Yaron straight up laughed at me. “You are fucking naïve if you think that is how it would work. He’d kill me. He’d kill me Victor style.”
I had no idea what “Victor style” meant, but I’d pleaded with him anyway. “Yaron, please. You don’t have to do this. Just listen to me—”
“No! No, don’t you get it. I don’t have to listen to you or Han ever again!” he yelled, cutting me off. “And you know what? I’d rather risk getting tortured to death than see you and him live happily ever after—no, no, that’s not how this story’s going to end. Not this time.”
I opened my mouth to try to reason with him again but then stopped. My imprisonment, this conversation, I suddenly realized, was all part of the story Yaron had been telling himself ever since he’d started plotting against his triad. I could beg on my knees, and it would only play further into his revenge fantasy.
So I went quiet, refusing to play his game.
But Yaron wasn’t done with his villain speech yet. “K Diamond’s already got a buyer all lined up for you. And he says he can finally get us off this fucking island. After he does, I’ll take the money. Then I’ll go back to Rhode Island and figure out how to kill Victor and Dawn. Maybe Phantom too—never liked that guy.”
A cold wave of Delaware ocean water washed over me. K Diamond sold me?
“Yeah, and wait till you find out who it is,” Yaron said as if I’d spoken that question out loud.
He grinned with gleeful anticipation, and I realized it was the first time I’d ever seen him smile. “Now eat this food. It’s the only thing that’s going to make any of this better for you.”
I glanced at the tray he’d set down, my gut full of suspicion. The memory of the obviously drugged dancer the Lacerdas placed in my passenger seat flashed across my brain. I also recalled what Han had told me about how K Diamond’s first move would be to drug me into submission if he got his hands on me.
No…no prison food for me.
Instead, I waited for him to go and pulled out my mother’s thank you note. Since I never carried a purse, I’d tucked it into the waistband of my shorts. So it had been the only thing I’d been able to bring with me after they made me get out of the car and leave my phone behind…
There was a stamp on the envelope, so maybe I could…
I went to work, using my nails to scrape off and punch out letters in my mom’s sweet message. And I tried not to think about how I might never see her again. Or Han.
No, don’t go there, Hayes. Not yet. I swiped away the tears welling in my eyes and made myself focus on the task of creating a message with what I had, which was unfortunately only the nails on my hands—not a pen.
I did the best I could, considering. Then I pushed the stamped envelope out of the narrow casement window and sent it into the outside world on a wing and a prayer.
But so many factors would have to fall into place for this to work.
Somebody would have to notice the card and be kind enough to pick it up and put it in a mailbox. Then, Han, who I’d never seen open a solitary piece of mail, would have to get the card and decode it. Then he’d have to track down the Lacerdas and/or figure out that I was here in this Ala Moana old strip mall.
In short, the chances of my Hail Mary working out were extremely low. But what were the chances of Han and I being together in the first place? Surviving Delaware? Obviously, some higher power wanted us to be together. So I had to keep praying to whatever Fate or God had set up a cynical Fae King and a stubborn surfer girl in the first place.
However, three days later, I’d all but given up hope. But I hauled myself out of bed when I heard my prison door open.
It didn’t matter if the gnawing hunger had me fatigued. I didn’t want to take the chance of Yaron trying to force-feed me because I was lying down.
However, I stilled when I saw who had walked into the room.
Not Yaron carrying a tray. But K Diamond carrying a dress on a hanger and a pair of black stiletto heels.
No glitzy tracksuit for him these days. He wore a long-sleeved Ocean Pacific shirt and cargo pants with a canvas sunhat. I could see why Han’s men had such trouble tracking him down. If not for the gun poking out of his waistband, he’d looked like every other working-class local on the island.
