Luck of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #2)(52)

I study the woman with her strained posture and flexing fingers. I know she’s making a point, but I’m also trying to keep my attention on the blue waters surrounding the island and the boat that should be arriving any minute to get me out of here.

“Dorsey, what’s your point?” I ask as I focus beyond her, but she sidesteps so she’s directly in my line of sight.

“If you leave this island before Mr. Forge returns, we all lose our jobs. Every single one of us.”

I jerk my head back. “What?”

Dorsey bites her lip before continuing to speak. “I’m not trying to guilt trip you into staying, but those were your husband’s orders. I don’t agree with keeping a person somewhere they don’t want to be, but if you could just not get on that boat I know you’re waiting for, I would be very grateful, as would every other woman and man on this island.”

Emotion fills her eyes, and all that hope and pleading may as well be a sword shoved in my gut.

“I don’t know what you’re dealing with, but please, before you leave, just . . . consider that more than your fate is in your hands.”

She gives me a weak smile and turns to walk back into the house, leaving me standing with a duffel bag and my rescue in sight . . . but my conscience rears its ugly head.

Fuck.

The white center-console fishing boat approaches, and I have only a few minutes to make my decision. I heft the duffel bag on my shoulder and cross the pool deck toward the steps that lead down the cliffs. The steps that will take me far away from here and . . . cost every single person on this island their job.

Damn you, Forge. This isn’t fair.

I try to harden my heart. This isn’t about them. This is about me and my life.

My phone vibrates with a text from Ruccio, the Italian wannabe professional poker player who had a boat and the time to come pick me up—in exchange for an hour of poker lessons so he can try to make the pro tour. Since he missed it six times already, I don’t think an hour of my time is going to do the trick, but it was the price I had to pay to get what I needed.

“Please, before you leave, just . . . consider that more than your fate is in your hands.”

Dammit, Dorsey’s guilt trip was delivered much too effectively, because my feet stall.

And that’s when I see the other boat. The black one. It looks like a shark cutting through the water like a knife, gaining on Ruccio’s boat so quickly that it might just beat him to the dock.

Dorsey only said they’d lose their jobs if I left the island before Forge came back. If I leave after he arrives, then he can’t follow through on his threat.

My feet come unstuck from the floor and I rush for the stairs. Something’s wrong with my eyes, though, because they burn, and it’s not from the wind whipping off the sea. No, they’re burning from the ridiculous urge to cry.

Because my marriage, regardless of how fake it was, is over.

And somehow, again, regardless of whether it mattered . . . that reality strikes deep into the heart of me. I failed at marriage. But it wasn’t real. It was never supposed to be real.

It doesn’t matter. Forge doesn’t care about me. All he cares about is his precious business deal.

It’s the harsh truth, and I accept it for what it is.

I also make a promise to myself—I’m never getting married again. Ever. With that vow, I shore up that wall around my heart, mentally stacking the bricks and smearing a layer of concrete over the entire thing before adding sheets of Kevlar.

My heart is off-limits.

Goliath stands at the end of the dock. I wonder if he’s waiting for Forge or if they left the biggest guy on the island as the last line of defense to keep me here. I’m honestly not sure which, because he has his back to me as I walk down the pier toward him.

Ruccio’s ginger hair blows in the wind, and his wide smile is in place when he catches sight of me. He waves, and I lift a hand in a weak imitation of excitement, because I can also see Forge.

His dark features seem more forbidding than ever. There’s no question he knows exactly what I’m planning to do. The bow of his boat lifts slightly as he pushes it faster, the sleek black tender cutting through the water like it’s no opposition at all, and it noses ahead of Ruccio. The Italian doesn’t realize he’s racing, because he’s backing off the throttle as Forge hammers his down.

I tighten my grip on the duffel bag and brace myself for the coming confrontation.





53





Forge





I haven’t lost her yet.

That’s the only thought on my mind as I engage every one of the 3700 horsepower that is harnessed in the massive engines of the Black Shiver. A Boston Whaler heads for the pier, where Indy’s blond hair whips around her shoulders, but I’m not going to let her leave without giving myself one last chance to fix this.

They always say you don’t realize the value of what you have until you lose it, and before India Baptiste, I would have sworn I wasn’t the kind of man who could be accused of that. But I am. I’m not infallible. I’m as fucking human as it gets.

I turn the boat, carving through the water, the steering wheel gripped tight in my palms. Come on. Come on.

After Karas’s come-to-Jesus talk, I know he’s right. If I want a shot at making this marriage real, I have to change how I think and what I do.