Chapter 407
Chapter 407:
A leash.
“Necessary precautions,” Lucian said, taking a sip of his drink. “Given your penchant for dramatic exits p>
“Where am I?” Skye demanded, her voice gaining a fraction of strength from anger.
“The Poseidon,” Lucian replied. “My private sanctuary. We are currently in international waters, far beyond any jurisdiction. No paparazzi. And certainly no ex-husbands p>
He stood and walked toward the bed.
Skye recoiled, pressing her back against the headboard.
“Liam,” she said, the image of him bleeding on the muddy track flashing in her mind. “Is he p>
“Alive, last I heard,” Lucian said dismissively. “Though I imagine he’s having a rather terrible night. My men reported he was screaming quite loudly when they left p>
He sat on the edge of the bed and reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek.
Skye flinched violently and slapped his hand away.
“Don’t touch me p>
Lucian didn’t look offended. He smiled—a slow, predatory curve of his lips.
“Fire. I like that. Most women in your position would be begging p>
“I’m not most women,” Skye spat. “You made a mistake, Lucian. You think kidnapping me solves your problem? You just started a war p>
“A war?” Lucian laughed softly. “With whom? The cripple on the cliff? Or perhaps your secret lover, Mr. Thorne p>
Skye’s heart skipped. He knew.
“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Lucian continued, leaning in close. “I know everything, Skye. I know Alistair has been playing hero. But here’s the reality: to the world, you are dead. You fell off a cliff in a storm. A tragic accident. Alistair will mourn. He will rage. But eventually, he will move on. And you… you will stay here p>
“I’d rather die,” Skye said, staring him dead in the eyes.
Lucian’s expression hardened. The amusement vanished, replaced by cold, flat menace.
“Careful,” he whispered. “I can arrange that, too. But I think you’re more valuable alive. For now p>
He stood abruptly. “Get dressed. Dinner is in an hour p>
о𝗋𝗀𝘢𝗻𝗂z𝖾 𝘆𝗼𝗎r 𝗋𝘦а𝘥𝗶𝘯𝗀 l𝗂s𝘵 оո 𝖻𝖾.𝗰𝗼𝘮
“I’m not eating with you p>
“Then you won’t eat.” Lucian walked to the door. “And if you try to pick that lock, I’ll have you moved to the brig. Trust me, the accommodations there are significantly less… hospitable p>
The door clicked shut. Heavy bolts slid home from the outside.
Thousands of miles away, on the edge of the island’s perimeter, chaos reigned in the temporary medical triage tent.
Alistair Thorne tore through the canvas flaps like a natural disaster. Medics scrambled out of his way, terrified by the sheer violence radiating from him. His tactical gear was stained with mud and rain, his eyes red-rimmed, wild, and terrifying.
He kicked open the partition to the recovery area.
Liam Kensington sat on the edge of a cot as a field medic bandaged his shoulder. He looked like a ghost—pale, shaking, his clothes still soaked with rain and blood.
Alistair didn’t say a word.
He crossed the room in two strides, grabbed Liam by the lapels of his ruined shirt, and slammed him against the canvas wall.
Instruments clattered to the floor. Medics screamed.
“Where is she?” Alistair roared, shaking Liam like a rag doll. “Where is she, you useless bastard p>
Liam didn’t fight back. He hung there, limp, staring at Alistair with hollow, dead eyes.