I haven’t confronted Lachlan about what I heard. Or what I think I heard. I’m still not entirely sure if I imagined it, or if it was some sleep-induced hallucination.
The alcohol, maybe.
I keep circling back to my initial thoughts of him. Is he secretly a murderer? Murder for hire? Drug dealer? Mafia?
Could I ignore those things because everything else about him is perfect?
“Why does your face look like that?” Liv lifts her sunglasses, her face turned towards me. We’re on the top deck of the ship getting a much-needed tan. The men are utilizing the gym, though I imagine Lachlan is avoiding Issac at all costs.
Not that I blame him. I may have considered pushing him overboard a dozen times.
“Like what?”
I try to cool my expression, but Liv lets out a giggle, “Like you’re constipa
