Page 20 of Sinners Retreat

We make our way to the lobby, then out the front doors. I look back at the resort and bid a silent farewell to an evening of fantasy fulfillment. At least something good came out of this. Now it’s time to focus.

Once we’re settled in the back of a long black limo, I turn to Cat and keep my voice low so the driver can’t eavesdrop. “Listen, while we’re on the island, I need you to keep a low profile. You have to help me keep a low profile as well. That means you can’t bring up my real identity. Got it?”

She nods. “My lips are sealed.”

I wish she spoke in facts instead of cliches. We wouldn’t be in this mess if she had some strong epoxy to hold her mouth shut.

“Also, no matter how excited you are to witness or participate in these activities, you have got to keep your cool. If you look like a first timer, you’ll blow our cover.”

I can see it now. Someone slits a throat, and Cat’s eyes go wide with wonder. If they get a single whiff of her naivete, we’ll be the ones to have our throats opened.

Cat groans and looks out the window. “I wish you had a little more faith in me. I’m not completely useless.”

While I’m sure she’s good at many things, she has yet to divulge any of them to me, either by words or actions. But I keep this to myself. I’ll have to watch her like a mother hen for the next five days, and I don’t want to upset her too much.

We arrive at a small airport after a short drive through Miami. Our driver takes us straight onto the tarmac, where a sleek silver jet awaits our arrival. A man dressed in black takes our luggage, then leads us to the stairs, where we enter the most luxurious travel accommodations I’ve ever experienced.

The space looks more like a futuristic living room than the inside of an aircraft. White leather seats dot the interior, with what looks like a couch on one side. The ceiling is one big screen, which showcases a night sky. It’s so realistic I feel like I’m standing in the open instead of crammed inside a tin can.

I turn to Cat, expecting her to be as awestruck as I am, but she’s playing it cool. She glances around like she flies in one of these on the daily, then takes a seat in one of the white leather chairs.

I choose a seat near the back of the cabin, preferring to sit by myself. If anyone else joins us, I can only hope they’ll sit with her. I pull out my phone and begin scrolling so that I look as unapproachable as possible.

A few minutes later, footsteps trudge up the stairs, and an elderly man shuffles into the cabin. Cat notices him and turns to me. We share a look of raised eyebrows, then return to watching him.

There’s no way he’s on the right plane.

For starters, he’s a wiry little antique. I can’t imagine him killing anyone. He looks more like someone’s grandfather than their worst nightmare. Then again, maybe that’s why he’s good at what he does.

He takes a seat near Cat and pulls a large bowie knife from beneath his suit before wiping it with the handkerchief from his breast pocket.

Appearances can be deceiving, I suppose.

Cat engages him in conversation, but they speak too quietly for me to hear what they’re saying. Now I wish I’d sat closer. If she makes a misstep, I won’t be there to save her.

“Do you know how long until we depart?” I say to the man, hoping to interrupt their conversation before anything can go wrong.

The man shakes his wrist, freeing his watch from his suit sleeve so that he can look at it. “Maybe ten minutes or so.”

He has a hint of an accent, possibly German.

I nod in acknowledgment and return to my phone when I see Cat pull a magazine from the small table in front of her. Good. She’s much better suited for celebrity gossip.

Exhaustion creeps up on me. I tip the back of my head against the leather headrest and close my eyes. With no idea how long this flight will last, I toy with the notion of a cat nap. Even thirty minutes would do me some good.

But then footsteps clang on the staircase once more, and Ezra steps into the cabin.

Chapter Nine

Ezra

The woman I fucked into oblivion is a fellow serial killer? What are the fucking odds?

I smile and stride toward her, even though she doesn’t look nearly as happy to see me. When the shock wears off, I hope she’ll be more enthused. Or at least slightly amenable. The only thing I love more than killing is fucking, and if I can do both on the island, this will be the best Sinners Retreat yet.

“This is quite the turn of events,” I say as I take a seat beside her.

She blinks up at me and struggles to speak. “You...your brother. I mean, you’re one of us?”

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