Page 52 of Born for Lace

I flush deeper. I don’t know how to react to him today. Hating him is easier, but when he grins like that… A private place between my legs seems to awaken, making me squirm in front of him.

And he watches.Notices.

“I need to pee,” I blurt out. Cringing, I close my eyes to block out his face.

“Opposite this room.”

I peek one eye open.

“Do you need help?”

Both eyes open to his smirk.

“No,” I say straightaway. I don’t know why he seems gentler today, but I appreciate it.

And hate it.

And feel weaker.

“Thank you. I can manage. I’ll go slow.” I chew my lower lip nervously. “Any chance I can wash up before I go back… How long has it been?”

“Come up when you’re finished.” He ignores my question. “I need to see you eat something. You have Opi in your system, so take it easy. You’ll see where to bathe on the top deck.”

On the top deck?

“Wait.” I straighten, feeling my brows pitch with confusion. I am missing time. “We’re not at The Bite anymore?”

He turns to leave. “No.”

What about Sweets?

About my silly things?

Through my hazy mind, a terrible thought surfaces. Where is Tide’s body? We left it there. Maybe he’s alive.

Dread hits me.

Perhaps he found aid or is still bleeding out on his little dinghy. How long has it been? Hours? A day?

No, no, no.I want the images and thoughts to go away. He was dead, no, heisdead, and I had to save myself—for Spero.

And I was so scared…

I clutch at the ache in my stomach. Feels like it will fall out. I was just whisked away from all the chaos my baby caused, and?—

Lagos suddenly leaves the room, and the questions in my head mash together. A drone of fear and truths.

I stand opposite the door. Blink at it. This is what Tomar warned me about. I will always be in hiding. If I choose to care for Spero, people might die, and I will leave them for him.

ChapterSixteen

Dahlia

Leaving Spero swaddled safely in a nest, I take the small steps up the centre of the catamaran to the top deck. Using the rail, I’m cautious. Though the pain is not too great, swapping my weight from foot to foot makes me aware of my light-headedness.

I hear a hiss of cascading water. Then, through the white noise, a conversation presses through, tones and inflictions, but not complete sentences. Only words: impure, fucking, her, something about needing a fuck.

The deep voices pause, probably hearing my footsteps, and I quicken my pace so they don’t think I was trying to eavesdrop—again.

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