Page 115 of Without a Trace
Of course he didn’t say please. Of course he assumed I’d show.
I sighed and swung my legs over the side of the bed, bare feet brushing cool hardwood. My body ached from training; muscles sore in places I forgot I had—but it was the good kind. The kind that reminded me I still had power under my skin.
Still had fight.
Still had something no one had managed to break.
My phone buzzed again.
Chaos Crew ™ Group chat
Lena
You alive? Or are you buried in the sand with your ego?
Sloane
Please tell me you’re wearing the dress.
Me:
Queen nap complete. Wearing the dress. No bra. You’re welcome.
I stood and padded across the room, dragging the black satin dress off the back of a chair. Slit high enough to feel illegal. Thin straps. Soft as sin.
I slipped it on and checked my reflection in the mirror.
The bruises were faint now—faded gold on my thigh and along my ribs—but I didn’t cover them. Let them look. Let them see what I’d survived.
I let my natural waves flow across my shoulders, twisted a gold cuff onto my wrist, then dabbed perfume behind my ears. Something floral and sharp—garden rose with a bite.
Out on the deck, the sky was bleeding pink. The villas around me were quiet.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard Kane laugh, followed by Rhett yelling something about not ironing his damn shirt.
I smiled.
And then I walked barefoot down the steps and onto the path that would lead me to the water—because heels in the sand were stupid, and my feet were still wrecked from training. Let them see the bruises. I’d earned every one.
Scarlett
The path to the dinner deck was lit with golden lanterns swaying in the sea breeze, casting soft pools of light along the wood. The air smelled like salt, grilled fish, and something sweet—mango maybe, or the wildflower perfume of a storm that hadn’t hit yet.
Laughter drifted ahead, low and loose. A bass line thrummed beneath it, slow and moody.
I took my time, the silk of my dress moving like smoke around my legs, brushing my thighs with every step. The open back letting the breeze kiss my skin. Just bare skin, high slits, and a mouth painted the color of ruin.
The deck came into view—long table set with white linen, crystal glasses catching fire from the candlelight. Plates already half seared with fish, blistered vegetables, fruit that looked stolen from a dream.
Voices stilled when I stepped onto the wood.
Trace looked up first, eyes tracing the shape of me without apology. His glass froze mid-lift.
Alde’s fingers tapped once on the stem of his wine glass, then stopped.
Rhett gave a slow grin. “There she is.”
Kane let out a low whistle. “Didn’t know you were dressing for bloodshed.”
