Page 3 of One Rule

But she’s worthy of it:

Of my obsession. Of my loyalty.

Sweet dreams, my little rebel. I’ll see you soon.

Chapter1

Micah

A MONTH AGO…

“I’m not a patient man, Alfred,” I say, voice reverberating throughout the lower deck of my newest ship. It creates a deep and angry echo in the vast space, bouncing against a stack of empty crates in the corner and then a hollow jail cell sitting unused at the moment.For now.

We’re out at sea, cruising through the Caribbean at twenty-three knots on our way to the next scheduled port. It’s a little past eleven p.m. and many of our guests are upstairs partying or catching a late show—unable to think past their next specialty drink with a little umbrella—while I sit back and watch the man across from me tremble.

Sweat drips down the side of his pallid face while a nervous twitch creates a near-constant jerk of his legs. Then there’s the fear in his eyes. They shift around the room, taking in every face while hoping someone will save him.

They won’t, though. No one will.

“Mr. Royce, this is just a huge misunderstanding.” Alfred lifts both hands up in a protective gesture, as if afraid I’d strike him, and I will,butnot yet. Instead, I turn my attention to the three fingers’ worth of Macallan in my chilled glass. Condensation drips from the side and stains the wood grain of the small table separating him and me, creating a ring that almost makes me smile.

My little rebel hates when people don’t use coasters.

She’s also never far from my thoughts. A constant reminder of why I do what I must.

To keep her safe. To bring a smile to her face. To be worthy of her.

So she lives in a world where the darkness I control like a puppet on a string never touches her.

“You have five minutes to explain yourself.” Voice calm, I tap the rim of the tumbler and from the corner of my eye, I see one of my most trusted men exit the room while another guard starts a timer on his phone. “Time’s ticking.”

“Please, Mr. Royce…we’d never—”

“Who is thisweyou speak of?”

Catching his mistake, the man shifts again and gives an anxious chuckle. “My apologies. That’s not what I meant.”

“Enlighten me, then. How exactly did you end up on this shipandinside my vault two days ago?” Arching a brow, I bring the whisky to my lips and take a deep sip. The notes of fruit and spices bloom on my tongue, caressing each tastebud while he tracks my every move. While I savor and hum—the touch of wood and smoke weaving in and out as I pick apart different notes—he shivers.

Swallows hard.

Rubs the back of his neck.

Alfred does everything but reply. Not a single word, and with each tick of the clock, my patience wanes to the point where my fingers twitch—I want to put a bullet between his eyes without getting what I need first.

Because he won’t be leaving this ship alive.

The sea will take care of him. It’s never failed me.

Can’t you be nicer, Captain Grumps? Do you need a time-out like in those chocolate bar commercials?

Her voice—her teasing words from just last week after I snapped at a man who tried to buy her a cup of coffee—play in my head. It might’ve been her way of defusing my anger, thinking my protectiveness comes from a place of friendship, but it was indeed adorable.

The truth is, I’m a jealous asshole with little restraint when it comes to the woman who will one day wear my ring. Liliana Armas doesn’t know how far I’d go and have gone to claim her.

But more importantly, at the moment those words fit. She’s right.

Instead of striking out of anger, I smack a hand on the table and the guard keeping track of his five minutes clears his throat. “He has three minutes left, sir.”

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