Page 86 of Last Resort

Tou-fucking-ché.

I stare at her, jaw clenched as I absorb her words. There is truth in them I don’t want to face but can’t deny.

When Solomon mentioned her, I knew she’d seek me out. Knew she’d show up to see me and try to rectify that blow I gave to her ego. A woman like her has never been told no.

I should know. I never had either . . . before Sutton.

I look at Gia and see everything I used to want.

What’s in it for me? If Gia uttered those words, I’d consider her a manipulative bitch.

But Sutton deserves to ask that question.

She also has no reason to be jealous of Gia, and I need her to know that. I need to find her. Because when I think of Sutton, I see everything I think I need.

Jesus.

When did that happen?

When did that fucking happen?

“What do you want, Gia?” I ask, done with this conversation before it even starts.

“You.” No hesitation. No shame.

I purse my lips and give a slight nod. “Sorry. I’m taken.”

And with that, I glance at Keone, whose eyes are bigger than saucers, no doubt thinking I’m a fool for passing up the woman in front of me.

I’m heading toward the villa. My restlessness that led me to the bar now knows only one place it wants to be.

I need to find Sutton. We need to talk, and I need to know if all that she said last night wasn’t just the alcohol talking but was the truth.

In particular the last part.

And then I need to figure out how the fuck I feel about it.

“Callahan. What—” Brady looks over his shoulder and then back at me with confusion owning every single damn part of him. “I mean—how?” He shakes his head.

“What?” I ask impatiently.

“I just saw you eating dinner with Sutton. How did you . . .”

“Where?” I demand, already knowing the answer.

“The Cove.”

I jog toward the restaurant, not sure why I feel so panicked over the fact that Ledger or Ford or both are here.

But I do.

And I am.

Ledger.

Jealousy I’ve never felt before streaks through me when I look across the restaurant and see them sitting at a window seat, laughing over a glass of wine.

The sight of them together fucking consumes me. My fists clench and anger riots. All thoughts of walking up and taking a seat at the table with them dissipate.