NINETEEN
Seychelle walked to her cottage. She needed to feel the fresh sea air on her skin and listen to the roar of the waves as they raced to the bluffs and crashed against them. She had purchased the house on the narrow road across from the headlands because she liked the privacy and the close proximity to the ocean.
She detoured and took a path through the tall grass leading to the bluffs. The grass rippled with the wind, bending and swaying as if dancing to the sound of the waves as they rushed the rocks. The wildness of this coast appealed to her. The Southern California coast was warmer and so much more predictable, but here there were rip currents and undertows, and the water was cold and crazy rough.
She wrapped her arms around herself and walked slowly along the path she’d taken hundreds of times. It was narrow and all sandy dirt. Gulls screamed and dove at the water or circled the sea stacks before settling and folding their wings. Some of the birds squabbled in the air, making her want to laugh.
She loved Sea Haven and her little home here. She’d come here at her lowest, when she knew she was going to die. She’d been so exhausted, barely able to stand most of the time. Walking to the bluffs had become her first goal, and then to the town of Sea Haven. She couldn’t believe how far she’d come, how much stronger she’d gotten. How much happier she was.
She lifted her gaze to the sky and the seagulls again. Savage made her happy. There was no doubt about that. He made her feel as if she wasn’t alone when she’d been so terribly lonely even in the middle of a crowd. Truthfully, when she’d tried to date and hadn’t reacted at all to any man kissing her or touching her, she’d felt as if she wasn’t normal. So why was she upset that she was reacting to him and his brand of sex? Why did she have to question everything good that came her way?
She turned back toward her house and began to walk slowly. She still could die very young. Just because she was feeling stronger and she was with Savage didn’t mean her heart was suddenly better. She hadn’t gone to a doctor. They hadn’t actually been successful at stopping her from taking on an illness, because they hadn’t tried yet. She still wanted to live life to the fullest, experience everything she could. She didn’t want to miss anything. Why was she suddenly thinking about retreating from Savage? It made no sense. She was panicking, just the way she always did.
She put her hand over the ring he’d had made for her. She was looking up the diamond when she got home. She’d never seen one like that. She knew Ice was a famous jeweler, although few knew he was a biker, just that his pieces were sought-after. She was certain that if anyone knew he was a biker, it would make the demand for his jewelry skyrocket.
Savage and she had just moved so fast, she felt like she couldn’t catch her breath. She was a processor. She liked to think about things. She wasn’t impulsive, as a rule. She liked the way they’d been at the beginning of their relationship, when she could lie on the bed with him and not worry about what was coming next and how fast she’d have to get there. At least, that was what she told herself, because it was so much easier than facing the truth.
Seychelle didn’t want to have to figure out why she’d been born the way she was. Or if not born with those little dark corners, why she’d developed them. How deep did they go? Could she stop before she got into territory that was beyond what she thought was too much? How much was too much? How did she even answer those questions? She needed to go into her haven of safety, sit in her favorite spot on the bed and just let herself meditate. Maybe the answer would come.
The house was cool and shadowy when she unlocked the front door and stepped inside. All the shades were drawn over the windows. She frowned, wondering if Savage had pulled them down so people couldn’t see in while they were at the other house. She’d never done that. She had live plants in the house, and they thrived on light. She went to the window closest to the door and raised that shade.
It wasn’t like her cottage was large. The rooms flowed into one another, and when she turned and looked straight from the cozy living room to her kitchen, her breath caught in her throat. Facing her, seated at the table as if he belonged there, was Joseph Arnold. There was a gun in front of him, just lying there on the kitchen table, right within his reach.
“You’re home.” He sounded strange, like a lover welcoming her back after a long absence.
Seychelle’s mouth went dry, and she glanced at the door. She was only a few feet from it. Could she make it out? She had no idea why, but she knew with absolute certainty he had come there to kill her. “What are you doing here?”