The surfboard under my feet wobbles, and I almost dive headfirst into the water. The smile on Penny’s face watching me struggle—I want to tear it off.

“You’re going to pay for this later,” I say.

She laughs. “I told you to kneel first. Standing is advanced.” She strokes her paddle through the water. She’s having no wobbling troubles.

“You’re standing.”

“I’ve done this a dozen times. And I’ve gone surfing.”

I try to pull the paddle through the water the same as her and nearly faceplant on the board. “Fuck this shit.” I’m ready to jump off and swim back to the dock.

“Come on. Don’t give up. Try it this way.” She kneels on the board like she’s been telling me to do. The sun glows like a halo around her head, and her skin reflects pink under its bright rays. She has my T-shirt on still, but I worry about her skin.

I kneel on the board. “Aren’t you going to burn?” My skin’s been building up a tan each day since I got here, but her—she lives at the beach and still doesn’t tan.

Her smile softens with a little surprise. “I put on sunscreen, but thanks for asking.”

“I hope it’s strong.”

“It’s one hundred plus.”

“Good.”

I manage a few paddle strokes without falling off the board and catch up to her. “The water here is too blue.”

“How can water be too blue?”

“It’s lighter than the sky. Like a lagoon or something. You can practically see the bottom.”

“We should go snorkeling sometime.”

We. She said we. I don’t know how I feel about that. There is no we in this plan of mine. “You’d have to wear a wetsuit, the water is so cold. My knees are freezing.” The water sloshing onto the board is numbing my shins.

She paddles next to me. “You wouldn’t really release it to the media, would you?”

My balance falters. I know what she means, but for some reason, I don’t want to upset her. She’s been through enough since last night. She doesn’t need more misery knocking around her brain.

“You don’t want that stuff Louisa went through made public.”

A growl starts in my chest. “Of course I want ‘that stuff’ made public! You think I’m ashamed of it? I’m damn proud she survived it. She deserves to have the world know what was done to her.” And I’ll get to do that if her brother doesn’t get me the money by the end of the week.

I shouldn’t still feel a spiteful pleasure at the thought, but I do.

She rests her paddle on her knees. “Isn’t it a private thing?”

“It shouldn’t be some sort of secret. It should be as exposed, the same as any violent crime. It’s the secrecy that let your father walk away free from what he did.” I turn my surfboard away from her. “God knows how many other women he managed to harm in the years since she died.”

“Oh my God.” She gasps and covers her mouth, her paddle floating away on the water.

I retrieve it and return it, but her eyes are clenched shut. “Don’t cry.”

She opens her eyes. “But those women . . . how many do you think he hurt? He could’ve . . . there could be . . .”

“Crying can’t help them.”

“It’s so h-horrible.”

“It is. But do something about it rather than be upset. My wallowing in misery for years over what happened to my sister didn’t help her.”

“I guess not.”

“Don’t mourn. Live.”

“Look who’s talking Mr. Devote-My-Life-to-Stalking-People. You call yours a life?”

“At least I’ve done something.”

“Something horrible. Manipulating people to—”

“And what else was I supposed to do?”

“You could take legal action and—”

“Both the victim and the assailant are dead.”

“But my father only died four months ago. What were you doing before?”

I go quiet. This part I’m not telling her about.

She grabs onto my board and pulls next to me. “Why did you wait until he was dead to come after me? And why did you come after me? Why not my brother?”

“Because you were more vulnerable.”

“But why did you wait so long?”

I can’t answer that. I’m never telling her the answer to that. “You’re saying you wish I’d enacted revenge on your father before he died?”

“I—well—”

“You know what he’s guilty of now. What kind of punishment would be worthy of his crime?” That was always the hard part—conceiving of something bad enough.

She stares down into the depths of the water. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t have wanted him go to jail. But.” She looks up at me. “That hardly seems adequate punishment.” Her eyes—the tears have dried, and they shine like gemstones.

I nod and can’t repress my smile. “Exactly.”

* * *

I’m driving us back to my condo, and my hands are sweaty against the steering wheel. He’s going to want to have more sex. I’m going to want to have more sex.

I don’t know if I can.

I mean, my body can, but me . . . I’m still shaken, overwhelmed with trying not to think of the other people my father likely hurt. I feel like I’ve had my heart ripped apart enough for one day. If Logan does it to me again, I’m not sure I’ll survive it.

Sex with him is so intense, it’s like surviving a tornado. I’m swept up in the whirlwind that is him, and it’s euphoric while I’m in it. But I don’t know where I’ll land when it’s over. I don’t think I can take my world being rocked any more today. No matter how sinfully perfect his body is in that swimsuit, chest glazed by the sun.

Besides, he’s still the man who blackmailed me into marrying him for my money. What am I doing having sex with a man whose number one goal is to get revenge on me?

I’m falling for him in a twisted way. Blake knows he’s bad. And he’s right. Logan is terrible for me. I don’t know if I can quit him, though.

I should try.

I make a turn in the opposite direction from my condo.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

“We need to pick up your truck. You left it at the bar last night.”

“It’s only a couple miles. I can run there tomorrow.”

“We shouldn’t leave it there another night. They might tow it.”

He gives me a skeptical glare and says nothing.

I drop him off but don’t stop my car.

His hand is on the door latch. “You’re coming home, right?” It’s a warning. He expects me to.

“I have some things I need to do.”

“What things?”

“Just things. I have a life outside you, you know.”

“You mean shopping. You’re going to spend money on shit you don’t need.”

“It’s my money. I can do with it what I want.”

He grumbles under his breath. “I’ll be waiting for you at home.” There’s nothing cheery about the statement. It’s a threat.

I can’t. If I come home and he’s waiting for me, as in waiting to seduce me with his fear tactics and his dirty talk, I won’t be able to resist him. And I don’t know what will happen to me. “No.”

“No?”

“Yes, ‘no.’”

“Is that yes or no?” He grits his teeth.

I slap the steering wheel. “‘No,’ as in, ‘don’t you dare be waiting to fuck me when I get home.’”

“Why? You like it. I know you want me to.”

“No, I don’t!” I scream it. It echoes, then the only sound left is his breathing. And I’m scared. If he touches me, will I be able to say no? Or will I let him fuck me in my car in this parking lot?

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Look at me.”

I fix my eyes forward and shake my head.

He leans closer. “Don’t avoid it. The truth will be waiting for you whether you come home or not.”

“This isn’t about the truth.” The things I want to block out and forget I ever learned.

“Don’t try to escape from it, because it’ll be waiting right where you left it, and you’ll have to face it all over again. It’ll be no less painful than the first time.”

“Because I don’t want sex, it doesn’t mean I’m escaping anything. I want to go shopping.” Though I have no idea for what.

“Going back to your old habits will only make it worse.” He may be right, but it makes me want to get away from him more.

I glare at him. “Get out of my car.”

His face inches from mine, he doesn’t back down. His eyes stray to my lips and sweat beads on the back of my neck. Please let him not kiss me. If he does, it’ll prove me wrong. If his mouth meets mine, I won’t say no.

Why does he do this to me? He makes the truth alluring, enticing, but it hurts so damn much.

But he doesn’t kiss me.

And I almost wish he would.

I close my eyes, so I don’t have to look at him. “Get out.” I expect a retort from him, but he says nothing and opens the door.

It hurts. I thought I would feel better, but it’s worse. My eyes burn with tears.

“No crying,” he warns, then closes the door. He sounds so much like my brother it makes me want to hit him.

“Fuck you.” I speed from the parking lot with my wheels squealing.