“I’m not your plaything.”
“You’re more than that. You’re the subject of my vengeance, Annika. You shot me and there needs to be retaliation.”
I don’t see it, but I can hear the sound of my heart smashing to pieces. The heart that I thought died the moment I pulled the trigger is obviously not completely gone. It keeps scratching, tugging, and attempting to burst out of my chest.
So I was right.
I had a tiny hope that the time we spent together would at least mean something to Creighton, but I thought wrong.
He’s blinded by revenge and will never see anything past it.
Despite the pain that’s breaking me apart at that bitter realization, I won’t stay to find out what he has in store for me.
I stare at his impassive eyes that I once used as an anchor while my calm voice carries in the air. “You kidnapped Nikolai and forced my brother to come get him, then you made him watch his best friend get his own throat sliced. You forced me to watch you stab my only brother while I had a gun pointed at you. While I was high on emotions. I begged you to stop, I begged you, Creighton, but you made me pull that trigger.”
Tension rolls off his body in waves as his harsh breaths fill the space, snatching mine, suffocating them, forcing me to breathe intoxicated air.
“I didn’t make you do anything. It was you who pulled the trigger. It was you who chose your family. If we were to go back in time, you would choose your family again, wouldn’t you?”
I would choose to shoot myself.
But I don’t say that. Because I need to end this fucked-up charade and make him let me go.
This situation isn’t about him or me anymore. It goes way beyond the two of us, and too many people we care about are involved.
Like his father and mine, who’ll definitely clash if either of us is hurt.
“You’re right. I already shot that bullet and killed us with it. We can’t go back in time, but we can remove ourselves from each other’s lives.”
His hold tightens on my throat until I think he’ll choke me to death. “That won’t be happening.”
I see it then, the determination, the decision he’s already made about this.
He’s keeping me.
Nothing I do or say will change anything. He meant it earlier when he told me that I’m his both literally and figuratively.
No.
No, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.
I’m already suffering the fallout of my actions and going crazy in my attempts to move on. I’ll simply not allow him to ruin everything by self-destructing.
Because that’s what’s happening right now. He might think it’s payback, but he’s shattering himself in the process.
I don’t think about it as I lift my knee and hit him in the balls.
The moment of stunned silence is all I need. When his hold loosens around my throat, I push him away, dart around him, and run outside.
I have no clue where I’m going, but if I find the main road, a car, or a person, I’ll be able to leave.
The sound of waves reaches me first and then as I run, I notice a shore, a rocky path, and a driveway but there’s no sign of any cars.
The house is near the beach.
Surely, there are other houses around.
I don’t stop running, ignoring the pebbles scratching the soles of my feet.
If I don’t leave, my family will be dragged into this, and I can’t… I just can’t be forced to choose again.
It’ll kill me this time.
Hard footsteps sound behind me, sure and composed, before his rough voice reaches me. “It’s useless.”
“I’m going home!” I scream without looking at him. If I do, things can only make a turn for the worse.
His steps get closer and I yelp when his closed voice sounds near my ear. “Then you better run. If I catch you, it’s over.”
I jerk but I don’t stop.
I don’t look back.
And I certainly don’t think.
I speed in the direction of the beach. Surely someone will be there, like how Brighton Island’s beach was never empty, even during the windy, cold days.
My heartbeat picks up when my toes get buried in the white sand.
Aside from the tropical-like water and plants, there’s no one in sight.
I whirl around, my back to the water as Creighton closes in on me. He looks bigger than a god and as dangerous as the devil.
We’re supposed to be strangers again, enemies even, but no amount of bullets could kill the memories between us. If anything, it made them jaded, edgy, and full of tension.
“Stop it.” I raise both hands. “Or I swear I’ll scream.”
“Do it.” His voice drops as he strides toward me. “Scream.”
“I’m not kidding.”
“Neither am I.”
With his every step forward, I take one backward.
“Help!” I yell at the top of my lungs until my throat gets scratchy. “Someone help me!”
Creighton remains unfazed by my calls, absolutely detached. The more I shout, the closer he comes, the coldness on his face matching freezing ice.
“No one can hear you,” he says, keeping up the cat and mouse chase. “This is a private island.”
“A what?”
“Private island. In the middle of nowhere. No one will be able to save you from me.”
I jump when something cold hits my leg. The water. I’m at the shore now, the sea of an island at my back and this emotionless man in front of me.
And I know exactly which option I’m willing to take. I dash in the direction of the water.
“Don’t,” his voice calls behind me.
But I’m not listening as I keep going on and on, despite the chattering of my teeth and the sting of the salty water.
“Annika, stop.” The authoritativeness in his tone would’ve brought me to my knees once upon a time.
Now, other things are at stake, so I ignore it.
Water reaches my waist but I keep pushing forward.
“Annika! It’s deep on this end—”
His words are cut off when I take another step and find no sand. I fall into the water with a sudden yelp.
I’m fully submerged within seconds. I try to swim up, but it’s like an invisible hand is pulling me into the depths of nowhere.
Bubbles explode from my mouth, and panic explodes beneath the surface. I’ve never been a good swimmer and always held on to a float in the pool, which I should’ve thought about when I chose the ocean
Shit.
I kick my legs underwater and fling my hands up, but the more I push, the lower I sink.
The light coming from above dims into a dark blue and my vision blackens.
If I’d known this would be the end, I would’ve…done something different.
I would’ve—
A hand grips me by the elbow and hauls me to the surface. I cough and splutter, unable to get the air in my lungs fast enough.
My blurry vision is half camouflaged by my hair, but I manage to focus on the man who’s gripping me by the waist. With one hand and bold strokes, he swims us in the direction of the shore.
His clothes are soaked, his hair sticks to his forehead, and a muscle clenches in his jaw.
It’s unfair that he looks drop-dead gorgeous. That he drips with feral masculinity without having to do anything.