Page 49 of Break Out the Girl

And I’d welcome being embraced.

Loved.

For the first time in my entire existence, I feel truly, fiercely, devastatingly alive. My thoughts spin, tumbling through the chaotic, breathless sequence of the last couple of months.

Steak knives in guts, London, Quo, Gleb, Tally, Layla, the North Gym, Sky, François.

Tally’s bruising kisses, desperate alpha hunger that promised to tear the world apart just to keep me breathing.

London’s beautiful sweetness that made me want to laugh and weep all at once.

And finally, François—the beautiful, cold, arrogant Frenchman whose sudden passion brought me to my knees.

Those three men have demolished every last piece of wall around my heart, releasing a rushing, roaring torrent of heat that is currently flooding every single vein in my body. My magic spark might still be sluggish, but my heart?

My heart is wide awake.

And now I’ve stopped fighting it, I know François is made for me, just as London and Tally are. Those weird threads inside me sing with happiness to have the three of them around me.

I’ll never be alone again, and I don’t want to be.

Fuck, I want the same for Sky so badly—this plan has to succeed.

But we’re running on stolen fuel, a twelve-year-old’s street-smarts, and determination. Is that going to be enough?

As I look at the mismatched, beautiful team surrounding me, the fear completely vanishes, replaced by a cold, hard, lethal determination.

Let them bring their guns. Let them bring their ‘peacekeepers’.

We're coming for Sky, and Gods help anyone who stands in our way.

16: TALIESIN

I watch as London springs to his feet. “We’re going to need code-names,” he announces. “Can’t exactly shout Burt or Shane into the walkie, then everyone will know your identities.”

“Well, seeing as my name isn’t Burt, I don’t think that’s a problem,” I tell him, resisting an eyeroll.

He looks utterly confused. “It’s not?”

“No, my name is Taliesin, and ‘Shane’ is called François.”

“Whoa, that’s so strange. I totally thought those were your nicknames. Are you sure you’ve got it the right way around?”

“Totally.”

It takes a few more minutes of convincing but finally London agrees that his elaborate code-name system isn’t needed. I am no longer ‘Jacked Sparrow’, and London himself is not ‘Sinbaaad (insert goat bleat) the Sailor.

François was to be Poopeye. Which I have to admit, was a good one.

Aurora waves as François and London take off on the dinghy, and I try to gird myself for what is to come. This plan is going against every inclination I have to keep Aurora safe. But I know my princess—if we don’t try and get Sky back, she’ll just go off on her own to do it.

And probably end in a shit ton of trouble. At least this way, if things go belly-up, I’ll just open the throttle and get her out of the dangerzone.

Currently, we’re still out of the range of automatic weapons, and probably whatever magic spells the twats on board have got, but the safe-zone will disappear in the next ten minutes.

That’s when we crank up the stereo and pretend we’re spring-breaking—complete with costumes.

Basil found a pair of goggles and is wearing them with the life jacket, so looks a thousand miles from the kid we picked up from the island.