Page 143 of Runaway Hearts: Seduced by Danger

Kai’s eyelids flutter, his face frozen in an iceberg of anger and disbelief.

My body tenses, mirroring the image before me. There are three men in the photograph, but one stands out to me, his gaze piercing my defense even through glossy paper.

It’s the man who left me paralyzed with cold fear during our encounter in Vancouver.

The liquid danger man.

And next to him is…Oh, shit.

Another liquid danger man.

I’m the first to break the silence. “I saw him in Vancouver,” I stutter. My index shakes as I touch the image of the man to the far left.

A wheezing gasp breaks out of Kai’s lips. “Please don’t. Are you sure?”

His eyes immediately fixate on me, an unfamiliar emotion eating away at him. “YousawTazo Adashi.“ Fear.

An arctic, debilitating fear that grabs hold of my throat and doesn’t let go.

“Ad… Adashi?”Like in the very dead Adashi twins?“Isn’t he dead?”

Kai’s grip tightens on the edge of the photo, knuckles paling under the strain.

The tension between us thickens, making it hard to breathe. My mind rushes back to that alley in Vancouver, the man’s cold eyes boring into me. I shiver at the memory.

I lean in closer, my breath mingling with Kai’s, the weight of the revelations hanging thick in the air. The photo shows Tazo Adashi, very much alive and very much dangerous with his twin brother.

“What’s his name?” I slide my index to the other twin.

A breathy reply. “Kenji.”

My mind races back to Vancouver, remembering the icy stare that had struck terror deep within me. “They faked their death.”

Kai’s eyes darken, shadows playing across his face. “Or people lied to me.”

My eyes dart to a piece of handwritten note, and frost seeps into my bones. Trembling fingers reach for the scrap of paper, my eyelids refusing to blink in shock.

The loopy sloppiness reminds me of…

No.

I stand.

My pulse quickens, matching the erratic rhythm of my thoughts.

I blink at the handwriting on the note left for Kai.

“Vancouver” is scribbled in a hurried scrawl, the ink smudged as if written in haste. Rory’s handwriting is looping and careless. The “a” is wobbly, blurring in with the following letter, and each “e” ends with a curl.

Just like Victor’s handwriting.

Outside, the fierce wind howls and sends grains of sand swirling around the firepit.

Fumbling with my phone, I retrieve the handwritten note that Victor left for me in my locker before I embarked on this much-needed vacation. It’s a precious keepsake, tucked safely behind my phone case as a lucky charm.

The words etched on the paper read:

“The sea is the best place to unwind and find your true path. Have fun. V.”

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