Dark Vengeance by Kristi Belcamino (electric book reader .txt) 📕

A few minutes later, I skidded to a halt in the parking lot of the marina, watching the lights of the ferry out at sea.

He was probably on that boat. Damn.

Hopefully, he was alone and didn’t have Rose with him.

If not, she might still be on the island somewhere. But it was a large island. She could still be anywhere on Sumatra. But something told me she was no longer there.

She wouldn’t leave Dylan behind on the smaller island.

If she had escaped from X, she would’ve immediately headed back to get Dylan before she went into hiding.

At the ticket booth, I held my phone up to show the man a picture of Rose. I slid some dollars his way.

“Have you seen her?”

The young man smiled. “Yes. She is very pretty.”

“I know,” I said, smiling back, trying to play it cool. “When did you see her?”

She’d taken the ferry this afternoon, he said. One that stopped at several islands, including the one with the surf camp. Then I showed him the photo of X.

“And this guy?”

His eyes narrowed.

“Did you see him?”

He shook his head but looked down.

I could tell he was lying.

 “When is the next ferry?”

“Tomorrow morning at six.”

“Can I buy my ticket now?”

He gave me a funny look and shook his head. Fine.

I rubbed my eyes with both palms. I couldn’t catch a break.

The young man shrugged and closed the window. A few minutes later he turned off the lights and stepped out. I watched as he unlocked a bicycle and rode away, leaving me alone in the dark. One light created a small pool of light in the parking lot.

I got on my bike. I’d find some food and a place to sleep and head back to the island early the next morning.

14

The sidewalk café had delicious food.

The maître d wasn’t happy to see me again, but did find a table for me outside, handing me a menu and then walking away stiffly, unsmiling.

I asked the waiter to order for me. He brought me some Indonesian fried rice, Balinese steamed pork wrapped in banana leaves, and a stew made with jackfruit.

After I finished eating, I planned on going back to the hotel to sweet talk the doorman into securing me a room there or somewhere else.

Meanwhile, I sipped my wine and ate my jackfruit stew, scrolling my phone.

I’d received a text earlier in the day but had ignored it in my hot pursuit of Rose and X.

Now, I opened it again.

My face grew hot.

It was Ryder. I hadn’t heard from him since the day I left Cannes.

I’d fled to Cannes purportedly to escape my life worrying and carrying about Nico. What I’d really been trying to escape was myself.

Dante had arranged for Ryder, ex-Special Forces/Secret Service, to drive me from the airport to the villa I’d rented. I immediately suspected that Dante had hired him to be my bodyguard. But, now, I wondered if Dante had put us in touch because he somehow knew that we were kindred souls?

Ryder, with his neatly trimmed goatee; his uniform of tight black jeans and black shirt; his sexy as fuck tanned, muscled, and tattooed body …

Just thinking about him sent a surge of lust through me. Damn. I was all hot and bothered just seeing his name. I hadn’t even read his message yet.

I looked around guiltily. Of course, nobody knew what I was thinking. Still, I squirmed in my seat. Maybe it was the alcohol. I hadn’t had a drink in days. I lifted my hand and ordered another. If just seeing Ryder’s name made me feel this way, I’d definitely need more booze before I read the text because it looked long.

Ryder.

After my life with Nico ended—first with Alzheimer’s disease taking him away mentally and then pneumonia taking him away forever physically—I made a vow to never fall for another man again. Nobody could compare to my greatest love, Nico, Rose’s father.

But in my efforts to drown my sorrows, I’d met Ryder in Cannes.

I’d hated him at first. Okay, hate is a strong word, but he was incredibly annoying.

And yet, somehow, he grew on me. And then out of nowhere, the most intense physical attraction developed. My body betrayed me and the slightest touch from him turned me into melted candle wax on the floor. Even seeing his name now made me crazy with desire.

But it was never meant to be. He was still grieving his dead wife, and I was about to become a widow myself when I left him in Cannes, telling him we would never work out.

So how dare he text me now? Didn’t he know I never wanted to hear from him again?

I was steaming with irritation by the time the waiter plunked the second drink down in front of me.

After I sipped half of it, I opened the text again. Part of me wanted to delete it without reading, but the other part of me was wild with curiosity.

“Mi Cariño. I don’t know what has happened. I never expected this again in my life. I thought that I would only feel this way once. How could any man possibly find this feeling again after so much loss? But I have, mi cariño. My life is dull without you. All the color is leeched from my world. Only when I think of you and making love to you, do I feel alive again. I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I had to tell you this or die.”

Or die? I had no idea Ryder was such a romantic. Or drama queen.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I mumbled. French guys just fucking laid it on the line, didn’t they? What about machismo? Or playing hard to get? Or even subtly?

Nope. None of that for Ryder. He wore his emotions openly. I hated it. I loved it.

I felt tears prick at my eyes. Fuck. Motherfuck.

Yep. Reading that text was as bad as I’d suspected it would be.

Dirty fucking pool, Ryder. We lived too far