Page 50 of Never Fall for an Angel

It’s probably best that way.

“I’ll help you upstairs.”

“I can do it,” she grumbles, rising from her chair on unsteady legs. I concede to let her limp her way upstairs. If she wants to be stubborn, she can be stubborn in all the extra time it takes to walk the short distance by herself. Maybe then she’ll think twice about it.

I watch her go, my mind running rampant with all the questions I have yet to find answers to. The moment she’s gone, I pull out my cell, but there’s no service. I’ll get a cell booster soon, but for now, I shove it back in my pocket, my mind working overtime.

I have her now, but it’s only a matter of time before someone comes looking. Shipwreck Island may be one of the most reclusive locations in the States, but that doesn’t mean it will stay this way.

Especially not with the hit out on her pretty little head.

Unfortunately, I can’t change it tonight, so I make my way towards the bathroom, grabbing the trashcan as I go, and focus on the things Icanchange.

Guess I’ll start with the gargantuan fucking spider in the medicine cabinet.

MILA

Inever pictured my prison being an island in the middle of the Pacific. I also didn’t think it would smell like a mothball’s asshole, either.

Christian is nowhere to be found when I wake, and I’m grateful. After last night, I woke up this morning thinking, surely, I must have dreamed it all.

One look around the dusty cottage told me that was, unfortunately, not the case.

I’m sore, my ankle hurts, and I feel like I could sleep for a week.

When the skies outside brighten, I force myself to climb out of bed, nearly tripping over Christian’s Gerald the Giant sweatpants thathaveto be sixteen sizes too big for me in my attempt to make it downstairs.

Once I finally reach the bottom, I can hear the sound of the shower running in the bathroom, and my stomach dips to my toes at the thought.

Last night really happened.

Then, I find toast on a plate on the table with a jar of homemade strawberry jam beside it. The note beside the plate has one simple word, but it’s enough to bring tears to my eyes.

Eat.

Looking at that stupid jar of strawberry jam, my throat tightens.

It’s just a jar of jam, but it’s also so much more. He remembered. One simple conversation years ago, but somehow he knew. He may have kidnapped me, he may be plotting to use me for revenge, but there’s part of him that still cares, even if he won’t say it.

That’s not exactly a good thing.

I eat my toast in silence, surveying the small cottage interior. In another life, it would be cozy. The rough oak walls and the timbered floors. The stone fireplace with bits of sparkling rock glinting under years of soot.

Cobwebs hang from the corners, a fine layer of dust covering every surface. The décor is old and functional, but it holds a certain charm. Someone lived a life here. Maybe they built a life here.

I’m just finishing when a knock sounds at the door. My stomach drops, my hand paused with the last bite halfway to my mouth.

My first thought is that we’re on a deserted island and that whoever’s at the door must be a ghost coming to play a cruel joke on the strange new woman hiding out in its house.

My second thought is one of slight relief.

Christian said we would have visitors.

Maybe it’s the devil, come to drag me away from this island. Surely, hell would seem like a tropical vacation compared to spending eternity in Christian’s frosty presence.

I blow out a deep breath, rising from my chair, albeit shakily, because my ankle is still sore from biting it in the mud last night. A fact I refuse to tell Christian, no matter how painful it is, because fuck him.

Hobbling my way to the door, I pull it open, finding an older gentleman I don’t recognize and June standing on the cobbled front steps.

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