Locked (Savage Men 2)

“Don’t die on me, not now,” I say. “I’m sorry, about everything. Don’t leave me, please.”

“I’m … here.” His words as he struggles to even breathe make the tears roll down my cheeks.

“I love you. I do.” Hope and pain fill my words.

It’s not a lie. It’s one of the few things I’ve said recently that was actually true.

I can’t hate this man … this man who stole my heart.

I just hope I can save him in time before he goes down with it.

By the time the boat is approaching the island, I’ve already gone to the beach and held guard next to Lock’s body, which I dragged all the way out here. I’ve even placed a few big leaves over his body so he won’t burn and given him plenty of water. It still won’t make him better.

He needs a doctor ASAP.

I wave and wave the torch as hard as I can, not giving up until they finally see the fire and smoke. And us.

They have to.

They must.

Either that, or they’re headed straight for a collision course toward this island.

Accompanying Song: “The Void” by IAMX

A smaller boat approaches the beach while the bigger boat remains out at sea. My heart is skipping beats as it comes closer, and I scream out loud to let go of all the pent-up frustration and happiness. “Over here! Please!”

Tears stream down my face when they come ashore, and I quickly run toward them. “Please, you have to help us.”

“What happened?” a man says as he jumps out of the small boat and walks to the shore.

“I got stranded here after our helicopter crashed. People died,” I say, frantically naming only the most important things because every second counts. “This man got attacked by a tiger.” I point at Lock. “Please, you have to help us get off the island. Take us to a hospital,” I beg.

The man glances behind him and whistles at the rest of the guys to step off the boat too.

“We’ll help you, ma’am. Don’t worry,” he says.

At that moment, all the built-up stress and anxiety pours out of me, and I fall to the ground, crying happy tears that mark the sand.

Finally … help has come.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Accompanying Song: “She Remembers” by Max Richter

Juliet

On the boat, they took care of us, gave Lock medicine, bound his wounds, and gave him painkillers. They gave us proper clothes and food and water, and they gave me a cabin to sleep in.

I was so tired, I slept through a storm. I can’t even remember the waves crashing against the ship. All I know is that the pillow underneath my head felt so good.

I guess I had to process everything that happened in my own way … with a good night’s sleep.

When I wake up, I take my first real shower. The water pouring down on my face feels so nice, but it doesn’t make me happy. Doesn’t make me smile as I thought it would.

I step out, dry off, and put on a pair of actual pants and a shirt I found in the closet. Not my size, but it’ll work. I look at myself in the mirror and give myself a fake smile, which dissipates immediately.

I can’t be happy when Lock isn’t.

Can’t be sitting here, pretending everything is okay when he might be dying.

I even feel guilty for sleeping so long and for taking a shower when I don’t even know how he’s doing.

I immediately march out of my room, not even giving a shit about the two men guarding my door. “Hey, where you going?”

“Lock,” I bark back, not looking back as I go to the back of the ship. To the place I last saw him.

When I enter the room, a bunch of people surround him. One of them is monitoring his health, and the other is taking measurements and whatnot. I don’t know what they’re doing, but it’s not making him better.

The moment they spot me, they stop and stand.

“Juliet, you’re awake,” the captain says.

“Yes. How is he?” I ask.

“Better than yesterday, but he’s not out of the woods yet.”

I swallow and nod. “Can I …?”

“Of course,” he says, and he beckons the rest of his crew to depart the room.

Before they all leave, he says, “We’ll dock in an hour or so, so prepare yourself. I’ve already called for an ambulance, which should take you both to a hospital. The medics will take over from there.”

“Thank you,” I say, smiling even though it’s forced.

He closes the door and leaves me alone with Lock.

I go to my knees and grab his hand. I squeeze. There’s no response.

I touch his face and caress him gently, but the more I do, the harder he begins to breathe, so I stop.

Bandages cover his whole waist—some just redone, some soaked in blood. The bite wound on his shoulder looks painful … horribly painful. And he’s so damn cold. I wonder if he’ll make it out alive.