Page 59 of Jetmir

Thorne’s grin was wolfish, edged with something dark enough to draw blood.

“You’re my wife, Anya.” His voice dropped, simmering with unspoken threat. His eyes dragged over me like he owned every inch. “And our marriage was for life.”

God help me, I drowned in his eyes anyway. Let them pull me under, the way I always had, the way I swore I never would again.

Hate him, Anya. Hate him! Remember the lies. Remember Gabriel, still blind because of what this man did.

It was the only weapon I had left against him and yet my heart—stupid and traitorous—wouldn’t hold it. It refused to hate him even now.

The car slowed, then stopped. I startled at the stillness, reaching for the door handle before my mind could catch up with my body, and I threw myself out into the night air.

“We’re on an island in the middle of the Caribbean Sea.” Jetmir’s voice was nonchalant, and he didn’t even bother to run after me.

A salty wind hit my face. Beyond the gravel drive, black water stretched out in every direction, glittering faintly under a sliver of moon, swallowing the horizon whole. No lights. No roads. No signs of another living soul.

I understood what he meant as my body collapsed, adrenaline leaving my body weak.

There was nowhere to run.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

JETMIR

The sedative had stolen the strength from Anya’s body as she stumbled out of the car, Dozer at her heels.

I came up behind her and crouched to where she was kneeled, lifting her small body into my arms. She felt impossibly light, and I did my best to shield her from the wind sweeping over the cliffs. The familiar scent of jasmine clung stubbornly to her hair beneath the sharp tang of salt. She trembled, though it wasn’t from the breeze, but from fury.

“Come, Dozer,” I said to the puppy. “Let’s take your mama to bed so she can rest.”

He wagged his tail, barked once, and followed next to me as I walked into the home I’d inherited from Santiago Tijuana—a vicious, twisted bastard who happened to be related to me and whose blood still stained the history of this island. The old villa had once been little more than a crumbling fortress perched atop black cliffs, abandoned to storms and time.

I’d spent the last three years rebuilding every stone. New windows overlooked the endless sea. Marble floors replaced warped timber. The gardens bloomed again beneath careful hands, fragrant with roses, lavender, and citrus. Solar lights lined the winding paths through the olive trees, while security systems lay hidden like teeth beneath a smile.

I’d rebuilt it for us.

A sanctuary.

A prison.

However she chose to view it.

The island sat far enough from the mainland that the coastline looked like a faded watercolor on the horizon. Boats were rarely seen. Aircrafts rarer still. Anyone approaching would be visible long before they reached the shore.

Almost no one knew this place existed anymore.

And the handful who did had every reason to believe it had remained abandoned.

She stirred in my arms, letting out a shaky breath before weak fists struck my chest.

“You don’t know what you’ve done,” she hissed weakly. “They’ll come for you.” Another blow against my chest, though I barely felt the impact. “They’ll come for me.” Another. “This will start a war.”

I shrugged. “Let them come. Let cities burn. Let the families fall. As long as you’re mine.”

I couldn’t believe my wife was finally back in my arms. I’d never stopped loving her. Never stopped thinking about her. Never gave up on our marriage.

She stiffened and a bitter laugh escaped me. “What’s the matter, my angel?”

“You’re crazy.”