𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞〚𝚙𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 〛

Chapter 42: You did this to Yourself

The boat JJ had found to plan John B's escape was not at all what Delilah had been expecting. She whistled appreciatively at the speed boat. Although it seemed worn down by the years and the lack of care, it seemed in relatively good shape. In better shape than the old fishing boat she had imagined when Pope had explained how they were getting John B off of the island.

JJ grinned boyishly, leaning against the boat with pride. "A 1983 Formula 402 SR1, the first boat to make the run to Bermuda in under sixteen hours."

Kiara raised an eyebrow, standing beside him with her arms crossed over her chest. "She's forty years old."

JJ was not deterred, lovingly stroking the boat's hull. "And still the fastest thing Kildare's ever seen."

"It's kind of a junker."

Delilah laughed as she and Pope approached, carrying the gas. "Don't insult her, Kie."

"As long as she runs," added Pope, a smile tugging at his lips. 

She could feel his eyes on her, drinking her in, and did her best to repress the flush of her cheeks.

Kiara huffed but didn't respond, carefully observing her every movement. Delilah rolled her eyes and shot her a smile, hoping it was convincing enough. It wasn't the time to think about anything but getting their friend to safety. 

Muscles aching, she dropped the drum of gas with a heavy thud.

"Here, let me help," offered JJ, taking over the task.

His movements were careful, as if he was walking around a wild animal ready to pounce. 

She frowned, wondering what Kiara had said. JJ had never been keen on her friendship with Rafe; she could only imagine what he thought of the nasty turn the entire situation was taking. 

She stuck out her tongue at him, determined to show him she wasn't to be handled like a porcelain doll, and helped him lift the gas and coolers into the boat. 

When she turned, controlling her breathing, she caught Pope's eyes. He was frowning, worry creasing his pretty features. The red had faded from his eyes, leaving them shining with purpose. The adrenaline had succeeded in pushing away the effects of the drug, she realized with a certain satisfaction. He studied her defiant expression and rigid posture, as if he could see through her facade down to the tired shell of a girl who wanted nothing more but the day to be over. 

Shadows wove through the intelligence shining in those dark eyes of his, his jaw locking with restrained anger. The anger brought a flare of panic inside of her.

I'm fine, she mouthed, her legs itching to step away.

He shook his head. No. You're not.

Perhaps he was right. But she couldn't afford to believe it. A light shrug was all she offered as a response, quite intending to end the conversation right there. 

The screech of tires on gravel was the distraction she needed. 

Unfortunately, the truck was one she recognized all too well.

"Look who's there, Rafe," crooned Barry, slamming the truck's door shut. "It's your little fairy."

He was looking straight at her, grinning crookedly as if he knew something she didn't. 

Determined not to let show exactly how bothered she was, she loosened her features into nonchalance. She tried not to look at Rafe, did her best to ignore him, but when he called out to her in a voice that had been a source of comfort for so long, she couldn't help but turn towards him.