"I don't like the look of that one," Thomas whispered, nodding subtly toward Jax at the bar. "Ex-military or ex-con. Either way, he's trouble. He's scanning the room like he's planning a hit."
"He's the only one who looks like he knows what's happening," Lucas countered. "He's not drinking to forget. He's drinking to stay sharp."
"The businessman is the bigger threat," Thomas muttered, watching Marcus Sterling slam his phone down. "Panic in a man with resources is dangerous. He'll do something stupid to save himself, and he'll take us down with him."
The tension at their table was broken by a swirl of perfume and bright laughter.
Sarah Caldwell drifted over to their table, a glass of rosé in her hand. She looked ethereal in a white lace dress, her hair perfect, her smile blinding. She was the polar opposite of the grey, anxious atmosphere.
"Hi! You guys were on our flight, right?" she chirped. Her accent was American, sunny and oblivious. "Isn't this place insane? Liam thinks the cell towers are down because of the storm, but I think it's kind of romantic. A total digital detox! No emails, no Instagram. Just us."
Maggie smiled weakly, trying to match Sarah's energy. "It's... certainly quiet."
"We're planning a group bonfire on the beach tonight," Sarah continued, oblivious to the fact that Thomas was looking at her as if she were a tactical liability. "You should come! It'll be fun. We need to stick together, right? All the guests from the flight?"
"We'll see," Thomas said, his tone ending the conversation. "We've had a long day."
Sarah's smile faltered for a microsecond, but she recovered. "Okay, well, the offer stands. Life's too short to be a grump, right?"
She floated away back to Liam.
Lucas watched her go. She was so bright, so full of life. She was the "Before." And looking at her made his chest ache, because even at sixteen, he knew the "After" was already in the room. He looked at the waiter pouring water for her. The waiter's hands were shaking, a fine tremor that vibrated the glass.
"Dad," Lucas said, his voice low. "The waiter's neck."
Thomas looked. The waiter was a young Thai man, maybe twenty. As he turned his head, a network of dark, bruised veins was visible just under the skin of his neck, pulsing visibly.
"Go back to the room," Thomas said, pushing his chair back. "Now. Maggie, grab your purse."