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Either way, it was over.
By sunup, every Russian soldier and sailor on the island would be on the lookout for the Pride of Howth and me.
And her.
Steam was beginning to filter through the cracks of the bathroom door now, illuminated by the streaks of light that escaped along with them. I noticed how the golden light forged straight ahead, never wavering, never looking back, while the silvery vapor simply … disappeared into the darkness.
That was us. Clo and me.
We’d escaped together, but now …
Now, she had to keep going, and I had to disappear.
It was me they wanted, not her. They didn’t even know her name. Kate and Jack would take care of her—I knew they would—and they’d do a better fucking job than her arsehole drunk of a father ever had. This was what was best for her. If I wanted to protect her, to do what I hadn’t been able to with my ma, this was the only way.
“Fuck!”
My skin felt tight as the rage swelled beneath it, pushing against the surface, looking for an outlet. I wanted to scream. I wanted to kill. But only because what I really wanted wasn’t a fucking option.
It never was.
My chest ached, and my eyes burned as I tore through the room, looking for my boots. I had to get out of there before Clo finished her shower. If I saw her, I didn’t know what I would do. I didn’t know if I’d have the strength to leave.
After I looked under the bed and in every corner of the room, my eyes landed on the glowing bathroom door again, and I shook my head with a bitter, humorless laugh.
Of fucking course.
Turning the knob as quietly as possible, I opened the door and squinted into the light and steam. The sink was directly across from the door, and next to it, on the closed lid of the toilet, sat my neatly folded, blood-soaked blazer.
And my boots were on the floor beside it.
My throat swelled as I pictured Clo on the boat—the way my sleeves covered her fingers and my socks swallowed her feet. The way the light clung to her hair and the sea made her eyes sparkle. I’d never seen her outside in the sun before.
And you never will again, arsehole. Accept the situation and armor the fuck up. Now.
My jaw clenched, and my nostrils flared as I fought back the emotion strangling me from the inside out.
My boots were right there. All I had to do was grab them and go. But as I reached in, my heart slamming itself against my ribs in protest, I heard something beyond the white noise of the shower and the blood thundering in my ears. It was a sound I’d heard every night in the cave—the soft, shuddering gasps of Clover crying.
I stared at my boots as her jagged breaths sliced through my resolve like the teeth of a saw. There was no conscious thought, no more rationalizing or weighing my options. There was the sound of Clover crying, and then there was Clover, looking over her shoulder at me as I opened the shower door.
“Damien? What are you—”
I stepped inside and wrapped my arms around her and felt her stunned body go tense, only for a second, before she completely fell apart in my embrace. Clover clung to me like she had the night before, like even gravity was trying to tear her away from me. But this time, I didn’t fight back. I didn’t try to hold her up. I sank to the floor with her and held her close while she buried her face in my neck and wept.
It was the same position we’d been in downstairs—Clo naked, straddling my lap—but this time, it was real. There was no more pretending to be okay, no more denial or survival mode. We were both terrified of the future and terrorized by the past, but when we were together, when we stayed present, not even time itself could touch us.
Sweeping a heavy curtain of wet hair over her shoulder, I dipped my head and kissed Clover’s bruised, tearstained cheek.
And her entire body went rigid with fear.
No. No, no, no.
“Shh … look at me,” I instructed, gathering her hair in my hand and pulling her head back gently until we were face-to-face.
My cock throbbed between her legs with every beat of my heart, which probably only fueled her panic, but Clover did as I’d asked. She gazed up at me with wide, worried eyes—wanting to trust me, wanting to please me, but mostly, I think she wanted the same thing that I did. She wanted to believe that this time could be different. There was a glimmer of hope in those emerald depths, a silent plea that I vowed to fulfill if it was the last fucking thing I ever did.
“I’m not gonna touch you,” I promised. “Not like that.”
