Page 28 of Wicked and Bound

Before they could say more, the ferry appeared on the horizon, a white slash against the bright Caribbean water.

Ethan grabbed Kaylee’s arm, his grip looking harder than it was, as he hauled her back to the pier—and back within range of the surveillance. “Time to go, pet.” He turned to the others with awolfish grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Try not to have too much fun without me. When I get bored with Little Miss Please-Don’t, I’ll be back.”

“If we save any pussy for you,” Nash called after him, the words tasting like acid.

Kane leered one last time at Kaylee before Ethan dragged her onto the boat. Once the vessel cast off and disappeared into the morning haze, Nash breathed a sigh of relief as he and Kane strolled the shoreline. At least they’d managed to save one innocent girl. They just had to figure out how to save the rest—and who wanted to enslave them in the first place.

“Martinez says the maintenance access leads to their central hub,” Kane murmured. “If you can get Trees in remotely through that portal, we might be able to access their whole system.”

“Including surveillance feeds?”

“Everything, I think. But we’ll need a distraction to cover your movements.”

They worked out the details, timing each step. Kane would create a commotion that made all the cameras hiccup while Nash accessed the tunnel. They’d have maybe ten minutes total.

With the mission set, Nash headed back to check on Haisley. She was still curled on her side, face seemingly peaceful in sleep, fiery hair spread across the pillow. The sight made his chest ache.

Exhaustion pummeled him. After last night’s ordeal, they both needed rest. He eased onto the bed, careful not to wake her as he pulled her close. Within moments, his eyes grew heavy…until a knock startled Nash awake.

He blinked, stunned to find the sun high in the sky. Hours had passed. He jumped into a pair of sweatpants, wondering who the fuck was disturbing them and why. Was Gray or one of his henchmen onto them?

Haisley sat up in bed, sheet pulled over her breasts as she gasped and looked his way, seemingly frozen in fear. He tried to send her a reassuring expression as he headed across the room to open the door.

Room service wheeled in an elaborate champagne brunch and set up a linen-clad table near the ocean-view window.

“If you require anything else, sir, use the house phone to call the concierge.” Then, with a bow, the waiter disappeared.

“Hungry?” Nash asked.

“No.”

After last night, he didn’t blame her, but she needed to keep up her strength. “You should eat.”

Haisley hesitated, looking as if she intended to argue. Instead, she nodded and rose, slipping back into the silk robe. “Give me a minute.”

He’d rather not. He ached to hold her close and talk about last night—what had happened onstage, what they’d discussed in the shower, the past she kept avoiding. Instead, he gestured her to the bathroom, his heart twisting as she closed the door between them.

Damn it, it wasn’t merely the physical distance she put between them that disturbed him. It was the mental distance. The emotional distance. It was palpable.

She felt betrayed.

Haisley returned a few minutes later with clean teeth, a freshly scrubbed face, and a gaze that wouldn’t meet his.

Swallowing a curse, he marched to the bathroom and reached for his toothbrush, wondering what the hell to do.

He’d fucking tried to protect her the best he could. She knew that logically, but that didn’t stop the feelings she must have of being exposed, of being taken in public. Then the Jasper thing and the ill-timed pregnancy question…

He spit out his toothpaste, then stared at himself in the mirror. He looked tired as fuck, and the danger was nowhere near over. How the hell could he repair what was between them if they couldn’t talk?

With more questions than answers, he settled himself at the table where Haisley sat picking at scrambled eggs and swallowing champagne. The tension between them made the celebratory spread of crystal and silver feel like a mockery.

He’d had enough.

After knocking back half a cup of black coffee, he dug out the Santiago brothers’ tech, disguised in a shaving can, and activated it. It might be reckless, but this couldn’t go on.

The green light on the device told him the signals had been scrambled.

“We have two minutes of privacy,” he murmured as he dropped back into his chair. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”

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