Does It Hurt?: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

Never thought I’d see another dead body.

Let alone two.

I stare at them with utter desolation. Blood is everywhere. All over the floor, splattered across the kitchen counters and walls. All over me. It’s… all over me.

Enzo is setting down the weapon and prowling toward me, a savage expression on his face. His brows are pinched, a frown tugs down his lips, and little droplets of blood are scattered across the side of his cheek from when Kacey was shot.

He looks like a valiant king walking off the battlefield, returning to his queen after a hard-fought war.

Is this what it feels like to be treasured?

“Hello? Is anyone still there?”

“We need to answer them,” I say. When he reaches me, he crouches and lowers his chin, catching my eyes. 

“You know what will happen once we do.”

My bottom lip trembles. “The coast guard comes.”

“The coast guard comes,” he repeats. “And they find a fugitive.”

I nod, dropping my gaze. I will have to go to prison for my crime and never see Enzo again. The former feels like when the other shoe finally drops. It’s almost a relief as much as it is heartbreaking. And the latter feels like a punch to the gut—hard enough to make me nauseous.

In all my years, I’ve never allowed myself to grow attached to anyone. It was impossible to when I knew I’d have to run again. Not only did I never want to risk being held down in one place, where I could eventually be caught, but I never wanted to put anyone else in the crossfire of my deception.

By the look on Enzo’s face, he looks prepared to grab my web of lies and wrap the strings around himself. But he’d only be creating a noose out of them.

It feels too simple to say that I’m in love with him. Maybe because I’ve known him for so little time, and we’ve already gone through hell together. Maybe even because we had a strong connection from the beginning, but it was so visceral and fueled by pain and rage that whatever it has morphed into is beyond a simple, sweet love.

“It’s what I deserve,” I mumble.

His finger notches my chin, forcing my gaze back up to him.

Enzo grips me by the back of my neck, holding me in place and tipping his chin down until he’s staring me deep in the eyes.

“You deserve the worst fucking punishment for what you’ve done,” he growls before slowly swiping his tongue across his bottom lip.

Mesmerized, my own lips part as his heated words burrow deep beneath my skin, setting me aflame. 

“No one is capable of making you suffer more than me.”

There’s a rational part of me that reacts normally to his wicked implication—fear, adrenaline. But a larger part has always ruled my worst decisions, and I can’t help but feel thrilled. Excited.

“You’re not fucking leaving me, Sawyer. You’re not going to jail. You’re not going anywhere. You want to pay for your crimes? Good. I’m more than happy to make you pay. And if you think for one goddamn second that I’m letting you go, then I look forward to showing you just how trapped you are with me. 

“There are many things you deserve, bella ladra, but the only prison you will be a captive in is one of my own making. If my love is a prison, so be it.”

I can only gape at him, my heart fluttering from his devilish words. They’re so wrong, yet so tempting.

“So be it,” I rasp.

Whatever fire began from beneath the floorboards has transferred to the depths of his eyes. Heat spreads throughout my bones, and I can only wonder if I’ve inhaled too much smoke, creating nothing more than a fever dream before I die. Is this my body’s way of telling me that I’m no longer amongst the living? My only response would be that I’ve never felt more alive.

Enzo’s lips softly brush against my own, and my eyelashes flutter closed, overcome with the remnants of his devotion.

“The day you stole from me was the best day of my life,” he whispers against my lips. “Because then you became my life, and I don’t want it back. I won’t fucking take it.”

I’m beginning to tremble, so he captures my bottom lip between his teeth, sensing the rising emotion in my throat. He pulls me into a kiss so powerful, it feels as if the fire did consume me, and I’m melting into the cracks of the wood beneath his palms.

I’m weightless as he gathers me closer, moving his lips over mine savagely.

But it’s over too soon, and he tears himself away from the vortex he so unapologetically pulled me into.

I chase after his mouth, but he directs my head down, and I slump against him as his lips press into my forehead.

The distinct voice of someone calling over the radio slices through the lingering tension between us. 

“What are we supposed to do?” I ask, my voice still hoarse. “We can go to a different country that won’t turn me in to the authorities. But I could never ask that of you. Not with your whole life and career here.”

He turns his head to peer over his shoulder at Kacey and Sylvester, and he stays like that for several drawn-out moments. By the time he’s turning back to me, there’s a spark of determination in his eyes, accompanied by a note of regret.

“We don’t have to go anywhere.”

“What will we do then?”

“If you want to live free for the rest of your life, then you need to kill Sawyer Bennett.”

My mouth parts in surprise. That was the last thing I was expecting him to say.

“Oh, man. Please tell me this isn’t a fucked-up way of saying you’re going to kill me, too?”

His face drops with exasperation. “No, baby. I’m saying there is a girl here who has no real identity outside of Raven Isle. That could also be you. And Sawyer Bennett was an unfortunate soul who wrecked on this island years ago, only to take her own life.”

My brows pinch and I shake my head with bewilderment as I process what unhinged shit is coming out of his mouth. “So, you want me to pretend that I’m Trinity? And then say that a Sawyer Bennett was taken hostage and died?”

He nods slowly.

“You would have to lie, Enzo. For me,” I tack on.

The way he stares at me has my stomach fluttering, unleashing winged beasts inside. He looks as if he’s a tortured man who has been presented with freedom, and the only way to obtain it is by taking it from me.

“I would lie for you as easily as I would kill for you. If you getting the best of me requires the world getting the worst of me, you will want for nothing in life, bella ladra.”

I swallow, but the moisture in my mouth has dissipated. For the first time, I feel like Enzo is exactly who I deserve, and I’m determined to reciprocate that.

“I will do whatever I can to make sure you never have to lie for me again,” I vow, my voice hoarse with emotion.

“I know, baby,” he says. He glances back at the bodies, then refocuses on me. “Were you ever fingerprinted?”

“No,” I confirm, shaking my head. “I was never brought in.”

“Good, then they won’t be able to identify you. With two dead bodies, they’re going to investigate, and we need a story. Rather than telling them who you actually are, tell them you were born and raised on Raven Isle and were trapped here against your will alongside your sister, Kacey. No one knows you were with me that day, so I will say that I shipwrecked and swam here on my own. I found out what Sylvester was doing to you two, and it resulted in a confrontation where he tried to kill me and accidentally shot Kacey instead—that part is true, at least. So, I defended myself and killed him.”

“You don’t think burning through his throat with a gun won’t be a little suspicious? That’s not how normal people kill.”

He cocks a brow. “First off, there is no such thing as a normal killer. And do I need to remind you of Kacey’s face? They will see that, too. I’ll tell them the barrel of the gun was laying in the fire and had no bullets, so I was forced to improvise. I think they’ll let it go.”

“What about me? The real me—not the Trinity me.”

“Sylvester has a gravesite in the cellar below. One of them is you.”

I rear back in shock. It feels like he reached into my chest and fisted my heart until it’s mush. Sylvester’s been killing people for God knows how long. They must’ve been from the freight ships or maybe from those seeking shelter from a storm. And he just… murdered them.

“What if none of the skeletal remains match? What if they’re all men or something? Or can be identified by their teeth?”

“Then we hope they assume that Sylvester disposed of the body elsewhere. But you’re the real Sawyer, and we can make sure there’s evidence that you were here.”

Twisting my lips, I contemplate that. My freedom isn’t riding on if I can convince them that I was here—only if I can convince them that I am not her.

My eyes slide over to Kacey lying on the floor, lifeless and leeching of warmth by the second. It feels grimy to take advantage of her death. To pretend to have suffered alongside her and claim a story that isn’t mine.

But it’s my only way out if I want to live freely and not have to restart in another country. Away from Enzo.

Maybe it’ll be the last shitty thing I’ll ever have to do.

Focusing back on Enzo, I slump my shoulders and nod.

“Okay,” I agree. “I’ll be Trinity. And Sawyer will die with the rest of them.”

The freezing ocean water licks at my calves, sending a wave of goosebumps across my skin. The sand is drug out from beneath me as the sea’s chilly fingers retreat. The sun will rise within the hour, and it’s still cold, but I see it. Gleaming beneath the bright beacon light.

Enzo stands behind me, arms crossed and a frown marring his face as he stares out at the approaching coast guard boat. Twenty-four days on this island, yet it feels like it’s been years.

Sadness punches me right in the chest. Kacey should be out here, too. Sitting beside me and waiting for her rescue. 

Enzo’s already spent the last five minutes arguing with me to get out of the water before I catch a cold. His eye started twitching when I told him I’m very good at dodgeball and promised to duck if I saw a cold coming my way.

I thought it was funny.

I flip the letter in my hand, the sole evidence that Sawyer Bennett lived and died on Raven Isle.

It feels like forever ago when I was sitting on a beach, smoking a cigarette and wishing for death with a man I never learned the name of.

Now here I am, once more sitting on a beach, but no longer wanting anything to do with cigarettes, and behind me is a man I’ll never forget.

Despite all that, I still have the same conclusion. Death—cancer—it all tastes like shit.

It takes another ten minutes before the boat reaches us, and the moment it does, I’m reduced to a pile of blubbering emotions. Tears are springing to my eyes, and I’m not sure whether to feel relief or anxiety.

This won’t be the first time I’ve had to pretend to be someone I’m not. But this just might be the last.