The Isle Of Sin And Shadows - Keri Lake Page 0,113

cathartic to the shitstorm percolating in my head, but when I hear a crackle of movement ahead, I slow my steps, gun at the ready. Treading over fallen branches and brush, I close in on a figure crouched beside a tree. It better not be Jo, because I wasn’t bluffing when I promised Hal I’d shoot first. From a few yards away, it looks to be human. Naked. Pale. Long, dark curls cascading over slim shoulders that fail to hide the swell of her bare breast.

“Céleste?” Tipping my head, I keep my finger on the trigger, just in case I’m wrong.

When she turns around, there’s a vacancy in her eyes that sets my teeth on edge.

Tucking my gun away, I stride toward her, trying not to think about the seconds it would’ve taken for me to put a bullet in her. “What are you doing out here?”

“Maw Maw Day told me to hide. Go hide in the woods. I need my knife, do you have it?”

Ignoring her question, I tuck my fingers beneath the hem of my shirt, and pull it over my head to slip it over hers. At her failure to push her arms through, I reach down into the sleeve, studying her wide, dilated pupils and the occasional lazy blink of her eyes. Not a single sign of lucidity. It’s then I remember she didn’t take those pills for sleep. “Who are you hiding from, chère?”

“Tonton.”

Gun tucked in my pants, I lift her up into my arms and carry her back toward the boat. “The Boogeyman?”

“Yes. He wants to kill me.”

Perhaps asking the right questions might get her to tell me who she really is. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Why does anyone want to kill?”

I tilt my head just enough to check her eyes again, to see if she’s awake. Wide, black pupils swallow the green of her irises. “Is your real name Céleste?”

“Yes.”

“And your last name?”

A long pause follows, and her head rolls back and forth, as if it’s too heavy for her neck. “Are you going to make me sleep in the cellar?”

The totally disconnected question has me stifling a chuckle. It’s possible every question she’s answered so far has been nothing but sleep babble with little, to no, merit. Probably pointless to ask her anything in this state of mind. “There is no cellar on my boat.”

“I hate the boogeyman. He follows me everywhere. He followed me into the woods.”

“You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Exhaling a long breath, she wraps her arms around my neck and rests her head against my chest. “Okay,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

Within seconds, she falls limp in my arms, and I slow my stride on the way back to the boat, taking my time. Ignoring how perfect the weight of her feels in my arms, how soft her skin is against my chest, or the sweet, clean scent that fills my head. Contemplating the absurdity in all of this. The lies that she seems so willing to swallow.

The trust she gives to me so freely, when it’s apparent this girl hasn’t trusted anyone in a long time.

So utterly foolish, and yet, she’s no fool.

What about this exterior of me does she find so convincing? So honorable?

I can’t remember the last time I lived honorably.

The thought of her curious green eyes, brimming with hurt and betrayal, is a stab to the gut, but it’s nothing I haven’t felt before. Those wounds eventually turn to scars, too. Fleeting moments of remorse for an endless stretch of opportunity. Possibility. Because I’m a man of self-preservation, and if it comes down to giving Julio what he wants in exchange for my freedom, this girl doesn’t stand a chance.

26

Céleste

Pounding in my head has me squinting my eyes, and I turn over in bed to see it’s after two in the morning. Something shifts in my periphery, and as I swing my attention toward the dark, empty wall across from me, the shadows move again.

Gasping, I kick myself to a sitting position, head pounding, gaze trailing the room to find the shadows have once more settled. An incessant tremble hums beneath my skin as I turn toward the nightstand in search of my pills. Patting around the open drawer produces nothing but a few condoms and a book. I flick on the light, briefly noting the book to be a copy of Candide by Voltaire, before rifling for my pills.

Gone.

Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit.

The racing sensation and shakiness in my hand, coupled