Page 100 of Heart of Frost and Scars

Turns out not even Monty Novak is immune to idyllic moments.

I join him, a smile tugs at my lips. “That’s something we never saw in the hills.”

“No shit.” He almost smiles back. “There’s nothing quite like it. Makes you feel small and insignificant, doesn’t it?”

“Right, because nothing says small and insignificant like standing on a billionaire’s yacht.”

He stares at me, blinks, then drops his head back and roars with laughter. He laughs so loudly that Frankie spins in our direction, her mouth hanging open.

It wasn’t that funny. More on the edge of mockery, but maybe that’s what he finds so amusing.

“You haven’t even seen all the yacht’s features.” He flips on the auto-pilot and strides out the door, motioning at us to follow. “Come on.”

21

Leonid

—

Monty leads us into the heart of his floating palace, one hand resting casually in his pocket, the other gesturing fluidly as he points out the hot tub on the sun deck, bars on every level stocked with the finest liquors, and sleeping cabins that look more like luxury hotel suites.

Not that I’ve ever seen a hotel suite.

But I get the point he’s making. He’s filthy rich, lives large, and loves to show it off.

I follow with Kody close behind, both of us silently absorbing the opulence around us.

Frankie stayed on the bridge deck to take a call from her boss, which makes me twitchy as fuck. An unreasonable reaction. I’ve never met Dr. Rhett Howell.

That’s a problem that needs to be rectified soon.

We step into the main lounge, and the air immediately changes. The space sprawls with polished wood and fine leather, dripping with wealth and impeccable taste. Soft, ambient lighting illuminates lavish sofas and armchairs. Large windows offer panoramic views of the ocean.

It’s too fancy for my primitive, snow-cabin ass.

“Over here.” Monty strolls to the main bar in the aft of the living room.

It isn’t just a bar. It’s a whole experience.

I run my hand along the smooth, curved teak wood. The shiny metal accents remind me of old-school ships. Plenty of comfy seats. Killer views of the ocean. And the bar top? Man, it’s just one big slab of fancy marble with all these cool veins running through it.

Bottles of every shape and color line the shelves. I can practically taste the aged whiskey and fine champagne.

He pours himself a drink, the amber liquid catching the light, and offers us one, too. Kody declines, more interested in observing the setup.

“I’ll have what you’re having.” I nod at his glass.

He hands it over and makes himself another. “Not your usual dive bar, huh?”

“We wouldn’t know.” Kody lowers onto the stool beside me.

“I worked hard for this.” Monty takes a sip. “Every bit of it.”

I respect that. He didn’t inherit this life. He built it, piece by piece.

“It’s not just about the money, you know.” Monty tosses back another drink, his gaze distant. “It’s about freedom. The ability to do what I want, when I want. To provide for those I care about. That’s what drives me.” Another gulp of whiskey. “It means fuck all if I have no one to share it with.”

I understand that more than he knows. Freedom is something we’ve all fought for in our own ways. While our battles have been different, the end goal is the same.

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