18. EIGHTEEN

EIGHTEEN

I spend the next week at home, too afraid to leave the house aside from when my mom made me pick out a couple of dresses for the wedding and the rehearsal dinner. She agreed to let me wear black to the rehearsal and picked out a sage green tulle mini dress with a high neckline and embroidered flowers for the wedding. It's pretty, and it has enough of that light purple color in it to go with the rest of the decor.

But I'm always looking over my shoulder, wondering who is watching me now, where they are, and how long they're going to let me live. I sleep with my knife clutched tightly in my fist when I'm able to sleep at all.

I take my phone with me now. I'm not afraid of the police.

And since I can't be with Luca and Declan, and Sebastian left me, I told my parents that, yes, I'd move to North Carolina with my Aunt Beth. This morning, we packed a moving truck with most of my things so that they'd arrive around the same time I do. As soon as it pulled away, we left for the airport.

We've been waiting to get through security for over an hour. Blakely and Austin didn't ride with us, but I can see them a couple of rows ahead of me; she's carrying her wedding dress and looks like she's losing her shit.

"You know, if you wanted to, you could fly to Aunt Beth's next week, and we could have someone ship your car. You don't have to drive out there alone," my mom says.

"It's okay," I tell her. "I don't mind driving. It'll be…fun."

I'll likely be killed somewhere in the middle—in one of the desolate places where there are no people, only bodies. But I'll probably be dissolved in a barrel.

Twenty minutes later, I finally step into the body scanner, placing my feet on the indicated spaces and holding my arms above my head.

"Ma'am, step to the side, please," the TSA agent says. I panic for a moment, but I know I put my knife in my checked bag; I've felt naked and exposed without it all morning.

Another agent runs the handheld metal detector wand over my body, taking his time over my right shoulder. "Clear," he announces. "You can go."

"Thanks."

By the time we get to the gate, our flight is already boarding, and Blakely is losing her shit. Half of the flight is filled with the wedding party and guests. I sit beside the window in a row with my mom and dad with my headphones on, pretending to be asleep.

We had to book the flight months before I ever left for the tour, and I know that guests booking flights late was an issue for Blake and Austin, but still, I wonder if there's a passenger on this flight who is one of them, put here to watch me, hiding in plain sight the way Sebastian did.

The hotel looks exactly like the pictures—traditional Caribbean elegance with a modern flare, a white-sand beach meeting bright blue waters, and mountains covered in dense jungle to its back. Blakely included me in her spa day, but I had to skip the beach because I have new scars forming on my chest and my hip that I don't want any of them to see.

But I put on my dress, and I go to the wedding rehearsal and sit in the front, watching, because I wasn't invited to be a part of it. I try to ignore the way Austin's family stares and whispers, the subtle digs, and I keep my shitty sarcastic comments to myself.

One way or another, this is my farewell tour.

And when I space out during the stories at the toasts at dinner, I think about what I'd change my name to if I do make it to North Carolina.

After a couple of Blakely and Austin's friends get up and leave, I lean over and whisper to my mom, "We're done, right? I can go now?"

"Yeah, just make sure you say something to your sister first," she tells me.

I push in my chair. "I will. Good night, Mom. Bye, Dad. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

I move to the head of the table where Blakely sits laughing beside her fiancé while he tells a story. "Hey, I'm going to head out," I tell Blake.

"Okay, well, I think we are all moving inside to the bar on the first floor," she says. "It's going to start pouring any minute."

Then I will be heading to the outdoor cabana bar on the far side of my building.

"That sounds fun, but…I'm pretty tired. I'll see you tomorrow, though, okay?"

"Yeah, we're all going ziplining early in the morning, so I'll see you at two to get ready in my suite."

"All right."

"Main building, Room 1042."

"Got it," I say, turning in the other direction.

"Teagan?"

"Yeah?"

"Everything looks pretty, right?"

"Yeah, of course. It looks amazing."

"Because I wanted to get the floating candles we picked out and fairy lights for the centerpieces, remember? But Ashlyn and Sophie made me get the brass candlestick holders because they said it would look cheap…and I don't like them, Teagan. It's not what I wanted."

I take her hands in mine. "It's going to be fine," I tell her. "Everything looks great, and tomorrow is going to be perfect. No one is going to remember what the centerpieces look like—not even a little bit. And they're probably right anyway. I picked them out, so they probably were cheap."

Tears well in her eyes. "I hate the bows on the chairs, too."

I shrug. "Then fuck the bows. You text me tomorrow morning and tell me you're not just saying this because you're drunk, and I will cut off every single one of them."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you know me—I love cutting shit."

"Okay," she laughs.

"Okay, are we good?"

"Yeah, we're good."

"See you tomorrow, Blake. It'll be amazing."

I grab my purse from my chair and head for the door, stopping to grab another martini for the walk over.

"Of course, he broke up with her," Ashlyn says to Lauren. "Look at her. No serious man is going to want to be with a girl like that, especially not a surgeon."

I begin playing my favorite game again in my head.

The knife in my cleavage, a fork to the jugular. I could grab a bottle of whiskey from behind the bar, pour it over her head, and knock over one of those stupid candlestick holders she picked out and watch her burn.

Or I could shove them down her throat.

I saw a documentary once about a woman who killed a man with a high-heeled shoe, but that would probably take a while, and someone would intervene before I could finish her off.

There's a riptide, and I'm stronger than her.

But I have to be on my best behavior. Unfortunately, my best still isn't good.

Instead of addressing her comment, I look at her husband.

"You need to fuck her better," I tell him. "You're clearly not doing a good enough job, and to be honest, you're already outkicking your coverage. Fuck her better—for all of our sakes. I'm tired of her fucking attitude." Next, I turn to Ashlyn, adding on my way out the door, "You're welcome. I hope your night improves."

I don't stick around for whatever happens next.

I walk to the cabana on the far side of the building, where I'm way overdressed, and pull up a seat at the bar.

"What can I get you?" the young bartender asks.

"Better stick with a martini at this point," I tell him. "I don't want to mix too many poisons, you know?"

"Are you here for the wedding?" he asks as he takes a glass from the shelf.

"That and my funeral," I tell him.

"What? Are you in love with the groom or something?"

"No, nothing like that," I say. "Hey, can you do something for me?"

"Depends."

"I'm in the market for a new name. What would you name me? Who do I look like I should be?"

"Can I give you a Spanish name?" he asks.

I shrug. "Sure. Why not? Maybe that's my problem—I've been limiting myself."

"Lourdes," he says.

"Lourdes," I repeat, sipping my drink. "I like it. Why?"

"It was my grandmother's name."

"What was she like?"

He laughs. "Very smart," he says. "But very mean. She was a tough woman—you look tough, too. No one ever messed with her; she'd kill them."

"Really?" I ask. "She killed people?"

"No, not really," he says, appalled. "You think my grandmother was actually a murderer? What are you trying to say?"

"What are you trying to say?" I ask. "You think women can't kill people?"

"And now you sound like her, too," he says, shaking his head. "I think I'm going back to the other side of the bar now. Let me know if you need anything."

"You don't look mean to me," a voice says, taking my breath away. "You look soft…like a kitten." Fingertips trail up my spine before he sits in the seat beside me.

He's wearing a hat and his glasses, and his facial hair is starting to grow in. He moves his chair closer to mine so he can wrap his arm around my waist and props his head on his elbow.

"Declan…no," I whisper. "They're going to kill you."

"Don't you worry about that, kitten," he says. "I'll be fine. I'm not going to leave you again."

"We should get out of here," I tell him. "We should go down to the beach or somewhere dark or—"

"No, we should stay right here for now," he says. "Where it's dark, but there are a lot of people around. Don't you think that's better?"

I look around the dark cabana. It's busy and loud, and no one is paying any attention to us. "I guess…"

"You still love me?"

I nod. "Yeah. I do."

"But you're mad at me?" he asks.

I nod again, my eyes filling with tears.

"That's okay," he says. "I can work with that."

I throw my arms around him and bury my head in his neck. "I'm scared," I tell him, "for you."

Declan places a hand on the back of my neck. "Come here and kiss me," he says.

I lift my head, and he places a hand on my cheek before pressing his lips to mine, breathing me in as he kisses me deeply, moaning into my mouth when my tongue slips past his lips, sucking my top lip into his mouth before pulling away.

"Now, you don't have anything to worry about," he whispers against my lips. "If I die, I can die happy."

I shake my head, looking away.

"What?" he asks. "You know that I love you, don't you? What do I need to do?"

"Do you remember when you saved me from that security guard in Seattle?" I ask. "And you picked that eyelash from my cheek and told me to make a wish?"

He nods. "Yeah, I remember. I remember every second I've ever spent with you."

"I wished that I'd stop falling in love with you. I fought it for so long because I knew it wasn't safe—not because you were dangerous, but because you didn't need me like Luca, and you could just leave. And then you did."

"Teag—"

"You don't need me," I say again.

"I do . I do need you, Teagan."

"You told me I was your kitten, and I was supposed to be able to curl up in your lap and not worry about anything else because you would keep me safe, but you didn't. Sebastian didn't need me, either, and he left me, too."

"I'll do better," he says. "I'm sorry about the water bottle, but I wasn't ready. I won't leave you again. I'm going to take care of you just like I promised. And I'll help you…with that itch like I promised. You don't have to scratch it."

"But what if I do?"

"Then I'll help you with that, too," he says. "I know who you are, Teagan."

"You mean what?"

"No, kitten. I mean who." He twirls one of my curls around his finger. "You look so pretty, baby. I'm sorry about Sebastian. We should talk about him, though."

I hold my breath. "What…do you want to talk about?"

"What do you know about him, sweetie? Have you seen his face?"

"I loved him," I whisper. "You were right, but he doesn't love me. He called me a lying whore." I pause, choking on the words. "And then he left. And I know a lot about him; I know his dad gave him away when he was six to save himself. He had to pick a son, and the son he picked—"

"Was me," Declan finishes. "I know. I was only three, but I remember everything about that night, too. You said he was cruel, but you loved him."

I nod. "Yeah. I didn't know…not until after I saw you."

"What's he like? Is he…do you think—"

"No. I don't think he'd help us—if that's what you're going to ask—and he's not going to let us help him, especially now. He's really messed up…and he likes it. The way they trained him…he'll never be like us. He's curious about you, but that's where it ends." I explain to Declan everything I've heard from Sebastian about his life and the things he's done. "Now, he's so angry with me for not telling him where you were so he could kill you that he left; there's someone watching me, but it isn't him anymore. I thought maybe he could love me, and maybe we could…well, I guess that doesn't matter anymore."

"I see," he says.

"Does Luca know?"

"He didn't," he says. "After you told me the name, I told him. He's pretty pissed off that I'd kept it a secret. And about some of the things…you told him Sebastian did."

"Oh…yeah."

"We weren't allowed to talk about him; we cleaned everything of his out of the house that night and pretended he never existed. I think my dad assumed I'd be too young to remember him, but I remember everything."

He smiles sadly, running his fingertips up and down my bare arms. I wonder if maybe Declan isn't like me after all; maybe he wasn't born like this—maybe he was made, too.

"He'd been getting in trouble for skateboarding in the house, but he kept doing it anyway, and that day, he broke a family heirloom. He thought that's why they took him. He screamed about how sorry he was all the way out the door. When Luca started getting in trouble, too, I was so afraid my dad was going to get rid of him that I started taking the blame for everything he did or hiding the evidence. I took him everywhere with me, did his homework for him. I already lost my mom and a brother, and my dad was never around. Maybe that's why I wanted to make my own family." He pauses, shaking his head. "I did a shitty job taking care of them, though, didn't I?"

And that's when I see it—Declan is hurt . He's not the same untouchable enigma he was a few months ago; he isn't evil, and he isn't a god. He's been gutted by all of this just like I have, and, maybe even more difficult for him, he's been humbled.

"Yes," I tell him. Because what else am I supposed to say? I tried the lie, and it wouldn't roll off my tongue. Brady and Rhett are dead, River and Hazel are gone for good, Luca got shot twice in one weekend, and he left us.

He laughs. "Well, you've never been afraid to tell me the truth, have you?"

"I've been told that I have a shitty sense of self-preservation. I'm pretty sure that's only gotten worse."

"That might still be true," Declan says. "But I'll never hurt you again, honey."

"I forgive you."

"Does that mean I won't have to drag you away from here kicking and screaming?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No. I'd go anywhere as long as I get to be with you and Luca."

He traces my jawline with his fingertips. "Even if it's forever, and you can never go back?"

"Yeah," I tell him. "I'm ready. I just want to go to the wedding first if I can."

"Let's go upstairs. We'll talk about the details, okay, baby?"

I nod. "Okay."

He brushes my hair away from my face and kisses my lips, then turns my head to the side. "You see that man over there by the door? Big guy with the sunglasses on?"

"Yeah."

"He works for me," he says. "He's going to be following us, okay? Nothing to worry about."

I reach into my dress and pull my knife out, leaving it folded in my palm. "I just feel better if I carry it anyway," I say.

"You still have that?" he asks. He takes my free hand when I step down from the barstool.

"Sebastian got it back for me."

"Hmm…and you're sure he doesn't love you?"

"Yeah," I tell him as we round the corner of the building. "I'm sure."

"Okay, kitten," he says, kissing the top of my head. "If you say so."

"I do say so. You weren't there."

"I know, Teag. You don't have to remind me."

I stop and turn to him, shaking my head. "That's not what I meant, I just—"

He cuts me off, cupping my cheeks in his hands and pressing his lips to mine. "You don't owe me any explanation. You look really pretty; I bet you heard that all night, though, didn't you?"

I shake my head again. "No, Declan. No one talks to me like that."

"Idiots," he says against my lips. He leans in and kisses me again, deeper this time. His hands run down my back to the swell of my ass before he bites my lip and pulls away.

"We need to get upstairs, Teagan," he says, moving his mouth to my ear. "Or I'm going to bend you over this staircase, and you'll end up screaming my name and everyone will know I'm here."