Page 27 of The Last Lost Girl

“No one…” I breathe, surprised by the vehemence in his tone.

He unfolds his arms and digs the sharp tip of his hook into the wooden desk. Wood dust falls and sprinkles to the floor. “Give me a name,” he enunciates quietly, deadly.

In that tender request is a promise of retribution, of bloodthirsty revenge, and a future free from such abuse. If someone had intentionally caused the bruises on my body, I would give him exactly what he’s asking for. As it stands, all I can offer him is partial truth. Hook is still a pirate, after all, and I’m not sure how he feels about Belle. I must protect her.

My chest heaves as larger splinters fall from the desk where his hook is embedded. “Is it the man whose face is on the light box I collected?”

Collected, my ass.

“First of all, no. And secondly, you don’t understand,” I start, but he waves off my explanation.

“Lifeguard, if you try to lie to me and tell me that you fell…” His words trail away, and he shakes his head.

I meet his eyes and hold his stare so he can see that I’m telling the truth – even if I won’t tell him about Belle’s involvement and how I arrived in Neverland. “I wasn’t beaten. I just landed hard on Neverland’s shore last night.” Plowed into it, actually, then rolled ass-over-tea-kettle many, many times over.

Hook goes completely still. His lips part just before he notices Smee standing just outside the double doors, holding a wooden tray laden with food, a pitcher of water, and what looks like a cup of tea or coffee. Smee’s knuckles turn white as his grip on the tray tightens.

The two men share a look I can’t decipher. “Should I come back?” Smee tentatively asks, no doubt feeling the strange tension thickening the air in this glass-filled room.

“No,” Hook answers. “She needs to eat.”

Smee lumbers across the room and places the tray on Hook’s desk, arranging things over its top. “What would you like?” he asks me. “I brought a sandwich, an apple, a raspberry tart, tea, and fresh water.”

“A little of everything, please,” I answer, shifting uncomfortably as he bustles to prepare a plate.

His eyes find the new damage Hook inflicted upon the desk’s surface and his motions slow. He flicks a worried glance at me and swallows. The giant man awkwardly drags a small table next to the bedside and places the plate and brimming teacup on it. There’s no room for the water glass, so he holds it awkwardly in case I need it.

I dig in, manners be damned. I’m starving and the thickly cut ham tastes amazing with the crusty bread it’s trapped between. The apple is sweet and crisp.

Ribbons of steam unfurl from the tea’s dark surface. I watch them to keep from having to look at the two men or address the elephant I so eloquently shoved into the room. Hook was just so mad, and I didn’t know what else to say. But maybe I should have lied again and given him a fake name. Even if he called my bluff, it might have distracted him. It would’ve been better than telling him I didn’t stick the landing he was now very interested in learning about.

“How exactly did you land on Neverland, Lifeguard?” Hook asks when half my sandwich is gone.

I shrug one shoulder while internally panicking about how to answer. Or whether I want to at all. What will he do if I refuse? My previously frantic chewing slows as I consider what to say, or if I should run and leap off the ship’s rail while I can.

His lips curl up, like he enjoys watching me squirm.

I am not telling him about Belle.

My eyes hold Hook’s in a silent stand-off. After several quiet, tense moments, his first mate ends it.

“The Second Star shone bright last night,” Smee quietly notes, glancing between us.

“Well, it couldn’t have brought her,” Hook says dismissively, finally tearing his eyes from mine. “The Second Star is a beacon, not the vessel that carries the called.”

“Which begs the question… Have you been to Neverland before?” Smee asks, glancing in my direction. “When you were younger, perhaps?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Do you know someone who has?” Smee sweetly pries. I’ve seen enough true crime shows to know he’s being the good cop, and exactly what that makes Hook.

Another shake of my head. If I speak, they’ll hear my lie. So, I keep fake-chewing like there’s something still left of the bite of sandwich I swallowed moments ago.

Hook’s eyes narrow on me, and I don’t like the canniness in his gaze. “Wraith was looking for her, so Peter either sensed her or he expected her. And he seemed adamant that she should remember him…”

“Did Peter Pan send someone to bring you here?” the gentle giant asks.

“I don’t know. I didn’t know Wraith, though. Or Pan, from what I saw of him.” I take a bite of apple, relishing the sweet crunch.

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