Chapter 2

Close enough to smell him.

Mint soap over tobacco and leather — the scent of him that haunted my dreams. I caught his wrist, guided him toward the bed, felt the tension in his muscles.

Like a leopard deciding whether to snap his prey's neck.

I fell back onto the mattress, looking up at him.

“Lola, I’m your...”

"I know who you are," I said. "The godfather. My father's best friend. The man who raised me. But remember that summer night, that summer night you saved me? It’s not just my life."

I took his hand. Pressed it to my chest — my heart hammering against his palm.

"You didn't just save my life. You stole my soul. It's been yours ever since."

His eyes went dark. Dangerous. Then his hand moved—

Not to caress me.

To the pillow beneath my head.

Then the gun barrel pressed under my chin. I didn't close my eyes.

I stuck out my tongue. Licked the metal.

His breath hitched. His finger whitened on the trigger. That cross tattoo swam in my vision—the one I'd seen a thousand times over these ten years. The one on the hand that held the pen when I handed him the document; on the hand that supported my waist when I was taught to swim; on the hand that fed me medicine when I had a fever last summer.

Now this hand trembled.

"I don't care," I breathed, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Next summer, I'll come again. The summer after. Every summer." I wrapped my lips around the cold steel, staring into his eyes. "Claim me. Or kill me."

Silence crushed us.

Outside, waves beat the cliffs like a heartbeat, just like they had ten years ago.

Then he threw the gun.

The Beretta hit the carpet with a dull thud. His towel fell. In one violent motion, he snatched the bedsheet, wrapped it around me—rough, angry, tucking the edges against my shoulders like he was trying to sew me inside. Hide me from the world. From himself.

"Say that again," his voice rasped, "and you'll learn what happens when you provoke me."

He killed the lights. Walked out. The door slammed in the dark.

I sat on the bed, sheet clutched to my chin, counting my heartbeats. One hundred seven. One hundred eight. One hundred nine—

"I won't give up, Uncle Asher!" I shouted into the darkness, laughing to tears. "Next summer. I'll be here. Every year! Until you say yes!"

Footsteps paused at the stairs' end. One second. Two.

Then faded away.

Moonlight spilled through the window, landing on the nightstand. On the battered teddy bear he'd given me ten years ago. Nose chewed bald by me. Ear sewn back three times.

I curled around it, buried my face in familiar fur.

Couldn't smell lavender. Couldn't smell blood.

Only smelled myself.

Exactly like ten years ago.