“Don’t,” I beg. “Please… just… don’t hurt him.”
Hook’s eyes widen slightly, but he stands stoic, a slow grin creeping on his face. His fingers reach out, brushing down my jaw. “So loyal.”
He looks behind me to my father. “And where are your pleas, Peter?” His brows rise. “Or maybe you’d rather I spill her blood to cover your sins.”
Silence.
Deafening. Heartbreaking silence.
Hook’s eyes lock on mine, and I hold his stare, my stomach rising and falling along with the uneven beats of my heart, my nostrils flaring from the agonizing pain of my chest cracking in half.
He exhales, bending his neck to the side until it cracks, and then nods, reaching his hand out. “Very well.”
Relief pours through my veins, my body trembling as I place my palm in his. He tugs, and my body flies into him. My fingers press against his chest, his arm wrapping around my lower back and his mouth finding my ear.
“I want you to memorize this moment, darling. Remember how it feels to realize your father was willing to let you die in order to save himself.”
And then he whisks me away, while my soul shatters to dust.
33
Wendy
Hook is silent in the limo ride, but I can feel the rage pouring out of him and infusing the air. It’s thick. Suffocating. My eyes flick from him to the streets whizzing by, wondering if he’s angry with me, and asking myself why I care.
The car turns the street corner, and my breath stalls in my lungs as the familiar landmarks come into view. I know this street.
And it isn’t the marina.
“You said you wouldn’t bring me back here,” I rush out, panic seizing my insides.
“And you said you wouldn’t misbehave.” He picks invisible lint from his suit.
My jaw drops. “I didn’t! I did everything you asked for.”
“You think gallivanting off with your father was something I would ask for?” he snaps.
My heart drops to my stomach. “That had—” I swallow. “That had nothing to do with you.” I cringe, knowing how pathetic it sounds, even to my own ears.
He chuckles. “Darling, if you expect me to believe that, then you’re truly a stupid girl.”
My teeth grind, fists clenching. “I am not a girl.”
His head tilts. “Just stupid then?”
I breathe deeply through my nose, trying to stem the roiling in my gut when I imagine being tossed back into that dark dungeon of a room. “Please, I don’t want to be back in that basement.”
He sighs, his fingers rubbing at his jaw. “You’re not.”
My head snaps up, relief flooding through me. “I’m not?”
The car rolls to a stop, blues and reds flashing over my skin through the windows.
What in the world?
The door opens, and Hook steps out, his hand appearing in front of me. My heart jolts when I place my palm in his, allowing him to pull me from the car. He’s a dichotomy, threatening my life in one breath and being a gentleman in the next. It’s terrifying how he can do both so flawlessly, as if they’re integral parts of him, coexisting peacefully as one. It tosses everything I’ve ever been taught about good and evil out the window until it skews and blurs in my brain.
Shock spirals through my center as I exit the car, my breath whooshing from my lungs.
The smell of ash is strong in the air, making my nose tingle from the stench. There are fire trucks and ambulances, a few cop cars off to the side. And the JR is gone. Burned to the ground, nothing left but rubble.
My hand reaches up to cover my mouth. “Oh my god. What happened?”
Hook’s face is stoic as he surveys the damage. “Your father, I would presume.”
“No.” My heart jerks, the defense spitting off my tongue before I can even think through the words. “But he was with us tonight, he wouldn’t—”
Hook looks at me then, and my words die out, the memory of this evening replaying in my head. I swallow around the sadness building in my gut and spreading through every limb.
A keening wail comes from down the sidewalk and my head snaps over, the waitress from the JR running up to Hook and throwing her arms around his shoulders.
My chest pulls as I watch them embrace, but I step away, allowing them their moment. What do I care if they provide each other comfort?
Hooks' arms come up slowly, peeling her off him. “Moira.”
“Hook, it was terrible. I don’t know…” she hiccups. “I have no clue what happened. I just—one second everything was fine, and the next…” She covers her mouth, breaking down again in sobs, and I glance around, my stomach sinking, hoping that no one was hurt inside.
But I can’t help feeling relief too, at the fact that if there’s no JR, then there’s no basement with shackles and chains.
We don’t stay at the site for long before Hook has us back in the limo and on his yacht.
Somehow, we ended up lying on his bed, still in full evening wear, not speaking, barely moving at all. My mind replays the past few days, going back and forth over everything, wondering if what Hook says is true.
If my father really is the one responsible for so much damage.
My stomach turns and my heart kicks against its cage. “Are you really going to kill me?” I ask, staring up at the ceiling.
His fingers are locked together, resting on his abdomen, rising and falling with his even breaths. “I haven’t decided yet.”
A heavy knot twists in the center of my chest. “Do you really think my father did it?”
He sighs, his hand rubbing across his forehead, his eyes pinching closed. “Darling, your questions are becoming very tiresome.”
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, holding back the words that are dying to spew out. I risk a glance at his face. Sadness sneaks through his features; subtle, but there in the way his eyes turn down, and how the silence sticks to his skin—an aura of melancholy, almost as if he’s mourning.
“I’m sorry about your bar,” I whisper.
“It wasn’t mine.”
My brows raise, surprise flickering in my chest. “Oh, I just assumed—”
“It was Ru’s.”
I chew on my lip, nodding. “And Ru is… where?”
His head turns, hair mussing slightly on his pillow, his gaze sizzling as it sits on my skin. I stay stock-still, hoping that he finds whatever he’s looking for.
His tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “Dead.”
The word—even though I expected it—hits me like a sledgehammer, conversations from the evening slotting together like missing pieces of a puzzle. Ru’s dead. And my father asked where he was with a smirk on his face.
Anger and disbelief war inside me, clashing together in a cataclysmic explosion of grief. Grief for the man who raised me. Grief for the father I’ve lost.
I don’t apologize for Ru’s death. Something tells me Hook wouldn’t appreciate the words, that they’d tip the scale of his anger against me, and the last thing I want to do is upset him even more. Not when we’ve found some weird type of balance; a temporary truce.
“When I was a little girl,” I start. “My dad used to bring me acorns.”