“Joey!” she yelps when she sees I’m not following.
“I’ll text you,” I promise, spinning on my heel and pushing past the last few stragglers on the dock. Somehow, I find all the forward momentum I couldn’t muster just moments ago and hurry back toward the house, taking big strides that send an ache resonating up my shins each time I push off the wet planks.
Another boom of thunder sounds off in the distance as my feet hit the sand, and I break into a full sprint.
Chapter 18
Josephine
TheNest.Hesaidhe’d be in the Nest.
My heart hammers a frantic rhythm as I take the deck stairs two at a time.
I tear into the house, out of breath already. I still have so far to go.
Horns blast in the distance, drawing my attention, and I peek over my shoulder as the last ferry pulls away.
My eyes water and my mouth goes dry. The sinking sensation of hopelessness—the sadness of some sort of goodbye—slams into me with an intensity I don’t have time to examine.
Lightning strikes. Thunder booms. The storm raging in my mind threatens to take me down if I don’t get the fuck away from these floor-to-ceiling windows.
I push through the thinned-out crowd in the living room with the singular goal of getting to the staircase. I’m half jogging through the house, my hurried pace and frantic drive matching the energy of the room.
When I finally get to the stairs, I gasp.
The two henchmen Decker employs to keep everyone contained block my path.
“I—I need to get up there,” I try, breathless.
Neither man moves. Neither so much as blinks. I open my mouth, ready to repeat myself, desperate to gain entry, when a hand brushes against my low back, making me practically jump out of my own skin.
“Locke!”
“Hey. I was looking for you. I was hoping—”
“I-I need to get upstairs,” I stammer.
He assesses me for a beat before nodding slowly. “Are you okay?”
Thunder crashes so loudly the windows closest to us rattle.
“The storm. The Nest. Kylian said to come to the Nest.”
“Joey—”
“Locke. Please,” I beg, my voice trembling. I’m on the verge of losing my shit. “Can you make them let me up?”
He frowns, and concern swirls in his dark eyes. I’m getting pretty damn tired of people looking at me like that tonight.
“Let her up,” he demands, looking from Thing One to Thing Two with a pointed stare.
Finally, the beefier of the two responds.
“Is she on the list?” he huffs, lifting an iPad.
“She is. Which you would know if you had been doing your job.” Locke reaches past me and unclips one side of the stanchion.
“Go on,” he whispers into my ear.