The salty air was thick with tension as the boat rocked beneath you. The Pogues sat scattered across the deck, still reeling from what had just happened.

Rafe had helped you escape the cops. Rafe Cameron.

And now, he was tied up in the bathroom of his own boat, unconscious thanks to JJ.

“You didn’t have to hit him that hard,” Sarah muttered.

JJ scoffed. “He’s lucky I didn’t throw him overboard.”

“We still don’t trust him,” Pope added. “Just because he helped doesn’t mean he’s not playing his own game.”

The conversation stalled. The reality was clear—Rafe was on this boat, heading to Morocco with you, and no one knew what his endgame was.

“Someone needs to bring him food,” Kiara finally said.

Silence. Then, almost in sync, everyone looked at you.

You groaned. “Seriously?”

“You’re the closest to him,” Pope said.

JJ smirked. “Yeah. If anyone can handle him, it’s you.”

Grumbling, you grabbed the plate and made your way to the small bathroom. The faint sound of movement inside made your stomach twist.

Taking a breath, you unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Rafe was awake, slumped against the wall, wrists tied behind him, ankles bound. He looked up at you, sweat on his forehead from the heat inside the small bathroom.

“Room service?” he drawled. Looking at you with his usual cold eyes.