“Wrong answer.” I plant myself in his path, my chin tilting up as I glare at him. “And don’t you dare try to brush me off again.”
Ezra exhales, his hands gripping the back of a chair as if he needs to hold himself steady. His knuckles are white, his fingers digging into the worn wood. “There’s a boat on the beach. It’s wrecked, Kruz. It’s not safe, and I am dealing with it. That’s all you need to know.”
I step closer, my heart hammering. “You’re lying to me. You think I didn’t see the look on your face when you came in? You’re worried.” The air between us feels heavy, charged.
It’s not lost on me, the fact that I know him so intimately, that I can read him in every scenario.
I can tell the difference between his frustration and his worry, the subtle way his shoulders tighten when he’s carrying something heavier than he wants to admit.
I recognize the hard set of his jaw, not just as a sign of anger but as his way of steeling himself against what’s coming.
Even his silences speak volumes—a pause too long, the way his gaze flickers when he doesn’t want me to see his doubts.
It’s a closeness I didn’t ask for, but one I can’t ignore, a bond that leaves me vulnerable even when I don’t want to be. Knowing him this well is both a strength and a curse, because for all I understand him, I know just as clearly when he’s hiding something.
He straightens, his expression darkening. “Of course I’m worried. But me telling you what’s out there isn’t going to help anything.”
“What’s out there, Ezra?” I press, my voice sharp now, matching the pounding of my pulse. “Spit it out already before I lose my mind.”
“Two people,” he finally says, his voice flat. “Dead. A ton of drugs.”
The words hit me like a slap, and my knees go weak.
The air seems to leave the room, and I sink onto the edge of the couch, my arms wrapping tightly around myself. “Dead? Drugs?” I echo, my voice laced with disbelief and growing panic. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What if someone comes looking for them? What the fuck happened?”
Ezra moves toward me in two quick steps, his hand brushing my arm before I jerk away. “We’re not in danger. I’ll handle it.”
“You keep saying that like it means anything to me,” I snap, my panic boiling over into anger. “You brought me here. You dragged me to this island in the middle of nowhere because you said it was safe. But now there are dead people and drugs, and you think I’m just supposed to trust you?”
“Yes,” he says. “I said I’d take care of you, and I will.”
I let out a hollow laugh. “Take care of me? Youkidnappedme,” I shriek.
The tension in the room thickens, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. Ezra’s jaw tightens, his eyes locking with mine. “You think I won’t take care of you?”
“You think I’m just supposed to forget how I got here?” I shoot back, my voice shaking. “You didn’t exactly give me a choice. You can’t just throw me into the middle of your problems and expect me to sit here like some damsel while you play hero.”
His expression softens just slightly, and his voice lowers. “I know you hate me for bringing you here. I know you don’t trust me. But, Kruz, if I didn’t do what I did, you wouldn’t be alive to argue with me right now.”
I swallow hard, his words sinking in, but the knot of fear and frustration in my chest won’t loosen. “I didn’t ask for this,” I murmur, my voice barely audible over the sound of the wind rattling the windows. “And I sure as hell didn’t ask to be stranded on Dead People Island with you.”
“No,” he says softly, his gaze steady and unyielding. “You didn’t. But I did it anyway. And I’d do it again if it meant keeping you safe.”
I don’t know whether to scream at him or cry.
Instead, I sit down heavily on the edge of the couch, my arms wrapped tightly around myself. Everything presses down on me, and I feel like I’m drowning under the pressure.
“I’m dealing with the boat,” he says after a moment. “You’re safe here, Kruz. I promise you that.”
“Oh, great. Another promise,” I mutter under my breath. “Because the last one worked out so well.” My eyes narrow as I watch him, my suspicion far from eased. “Just so we’re clear, if I die out here, I’m haunting you.”
His lips twitch, almost like he wants to smile, but the tension in his face remains. “Noted.”
But his promises mean little to me right now. My mind is already spinning with questions and doubts.
What happens when the people who owned those drugs come looking for them?
What happens when they find us?
