And honestly, I’m not sure it would be any different if I were on solid ground. Not after last night.
I feel like someone slapped me in the face.
Metaphorically.
Physically, I feel like someone slapped me in the face with a sledgehammer.
I force myself to focus—on the water, on the steady hum of the engine—but my thoughts won’t settle. They keep circling back, dragging me under, reminding me that no matter how far this boat takes me, there’s no escaping what’s already in motion.
I can’t believe I’m here with him.
I should’ve never gotten in that car. I should’ve fought harder, should’ve fucking run the second he led me outside.
But now, it’s too late.
The cold sinks deep into me, numbing everything but the fear. My whole body is locked up, stiff with tension, and the dull ache in my ribs only makes it worse.
My cheek throbs—a steady, relentless pulse—reminding me just how fast everything spiraled. How easily control slipped through my fingers, leaving nothing but chaos and pain in its wake.
Ezra doesn’t react—not outwardly, at least. His grip on the wheel remains firm, his gaze fixed ahead, cutting through the dark, choppy water like he isn’t the reason I’m here. Like he isn’t the reason my entire body is screaming in protest, bruised and aching from being tossed around like a beachball in an island squall.
I wrap my arms around myself, not for comfort but out of instinct, as if holding myself together will keep me from unraveling.
“You’re still shaking,” he says after a beat, softer this time like he’s trying to temper something inside himself.
“No shit,” I bite back. “I was thrown onto the ground, tied up, and dragged out of my life. It’s literally nine degrees. Excuse me if I’m a little anxious and a little cold.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks, but he still doesn’t take the bait. It infuriates me, the way he absorbs my anger without giving me anything to push against.
Finally, he exhales. “I’ll get you something warm.”
I scoff. “What, like a blanket? That’s supposed to make me forget that you kidnapped me?”
Still nothing.
That makes me even angrier.
The thought of him being involved with the Assembly churns in my stomach like a bucket of acid, eating away at every stupid, reckless decision that led me here.
I can’t believe I ever trusted him. Even worse, I can’t believeI slept with him.
I’m disgusted with myself.
The Assembly had always been just a rumor—a whispered name, a shadow lurking behind every well-timed disaster, every too-perfect scandal. I’d heard the stories, the half-suspicions, the hushed warnings about a group powerful enough to make or break lives without ever being seen. I never thought it was real. Not until this time last year.
Now, the truth settles over me, heavy and suffocating. The Assembly isn’t just real—it’s worse than I ever imagined. And he’s a part of it.
The group I once brushed off as paranoid fantasy is more than just a story. They are the hidden hand that tilts the scales, orchestrating every rise and every fall from behind closed doors. Untouchable elites pulling the strings, shaping the world to their will, controlling careers, lives, even deaths. They own the things that matter: money, power, influence. And they destroy anyone who dares to stand in their way, leaving nothing but a trail of broken people in their wake.
I hate them for what they’ve done to me. For what they did to Quinn.
And that isn’t even the worst part.
Jack and Quinn trust him.They trust him with Sienna.
The thought makes me sick.
They don’t know. They couldn’t possibly know.
