Isla cried out as she jerked awake. Her shoulder pinched and throbbed. Isla blinked — slow — her focus on the fan as it whirled above her. She counted each rotation until the aching subsided and she could shift her attention elsewhere.
Her throat was dry, and her lungs tight. Isla coughed. Her hand trailed up her stomach to her rib cage, checking her injuries, which were tender. She concentrated on moving her legs.
Soft fabric brushed across her skin as she turned. The mattress sank beneath her, making it difficult to push up. She ignored the discomfort and worked her body higher against the pillows. Her fingers gripped the sides of the headboard.
The feelings she experienced reminded her of the day–after aches from Ronan’s lashings, her body hung over from pangs of disgust.
Where was she? She remembered Kata, gunshots, sounds. Memories rushed through her mind, but she wasn’t able to latch onto them.
Her eyes darted from the farthest corner of the khaki-green wall to the fireplace to the snowy sheers. Crisp linens covered her. Isla pushed them down with her feet — her bare feet. Her shoes were gone, as were her jeans and shirt. Isla pulled at the red frock nightgown. Her sense of urgency dawdled. To process her surroundings paralyzed Isla.
The doorknob clicked and spun, and a petite woman in dark scrubs pushed the door open. Lines bracketed her smile. She closed the door behind her.
“You’re finally awake. How do you feel?”
“Who are you? Where am I?”
“My name is Rosa, and you are at your father-in-law Ellis’s home,” she replied with a distinct Scandinavian dialect.
Isla jerked her head, which was not smart. “How long have I been here?”
“Reed brought you here two days ago. I clean you. Bandage your wound.”
“Is Reed still here?”
“Yes.”
Rosa walked through a doorway next to the fireplace and returned with a long black dress. She laid the garment on the bed.
“You will wear for dinner. Shower first.”
“Dinner?”
“Yes.”
Isla didn’t argue. Still dazed, she cautiously walked from the bed to the bathroom and into the marble shower. Various soaps were lined up. Stripping from her clothes, she was able to balance against the wall, but Rosa insisted on helping.
She turned the water on for Isla. “I will leave you be, but I am not far away.”
Isla nodded. When the hot water washed over her shoulder, the pain was almost pleasurable. She must have injured it while dodging the bullets and flying shards of glass. Or perhaps she sliced it on one of the vehicles she crawled under. The water cascaded down her body.
Isla washed. Scrubbed. Washed. Rinsed.
She shut the water off. No matter how she bent or stretched, her muscles ached. Her mind was catching up to the present, like a shot of epinephrine had been inserted into her brain.
Jules.
With towel in hand, Rosa extended her arm. “Come, I help you dress.”
Isla was in an alternate universe or a different cosmic plane—while naked—but she accepted Rosa’s gesture anyway. She steadied herself. The pads of her feet anchored to the floor. Once Rosa saw her capability to stand without assistance, she stretched over to the counter. Isla concealed what she could with her hands. With a gentle smile, Rosa handed her a lace bra and panties. Covered and fastened, Isla threaded her hands through the straps of the dress. Rosa gave a generous yank over Isla’s ample chest. The silk spilled down to her toes. The high leg split caused her to pull the fabric closed. Rosa swatted at her hands.
“Freyja.”
Isla opened her mouth to correct the woman, but the bedroom door swept open.
“Isla?” Reed called out.
She turned to face him, and in a breath, she was raw, exposed of all safeguards. Rosa slid behind him and out the bedroom door, closing it behind her. Reed walked toward Isla. Shades of purple and blue colored the skin beneath his stubble-covered chin.
When was it enough? When would she own up to her feelings? Did she want to break him because she was broken? It wasn’t right. He saved Isla after she punched him. What had she done? Acidity heated her gut. She was disgusted by her actions. Why did he love her?
Why?
His rich, cognac eyes gleamed against his all-black suit ensemble. Reed’s dark, textured spikes were styled conservatively but with a rebel-businessman edge. A twinge drifted across her hips. Looking at Reed made her feel loved. He protected and adored her, even with their distance. No matter how hard she shoved Reed away, he pushed back with compassion.
Reed cupped her face. “You’ll be the death of me.”
“The feeling’s mutual.”
He gently pulled her closer. Warm lips pressed against Isla’s. She didn’t resist. His delicious mouth and tongue welcomed. Isla breathed him in and tasted Reed. She grabbed the front of his jacket, pulling him closer to deepen their kiss. Damn the consequences. Damn Ronan. She couldn’t turn back on what she felt for Reed. Her heart beat not just for her and Jules, but also for him — for all of them. Though foreign to Isla, her love was real. Real as the pain that clenched her chest at the thought of anything happening to him.
He pulled back slightly. “I never meant for you to get hurt.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Kata, the assassins, everything.”
“What is going on?” Isla tugged from his hold and moved her arm too fast. She cried out and reached over her shoulder. “Was I shot? Did you have me shot?”
With a puckered face Reed guided her to the bedroom’s sitting area. They sat down on the loveseat. She yanked on the dress, holding the slit together. His lack of an answer cemented Isla’s accusation.
“You were never in any real danger.”
“I disagree, as does the hole in my shoulder.”
“You weren’t shot, merely grazed.”
“Soothing.”
He explained Kata’s involvement. Ellis informed Reed of Kata’s plan to abduct Isla, set into motion by an unknown enemy. Ellis hired his own people to take Kata out. Reed was at the hotel setting a trap. They assumed it was Martin who sent her, but there wasn’t any proof — yet. Isla explained to Reed her visit from Joe earlier, casting further doubt in Martin’s direction.
“Explains why Ellis wanted me at the office.”
Reed looked at the ceiling. “You never listen.”
“How was I to know? You’ve been out of contact for days, searching for answers you won’t find.”
“Terrible being left in the dark, isn’t it?”
“This is my punishment. My payback . . .” Isla took a breath to calm down. “Is this Ellis’s safe house?”
“One of many, and it’s where you will remain until we figure out who hired Kata. And if it was Martin, the families will need to convene and decide a suitable punishment. On the chance it isn’t Martin—”
“I’m not staying here.”
Reed stood and let out a slight laugh. “This is not up for debate.”
“I planted a device. We’ll nail Martin, plus, I bargained with the rat, Joe. He’s going to talk to Detroit and set up a meeting. We’ll get them all at once.”
“Are you out of your mind? Did you make that decision without discussing it with me first? Jesus! Our marriage isn’t a contractual boardroom deal to me. You may not feel the same, but I refuse to be like my sister and Gavin. All business, nothing more.”
She rose and walked over to him. “The secrets I keep overpower me and put people in danger, especially those who know who I am and . . . what I’ve done. I’m not some poor, weak, abused girl . . .” She shut her mouth, regretting she ever opened it.
Reed’s pupils darkened. She could see in an instant his feelings for her changing. Isla could see his pity. She wanted none of that, but as he backed farther away from her and closer to the door, emptiness surrounded her.
“You should finish getting ready. I’ll send Rosa back in.”
Isolated. Weighted by the past. Reed’s abrupt exit was what Ronan had intended. No man would love a marked woman.
Isla walked back into the bathroom. She turned, and over her shoulder, she pulled the back of the dress down. A patch of gauze covered the wound and the tip of her tattoo.
Another scar to cover.
* * *
Isla flinched and hissed while Carys dabbed the alcohol-soaked cotton ball over her back in her bathroom. The fermented aroma stung her nostrils.
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
“I’m calling my dad.”
“No, you aren’t. He can’t know.”
Carys capped the bottle. “What are you going to do now?”
“I need to disappear for a while. Then I’ll contact Henry, and he’ll help me.” Isla laid her palm on her flat stomach. “He’ll help us.”
“That answers my next question.”
She knew what Carys meant.
Isla slipped her shirt back on, careful not to brush hard against the open cuts. Carys sat behind her on the bed and gathered Isla’s hair into her hands. The teeth of an ivory comb raked through her nearly dry strands. Isla tipped her head back and filled her lungs.
“No more hitchhiking. I’ll take you wherever you want to go tomorrow.”
“Bossy.”
“Yes, I am.”
Carys carefully wrapped her arms around Isla. “I’ll miss you at school.”
“I’ll miss you too, but I’ll return one day.”
For a moment she was safe. Ronan did not dare look for her at Ellis Pierce’s estate. He hadn’t a clue of Isla’s close friendship with Carys. She’d started her plan months ago, but everything changed when the pregnancy test she stole from the pharmacy nearest to her school changed to a pink plus sign after a handful of nail-gnawing minutes.
Isla was pregnant with her abuser’s child. Ronan’s child.
The next morning, as Isla rose, something tugged on her skin. She padded to the bathroom; each step pulled harder. Isla gasped while she worked her arms through the sleeves. She tugged at the stiff fabric and started to lift the shirt. She cried out.
Isla took a deep breath and yanked the fabric like a Band-Aid from her back and lifted it over her head. She dropped the shirt to the floor, arched and grabbed the counter. Tears streamed down her cheeks and crashed near the tips of her toes. Isla gathered herself and turned her head.
Crumpled, the stained shirt laid on the floor.
With gentle movements, she picked it up, and from one sleeve to the next, Isla held it in front of her. Embedded in the snow-white fibers were expanded wisps of dried blood. The color wasn’t red or rust. It was darker, much darker — near black.
The stained pattern of black bowed with magnificence like wings of a raven or a dark angel. Her peripheral vision caught a shadow in the mirror. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t separate from Isla. It was Isla. Her foul wounds revealed what Ronan preached to her. “And it was not Adam who was deceived by Satan. The woman was deceived, and sin was the result.”
She’d never forget him. Each time Isla looked in the mirror or at Jules, he would be there.
Ronan would always be part of her, but would she feel the same if she took his life?