Page 16 of Vicious Hearts

Seven starts to roll off a list of facts, and I listen intently to what he’s saying for any tidbit I can use against her. I need to understand everything about her before I go any further. Seven lists off her basic bio and physical attributes; all of which is apparent except her age – twenty-seven years. He names the college she attended, previous publications she’s worked for, and no known medical conditions.

“Private life?” I ask, when he pauses. I know he would have dug that far; he just didn’t think I’d be interested. But I’d be very interested to know what sort of man could attract and hold that firebrand’s attention.

“Boyfriend of two years – recently separated,” he reveals.

“How long ago?”

“A few weeks, going off social media.”

The surprise is when he tells me who her ex is. “Doctor Rand Holloway. Works out of Mercy General.”

Something clicks into place, a distant memory begging to be unearthed. My mind gallops back in time to a few weeks ago to the day when I visited Durian Accardi at that hospital. I knew her face looked familiar. And even then, she was distressed and had been crying when she slammed past me like a pit bull on steroids. What were the chances that we would meet up again like this?

* * *

I’ve never beenone to believe in fate or destiny. I don’t even believe in coincidences. But it’s too perfect, too ironic, for Ariadne to have come into my life a mere few weeks ago then disappear, only to resurface again in the guise of a journalist seeking to make her fame and fortune off the back of my name. It’s almosttoo perfect.

My blood boils to a simmer. I’ve played nice with her up until now to get what I want, but it would seem that I’m the one who’s been taken for a ride. Had she been following me that night? Planted by someone to follow me? I wouldn’t have suspected a thing. I remember how she brushed up against me, almost knocking me over, and wonder now if that had all been an act so she could plant something on me. A listening device, perhaps? Maybe a tracker? Was her being here now all part of an elaborate plan that was concocted so the FBI could track me to this vessel? Were they hovering nearby even now?

I glance her way; she’s stopped eating and she’s looking at me with fear in her eyes. Does she know that I suspect her? Is that why she’s fearful? Does she know the game is up?

She sets her hands on the table and pushes up from her chair. She must see something in my eyes that freaks her the hell out, because without warning, she darts toward the door and starts to run.

13

ARIADNE

The man is infuriating me. He won’t answer my questions, and he seems to want to take his sweet time with this interview. At this rate, I’ll be here for days. Maybe even a week if he keeps dragging his feet. And I don’t know that I’ll be able to survive a week on the high seas without hurling everything in my stomach multiple times a day.

When he excuses himself and gets up to answer his phone, I watch him walk away and sigh internally. It doesn’t in any way help that the man is seriously hot. I can see the powerful grid of his muscles as his shirt stretches across his back. He has his sleeves rolled up, the veins in his arms pumping with every movement he makes. His pants hug his ass in a way that makes my thighs clench; if Nina were here, she’d be swooning. She’s the man-eater between us, even though she’s with Michael. She doesn’t mind appreciating a little eye candy here and there every now and again.

Goosebumps trickle up and down my arms as I look at Caleph speaking on the phone. I try to memorize the image of his powerful back so I can use this information for my exposé later. I could probably get a whole paragraph out of describing his unyielding beauty. It should be illegal for a man to look so good, especially a criminal mastermind. He has his back to me, but I notice when he tenses and turns my way, his jaw locked and his eyes furious. I haven’t seen this look before.

The air flees from my lungs as I watch his fury morph into thunderous rage.

I don’t know who he’s talking to, or what’s made him so angry, but what I do know is that this is a very, very powerful man who does very, very bad things. And his rage is directed at me. Suddenly I’m rising from my chair as my fight or flight mode kicks in and I lunge for the door, not stopping to look back as I run down the narrow halls away from the office. I don’t know my way around this place, and I have no destination in mind as I weave in and out of the maze of this massive vessel.

One of the chefs is approaching with a tray he holds with one hand above his shoulder. Without a second thought, I shove past him and don’t stop as he gasps, and the tray goes clanging to the ground. I hear Caleph’s voice behind me as he mutters something to the chef, and I know that he’s not far behind. I climb a short set of stairs until I reach the upper deck, emerging into the night.

It’s pitch-black above board, the only light the faint stream from the navigation lights. The still of the night is broken by the soft lapping of the water and the boisterous sounds of the crew scattered at various places around the yacht. They all stop what they’re doing as I emerge onto the deck; as though taken aback by my sudden appearance, and no less that I’m a female. I don’t stop to talk to any of them; I can’t rely on any of Caleph’s minions to help me. I keep running, but it feels like I’m running on empty. And possibly I am, because I reach the helm just as Caleph rounds the other side and corners me into the railing. He is but a few feet away, a looming monster breathing heavily as he looks at me with singular focus. He is dark and angry and looks at me with a viciousness that makes my voice get caught in my throat.

This was his plan all along. To bring me here. Feed me my last meal. Then throw me overboard. The exposé must have been a ploy to soften me up. And after he threw me overboard to the sharks, if anyone ever asked any questions… well, I was well dressed and there was food in my stomach, so it must have been a suicide. Or a case of falling overboard. Anything but murder. Who would ever be able to prove that I was with Rojas?

My mind tingles with the memory of my phone call to Hinky. I’d told him I would be with Rojas. He knew. Would he be able to put two and two together? Would he even care enough to investigate a would-be suicide, claiming it was murder? Would anyone even believe him?

Caleph looks feral as he descends upon me. He looks like an unleashed animal about to fall on his prey. The fucking bastard will probably celebrate my death after I’m gone. He’ll probably enjoy choking the life out of me before he throws me overboard, then he’ll gloat about the additional murder he can claim credit for. And the world will go on, none the wiser. And Caleph Rojas will go on making money and destroying the world with his criminal presence.

The thought of him enjoying my death, relishing it even, tugs at something deep within me. A desire to, for once in my disastrous life, do one thing on my terms. I’ve always had to bow to convention. Toe the line and follow the rules. Someone has always dictated what I had to do and how I had to live. Even Rand, that sorry excuse for a human being, told me what I should wear and how I should look, all the way down to what I should eat and when. For two years, he had complete and utter control over me. And now this other sorry son of a bitch was controlling when and how I would die.

Not on my watch, buster.

I won’t let him have the last laugh. I won’t allow him the pleasure of watching the life seep out of my eyes, or the air flee my lungs. And I won’t make this easy for him.

I watch as he comes closer, tracking me like an animal assessing the best angle to pounce. I summon all the courage I have, lean back as far as I can go over the railing and drop myself overboard, sinking into the raging water.

14

CALEPH

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