huge, imposing yacht