Page 22 of Descent
“Scrambled’s more than okay.” He accepted my silent cue, claiming the bench seat, and a relieved breath drifted off my lips.
I stood on tiptoe and reached for the pan, praying to God he would stay put and let me get my hands on the skillet. Slowly pulling it from the rack, I counted the seconds, ears peeled for the slightest of sounds.
The rustle of denim.
A bench leg scraping a fraction of an inch.
His booming voice demanding I put down my makeshift weapon.
But nothing happened, and I let out a stuttered breath as I set the skillet onto the stove. Opening the fridge, I let my hair obscure my face as I bent to retrieve the eggs, worried he’d figure me out if he glimpsed my expression.
Just breathe, Alex. Five in, hold, five out. Repeat.
“I could get used to watching you fix me breakfast naked. You’re so fucking sexy. You have no idea.”
As I cracked the shells and dumped the contents into a bowl, I sensed the burden of his stare on my backside. “Orange juice okay, or do you want milk?”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“Two orange juices coming up.” While the pan finished heating, I grabbed two plates and set the table, and he grabbed my hand.
“I love seeing you like this.” Slowly, he let my fingers slip from his, a goofy smile transforming his lips.
“What do you mean?”
“Relaxed. You seem…kinda happy, Lex.”
God, he was blind. It took every last bit of mental fortitude to hold on to the facade, to plan my attack without hyperventilating. I wandered back to the stove and began whisking the eggs.
“I’m just glad to be out of that prison.”
“I’d never lock you up like that.”
“You wouldn’t?” The question came out weak with nervousness as I poured the mixture of eggs into the pan. “Where are you planning to take me after we leave here?”
He didn’t answer at first. “I have a cabin in the mountains.”
Another fucking cabin.
“You do?”
“Yes.” Another stretch of silence, and then he cleared his throat. “We leave tonight, Lex.” He shifted, and I froze, praying to God he wasn’t leaving that seat.
Five in, hold, five out.
Before I could repeat the ritual, I turned and faced him, wiping my face of the terror heating under the surface of my calm, same as the damn eggs. But Zach still sat on that bench, comfortable in his certainty that he’d won.
And he would if I didn’t do something fast. I had less than twelve hours to turn the tables on him, to save myself before he took me away from the island forever. He might not have plans to lock me inside a cage, but he’d keep me prisoner just the same. The fact that he thought that somehow made him better was laughable.
I’d willingly given Rafe the key to my freedom. Zach had stolen it, and no amount of twisting the truth would change what he’d done.
Every muscle tensed in preparation. I wasn’t sure I had the balls to go through with the idea simmering in my mind, but I didn’t have much choice. I had to be strong—had to keep fighting—even if the fear of getting caught paralyzed me.
“How did you get the cabin?”
“Let’s just say Shelton paid me well while you were gone.”
By gone, he meant he’d been unable to find me.
“So he just welcomed you back with open arms?”
“Not exactly. I had information he wanted.” He paused a beat too long. “We came to an understanding.”
“Such as?”
He averted his eyes, and the shame tinting his face surprised me. “I knew about Rafe’s kid.”
“How?”
“Dad’s known about him for years.”
His admission seemed to reverberate off the walls, and a chill traveled down my spine. “So instead of selling your soul to the devil, you sold Rafe’s son.”
“I’m not proud of it, Lex. But I needed a fucking ally, and Shelton has connections. The guy set me up with a whole new identity. Plus, I needed to find you, and you were nowhere to be found.”
“I was right where I was supposed to be.” The eggs finished cooking, and before I could second guess what came next—the what-ifs and all the things that could go wrong—I carried the skillet toward Zach. “I was with Rafe.”
“You should have been with me.”
“No,” I said, voice shaking, “I should have killed you when I had the chance.” Gripping the pan with both hands, I swung with all I had and brought it down on Zach’s head with a sickening thud as hot eggs went flying.
He slumped to the floor, and I followed up the first strike with several more. Tears streaked down my cheeks as blood pooled around his head. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, pounded at my temples. A whole minute passed before I let the skillet slip from my trembling grip. Another thirty seconds creeped by before I found the courage to check for a pulse.
