CHAPTER 8

Patchwork Hearts Lighting Up the Dark

B ased upon my intelligence sources, Cai chartered a private jet under an alias name that flew him to England, and I suspect he would have used it to get back to America if not for him being caught. Someone with his intelligence and reputation wouldn't be stupid enough to risk leaving the country using any major airport, but my team checked them all anyways. Thanks to my time in the military, I have some contacts in MI6 that don't care about my current profession, or what it was. I'm technically unemployed now, since Jake had been my boss, at least in the eyes of everyone else, and now he's gone.

I have another source that's a coroner, and I paid him to keep the nature of Jacob's death a secret for now. I don't want any investigations happening, no cops butting into the operation I already have well underway. To the outside world, Jake committed suicide.

Thanks to the MI6 database and the network of license plate readers, I now have access to all the plate numbers we saw on the camera footage. I discovered that Cai rented a motorbike under another false name that we tracked to the flat of Ian Lukas, a former naval pilot that has worked on and off as a corporate pilot since moving here a few years ago. He was Cai's way of escape, I'm sure of it. We just have to figure out where the plane he owns landed.

I have my other teammates looking into Cai's life, his friends, his family—anything that could be used to our advantage. Cai's base of operations was in the US, in Northern Virginia, to be exact. The office registered in his name is burned to a crisp, as we expected. Cai would be an idiot if he thought we wouldn't try to seek him out, so the fact that he's started covering his trail means he knows he's compromised, if the chase he led with my teammates wasn't sign enough. We were also able to track down his address as well as the address of his assistant, Bethany Reed. I have two guys flying out there tonight to see if they left anything behind, but I'm sure there isn't.

There's no sign of where Reed went, but I would bet she met up with Cai at his location. Since she was his only accomplice, it's not hard to surmise that he cares enough about her safety to secure it. She's a pretty thing, innocent and doe-eyed looking, but we'd be stupid to not assume she's as highly trained as Cai. She was in the CIA as an analyst and probably didn't receive any formal training from the agency, but who knows what cards she has up her sleeve after three years working with someone like Cai.

They have an advantage by being ahead of us, giving them time to prepare, so we need to go about this cautiously.

It's a good thing I have nothing but time.

Since the minute we were born, there was nothing Jake wouldn't do for me, and even though he's gone, I will continue to return the favor, starting with Cai, Reed, and Lukas. Then I'm going to figure out who hired them to do the job, no matter who or where they are. They could be the fucking king and I wouldn't care. The minute they decided to target my brother, they signed their death certificate.

As I read through the data we've already collected, I grasp on to the necklace around my neck, where it has been since I was born. Jake has an identical one to mine, a sparrow midflight. His lifeless corpse still has it on.

I hold it tight and press hard enough, hoping that by some divine miracle life will flood back into him, but I'm not na?ve enough to believe that things like miracles exist. Jake and I learned that a long time ago. No one will look after you but yourself, and if you want to make it in this world, things like ethics and rules will only hold you back or get you killed. Laws and morals are put in place to keep us weak and submissive, which is why Jake and I picked the professions we did. If we didn't want to follow the old rules, we made new ones, all the while making a fuck ton of money.

But someone must have caught on, and that someone will pay for their actions in the same way Jake did, but in a painful and bloody end.

I set my laptop on my bed and blast music from its baby speakers while I unpack my duffle. Most of my music taste involves pop music from the early 2000s, namely One Direction if my décor was anything to go by. As basic as it makes me, they have remained my favorite band since I was fourteen, and I still have the biggest crush on Louis. He's so underrated, it's criminal.

"Diana" plays from my playlist now, and I hum along to it while I stock my closet full of my wardrobe, which is not as vast as it once was. I had to leave a lot behind at my apartment, but it's fine. I've never been super invested in what I wear as long as it's comfy. The only exception to that is shoes. I bet I could convince Henry to get me some new heels and boots, but for what purpose? This is my home now. I have no need for stilettos or ankle boots on an island.

It takes me hours to get everything packed and organized, but not because of the quantity of my items, but the fact that 1D was playing and I would often pause to dance and lip sync along. By the time I'm done, it's around eight at night, so I know Henry has probably gone to bed. He's a morning person, so he's always in bed before nine like an old man.

The items I took from his apartment are still on one of my beanbag chairs, mocking me, taunting me.

I should just go talk to him. Rip the Band-Aid off. It's not even that big of a deal honestly.

So I stopped by your apartment and snooped around to see if there was anything of value you might want and found your very personal dream journal and read enough of it to discover your secret feelings for me. Here are all the items I stole, goodnight!

I let out a groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. Why had I snooped? There's a reason they say curiosity killed the cat. In my case, curiosity is going to kill any trust Henry had in me.

I just need to do it. The longer I wait, the worse my anxiety will get about it.

Through the angelic voice of Harry Styles, I hear a thump, like something heavy had just fallen. I go over to my computer and turn my music down, craning my ears to listen for any follow-up noise. Nothing comes. I poke my head out of my room, making sure we're not dealing with an intruder, and that's when I hear a whimper coming from the room across from mine.

Henry's room.

It didn't escape my notice that part of my tour didn't include his bedroom, and that didn't surprise me. I hadn't been allowed in his room at his old apartment either. He clearly doesn't want me in there, but what if he's hurt? What if he needs my help?

Another whimper comes from behind his door, and I make my decision. I lean forward to let my face be scanned, then when it opens, I slip inside his room as quietly as possible. I notice right away that this room isn't painted and is very minimally decorated. There is a bed, a small closet, a bathroom, a nightstand, and that's it. Henry lies sprawled on the floor, with the blankets half on the bed and half around his torso. That explains the thud I heard; he must have fallen out of the bed. He moans, his face contorting in agony, and I realize he's having a bad dream.

He'll probably need the dream journal I stole.

I bend down next to him, trying to be as gentle as possible as I brush my knuckles over the side of his face. He freezes at my touch, and then suddenly I'm on my back, with my body pinned down under him and a knife held to my throat.

Right. Why did I think it would be a good idea to sneak in on a sleeping assassin?

"H, it's me. It's me," I whisper, trying to swallow down the fear rising within me. I have no idea how out of it he is or if he's fully awake, so who knows what he'll do to me if he feels threatened.

Henry blinks for a moment, then his eyes widen in recognition. "What the hell are you doing, Beth?"

"I heard you whimpering and crying out. I thought you were hurt."

Henry suddenly looks mad. "If I was hurt you wouldn't have been able to help me. You could have been hurt, or worse. Never do that again."

He's really going to lecture me right now? "So, I'm just supposed to ignore you when I know you're in pain? I think not."

"I'm not in pain," he argues, stubborn as always, his hands tightening slightly around my wrists.

I roll my eyes and gesture for him to get off of me, which he does. I try very hard not to look at his bare chest as I pick up the blankets draped off the bed and straighten them out, but I do take a couple peeks. I'm only human. Once his bed is fixed, I pat the left side, and Henry gets back into bed with a suspicious glance my way. Once he's settled, I slip under the covers on the right side of the bed and press my chest against his back, wrapping my arms around his torso, just like I did the other night.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"I'm trying to strangle you. What the fuck do you think I'm doing?"

"Why are you spooning me?"

I press myself tighter against him, like he's my own personal teddy bear. "Because I may not be able to fight off some mercenary or assassin, but I can fight off your nightmares. They won't bother you while I'm here."

He pauses, then "You know that's not how that works, right?"

It worked the last time. You slept like a baby.

I lightly slap his bicep, which is smooth and hard and oh so delicious. "Just go to sleep, Henry."

He falls silent after that, and after a few minutes, his breathing evens out and he falls asleep. I continue holding him, promising myself that I'll tell him about the journal tomorrow. He needs his rest, and frankly, I'm a bit of a wuss.

Tomorrow , I promise myself, then I fall asleep too.

Henry is very quiet this morning.

I wake up to an empty bed and the smell of pancakes, and after taking fifteen minutes to become fully conscious, I trudge into the kitchen to find him half naked in front of the stove, flipping unevenly shaped chocolate chip pancakes.

A girl can get used to this .

"How did you manage to make those? There's no milk or eggs in the fridge." I sit down at the kitchen table, appreciating the eye candy while I check my blood sugar using my Dexcom receiver. I'm 110. My body is actually behaving for once. Go figure.

"It's a box mix and water."

I place the receiver back in my PJ pocket. "And the chocolate chips?"

"Were found in the back of the pantry to cover up the shitty taste." He carries a pancake on a spatula over to a paper plate, then he places the plate in front of me. It kind of looks like Germany.

I'm about to voice that observation, but my pump chooses that moment to blare its alarm, alerting me that my insulin cartridge needs to be replaced. Henry is well attuned to the various beeps, vibrations, and alarms that I make, so without being asked, he goes into the kitchen and grabs an insulin vial, a needle, and a new cartridge.

"Thank you," I tell him, injecting insulin into the new cartridge and loading it into my pump. Technically I'm supposed to change the tubing every time I change the cartridge, but with how much insulin I go through, my doctor told me changing the tube every other time would work fine. Otherwise, it'd be a waste. What's annoying is that I still have to sit there and wait for the tube to be filled with insulin even if the old tube is still there. I stare down at the little screen while it counts the units being filled, willing the process to go faster.

Once that's done, I put in about fifteen units to account for the pancakes, chocolate chips, and syrup, then I dig in.

"Good?" he asks, watching me as I eat.

I nod, licking syrup from my lips. "My compliments to the chef."

He and I eat our pancakes in silence, just enjoying each other's company, but my brain doesn't allow me to savor the moment. As we both take our last couple bites, I'm reminded of the promise I made to myself to tell him about the journal today. The thought immediately puts my stomach in knots, but it must be done. At this rate, I'm going to send myself into a panic attack over it.

"So uh, I have something to tell you," I begin, suddenly feeling nauseous. "And I really hope you won't get mad, because we're kinda stuck in a bunker on an abandoned island and therefore kinda stuck with each other—"

"What is it, B?" His voice is firm but laced with concern. He sits down in the chair next to me, his gaze assessing and his body language stiff and on guard. "Tell me."

I take a deep breath, then I say as quickly as possible, "I stopped at your apartment before I left for the airport because I know that wedding picture of your parents is one of the only pictures you own, so I grabbed it, but then I wondered if there was anything in your bedroom that you wanted so I went in there and I found some stuff, including your journal. I didn't know what was in it so I opened it and read a little bit and realized that it was for therapy and then I felt really bad because I know it was an invasion of your privacy, but I also learned you have feelings for me and I do too so I wanted to clear the air and not start off this new chapter of our lives with a lie."

I take in a deep breath, having not done so the entire spiel, then I await Henry's reaction. For the first time since I met him, I can't read how he's feeling or tell what he's thinking. Though maybe I've been overestimating my ability to gauge his reactions because he's harbored feelings for me this whole time and I had absolutely no idea. Sure, I knew he was attracted to me, but real romantic feelings? If I hadn't read words from his heart in his handwriting, I wouldn't believe it. I just had no idea.

When a minute passes and he still hasn't said something, I give him a look of sheer desperation. "Give me something. Anything."

"Where is it?"

I point behind me with my thumb. "My beanbag chair. That's where the picture is too. And a rosary I found."

Without another word, he stands up and leaves the kitchen. I hesitate, then I follow after him, doing my best to keep silent and let him take all of this in. Midway through the living room, he stops walking and turns around, making me bump into him.

"How much did you read?" he asks, his expression hard.

Uh oh. "Just a couple entries, all of them about me…Why didn't you say anything?"

He stares down at me, still expertly masking his emotions. I can't tell if he's pissed off or not. "It was for your safety. If anyone discovered what you are to me, they would use you to get to me."

That makes sense, I guess. "And what exactly am I to you?"

He takes a step closer towards me, crossing his arms over his chest…which is still bare. "You already know the answer to that."

I let out a little whine of exasperation. "For fuck's sake, can you put a shirt on?"

He just stares at me, not a muscle in his body moving.

I scowl up at him. "Give me an honest answer, H. I've read what you wrote, and I know you're attracted to me, but what do you want?"

His Adam's apple bobs. "You. I want you."

I step closer, and now only a couple inches separate us. "Is it just sex you want? Or is it more?"

"I want you," he repeats, leaning down so our faces are as close as our bodies. "In every way. I want your body, your mind, your heart, your laughs, your tears, your jokes, your optimism, your childish dancing that never gets better no matter how often you do it. I want all of you."

Someone pinch me. This has to be one of my slow-day daydreams or the fantasies that haunt me each night. How can this be real? "Ditto."

His eyes flicker down to my lips, then he goes ahead and licks his own. "I'm going to retrieve my items from your room while you finish breakfast, then I want you to meet me in the gym."

"What?" Is he joking?

"I want to start training you. Including Ian, there's two of us against nine highly trained ex-military mercenaries that are out for revenge. I'll need you to be my eyes and ears like always, but if things go to shit, I need to know you can defend yourself."

Makes sense . "What will you teach me?"

"These guys are highly trained and they aren't here to fuck around. If they see you, they'll shoot you. I'm going to teach you how to disarm someone, how to shoot, and how to fight. Given where we are, it will take them a while to track us down. They'll island-hop for a while, but they will land here eventually. I'd estimate a month or so, which doesn't give us a lot of time. I'm not going to hold myself back, B. I'm going to prepare you as fast as I can, which means going at it hard."

That's what she said. "But do we have to start right this second? We just confessed our harbored feelings and now you want us to go punch each other?"

Henry takes a couple steps back, and I swear I feel colder without him standing so close to me. "Like I said, we don't have much time to get you ready for a fight. Everything needs to come second to training until the threat has been dealt with. We can't afford to be distracted."

It takes all my willpower not to pout. "But—"

"I won't lose you." His voice is strained, making me pause. He sounds just like he did the other day when he thought his mother's blood was staining his hands. "I can't."

I give a slow nod, knowing I shouldn't press him. "I'll meet you in the gym."

Without another word, Henry disappears down the hall, and I make my way back to the kitchen to eat my derpy pancake, still trying to process what the fuck just happened.