Page 117 of Lost Paradise

“Because,” she replies softly, her voice unwavering, “no one deserves to be alone with their thoughts, especially after everything you’ve been through.”

The silence stretches between us, punctuated only by the relentless crash of the waves—a constant reminder of the turbulent emotions swirling inside me.

“I certainly don’t need your pity, Princess,” I scoff, trying to deflect her attempt to soften me.

“I don’t pity you. In fact, I’m upset with you,” she responds firmly. “I didn’t deserve such harsh words from you, just as much as you didn’t deserve what your father did to you.”

“You haven’t got a clue, luv. Don’t start pretending you do. You and I come from different worlds.”

“Can I sit?” she asks gently, though I keep my gaze fixed on the dark ocean.

“I don’t own this beach. Do what you want,” I reply dismissively.

She settles next to me, maintaining a cautious distance between us.

“You’re angry because Foster is the leader of this group when you know you were born to lead. But what’s worse than Foster as alpha is that it’s clear Zane is his second. It’s exactly like your father and your brother. It’s like you can’t break the cycle.”

“You’re talking bullshite, Princess. Don’t go sticking your pretty nose in things you don’t know.” Despite my comment, I know there’s a truth to what she says.

As her words sink in, I find myself reflecting on what I left behind in London. I didn’t have to let that cycle of fate repeat itself. But I let it affect me, even here.

“I’m a criminal, darling. Spent a year locked up in California State Penitentiary,” I admit bitterly. “Prison changes you. Hardens you. It was another way for my father to keep me out of his hair. I didn’t know it at the time, but when I got deported and landed back in England, one of my father’s men, Jimmy, picked me up. Not my dad—he couldn’t care less that I was in prison or was absent for a full year.”

“Did your father have something to do with you being in prison?” she asks, fully invested in my story.

“Nah, bastard just got lucky in keeping his bastard kid away. He was grooming his other son, my half-brother, to one day take over his role in the firm.”

“Why were you in prison?”

"Assault," I hesitate, a shadow crossing my face before I continue. "My dad sent me to negotiate with a section of the cartels to get involved in moving their product. I thought it was just business, but things escalated when one of their guys turned out to be undercover. When they suspected I could be a mole, I had to prove I wasn't working with the feds. I didn’t have a choice. So, I… I did what they demanded. I rearranged his face. And someone filmed the whole thing. That’s how I ended up in prison."

"Jesus," Eve whispers.

“I was lucky. Shit like that could have gotten me ten years. But the agent survived and testified that I could have killed him but didn’t, and I wasn’t given a choice to back away under the tense circumstances.”

“Did you find out who it was that betrayedyou?”

“Jimmy told me who the snitch was that landed me in prison, and the same day I arrived back in England, he drove me to his gang’s hangout. Bastard was working with the American FBI and got paid heavily for it too. We staked out the place until he was alone. I walked in and slit his throat. Clean kill. I felt nothing. Not an ounce of guilt. Then Jimmy drove me up to Scotland and dropped me at the docks in Dunrowan village, where you all stood looking pretty and privileged. I stood there with fresh blood on my hands. Jimmy said I had a job—to open new business with the rich kids.” I chuckle bitterly. “Hadn’t seen my father or brother for a year, but they sent me away for another three years on a job.”

I pick up another shell and toss it into the dark ocean, “I’m not the kind of person you want to compare yourself with, Princess. In your world, I’m scum, a killer.”

“This is my world,” she sighs softly. “You, those four other guys back at camp. This island,” she pauses momentarily. “And I think you’re the bravest of all of us.”

Her words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I'm speechless. The sincerity in her voice and the understanding behind her eyes shake me to my core.

I hesitate momentarily, then turn my head to face her. My hand gently brushes a few strands of hair away from her face. Her skin feels soft beneath my touch, and I marvel at the tenderness of this moment. I don’t know what I’m doing, but the warmth in her eyes tells me she understands more than words could convey.

Leaning in, I hover over her, our breaths mingling in the cool night air. "I'm not a nice person, Princess," I murmur, my voice husky.

She smiles softly, her gaze unwavering and filled with an acceptance I've rarely known. "Maybe not to everyone, but to me, you're more than that. You're real."

My heart skips a beat at her words, a rush of emotions flooding through me. I lean closer, drawn by an irresistible pull, closing the distance between us in the slowest, most deliberate manner. Our lips meet in a kiss that speaks volumes—of longing, of vulnerability, of unspoken truths.

As we kiss, time seems to stand still. The softness of her lips against mine, the way her fingers lightly touch my arm, sending shivers down myspine—it's a revelation, a connection.

Eve claims a chunk of my soul in this one kiss. This act holds no pity, it has no mistrust or hatred; it’s pure and real and it gives me a desperate kind of hope.

I feel her shiver in my arms as I kiss her; her mouth parts and her tongue caresses mine in a way that hits my knob as it twitches with pleasure.

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