We are baaaaack in Jude's perspective.

When I wake up, it is to the rocking of a boat and the scent of saltwater.

"Jesus fucking Christ," I mutter.

"Don't take the Lord's name in vain," says a rich male voice.

I look up—right at an Asian man in a black suit with red lapels. He grins at me, like a cat, silhouetted in the flickering lamplight that hangs from the wooden walls.

Belowdeck. We're belowdeck of a . . . ship?

"Where are we?" mumbles a woman's voice, somewhere close to me.

I'm trying to figure it out, too.

In the dim light, I manage to make out the woman slumped on the floor close by. She is wearing a violet corset with silvery straps, and her fishnet leggings glitter with a metallic shine. She is small and curvy, and the boy next to her—still asleep—is tall and thin.

And in the corner, I manage to see—

I have to contain my gasp. Alistair.

Anise's fiancé.

Which means the girl and the boy must be Alisa and Daniel.

Hunter was right.

Motherfucker. She was right. She was right and I was wrong.

But why me? Why me?

Alistair is important to Anise. Alisa and Daniel are important to Elijah.

I'm only important to Hunter, but she's not the Alpha—she's the second-in-command. So why am I a hostage?

"We're currently sailing across the Pacific Ocean."

I glance up again—at the man with the feline grace. He answered the woman's question. Where are we?

"Why?" I croak out.

I remember . . . what do I remember?

Blinking sunlight out of my eyes. Heat warming my face.

Hunter—I hope she's okay.

Worry—knowing that she's in the restaurant, alone with Elijah.

A shadow flits over the sun. So fast.

A hand raised in front of me.

I don't move, not immediately—I recognize her.

Pierce slams a rock into my head, and I black out.

Hunter had been right about her.

I would never, ever admit to her face, but . . . she had been right.

And now I was here. Supposedly, sailing across the Pacific Ocean.

"To go where?" I demand.

The last I know is that there were three hostages, taken by the Yakuza, and they would probably be in some abandoned warehouse. That was Hunter's plan, at least.

I hope she knows there's a new one.

Neither of us expected crossing the Pacific Ocean.

"We're going to Sicily," says the man. "You may call me Imai. It will be a two day journey, so I imagine we'll get quite . . . cozy."

"Come a little closer and you'll see what cozy looks like," I growl.

He only laughs. "Easy, Jude Barrow."

I shouldn't be surprised that he knows my name. He has kidnapped me, after all.

Then I hear the sound of footsteps: a woman, ducking belowdeck, her slender form visible in the half-light.

"Pierce," I snarl, and for the first time, I try to move.

My wrists are chained. And so are my legs.

Goddamn.

"Jude," she purrs softly. "You know I never wanted you to get hurt."

I am trying to reconcile this Pierce with the one who was my friend, who let me stay in her condo, who told me she was a dog whisperer.

"I'm sorry, Jude," she says, and there is real regret in her voice.

It only infuriates me.

"If you were so sorry, you wouldn't have me in chains on a ship sailing to Sicily!"

"It's necessary, you know." Pierce steps closer, suddenly in front of me, and she tilts my chin up to her.

What do I look like to her now, with my green-grey eyes wide and bruised? My face full of hatred?

I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't, but I can't stop myself.

I spit on her.

She only draws her tongue over her teeth. "A shame," she says.

I only have to wonder: A shame?

And then her head turns, so sharply I am taken by surprise and in Mandarin, she begins to order something to the man by the door.

"You have a lovely face, Jude," she says softly, her fingers gripping my jaw.

She is beautiful, her features gilded in low fire. Her uptilted eyes glittering with dark amusement. Her full mouth pursed in anticipation.

"It's too bad it won't be lovely much longer."

My heart stops beating.

She lets go of me, as though I'm poisonous, and she steps back.

Making way for the man with the black suit. Imai.

And as she disappears, I can only look at the Yakuza lord's towering figure, his sharp-cut shoulders and red-lined jacket.

He traces the knuckles of one hand with the other, as though he is an artist.

I have a bad feeling that I am about to become the canvas.

"If it's any consolation, Jude," he says in that rich voice, "this will make the next two days fly by. As a matter of fact, by the time you wake up, we should be close—if not already there."

"Come closer and I'll—" But the threat is empty. I can't move my hands, my limbs. I'm bound by metal, and Alisa stares at me helplessly.

Sheer rage sparks inside of me.

"You'll pay for this," I hiss. "When Hunter gets here—"

"Sh, sh, sh," he says soothingly, tracing the side of my face with his thumb. "Don't worry. This will hurt. But you'll thank me for it later."

I open my mouth to snarl, to bite, anything—but he has pulled back.

There is violent delight on his face now.

The first punch collides with my stomach, and the air dissolves from my lungs in a breath. I heave, shrinking back although I know it will do no good—

The second punch slams my head back against the wall.

Blood. Is that blood?

I think I'll spare you the details of this one.

When I lose consciousness, it is mercy.

I can't breathe when I wake up.

Everything hurts.

Slowly, dizzily, everything comes back to me. Every strike against my stomach, the sickening crunch of each rib, the snap of each finger.

I don't know how I'm still alive—and thank God, I don't think anything is broken.

A small mercy.

I am still on the boat—I hear the rocking of waves, the sound of the sea and distant, Italian shouting—but I am no longer belowdeck.

The four of us—Alisa, Daniel, Alistair and I—are on the starboard. Bound. Gagged with black cloth.

My jaw works, trying to unclench my teeth over the fabric.

"Don't even bother," says Imai soothingly.

I see the silhouette of Pierce standing on the dock below, surrounded by Italian merchants.

"We're at the Sicilian Harbor," Imai says. "And in . . . oh, an hour or so, your dear loved ones will be coming for you."

"Anise," Alistair gasps through the cloth.

Imai frowns. "No . . . not her. But the others."

"What do you mean, not her?" I try to spit through my gag. But Imai only shakes his head at me.

"I'm sorry, Jude, but I'm afraid you're a bit of a . . . wildcard."

When Pierce looks back up towards the ship, a speck of a figure in this distance, her eyes narrow on me. There is something cold and cruel and delighted in her face, and she is utterly beautiful—but she is terrifying, too.

Somehow, I manage to spit out the cloth—just enough to say, "Fuck yourself."

Imai's grin spreads slowly, his handsome, pale face bright under the violet of a stormy sky.

"Oh, Jude," he says. "You are more exciting than I thought you'd be."

"And you're more of a cowardly fucking asshole than I thought you'd be."

Maybe it isn't a good idea to talk back to the person who is responsible for the bruises and cuts that have my body in pain right now.

It hurts to even breathe, but somehow I let out a sharp, brittle laugh.

"I would kill you myself," I continue. "But once Hunter sees this, she'll do it for me."

Imai only laughs. And I know there will come a day when he regrets this—when he realizes just how fucking wrong he is.

I'm just hoping that today is that day.

And maybe another time, I would have gone off on a rant about how I can defend myself, but right now . . . with my ribs crackling against my skin and my lungs rasping out and the bruises branded against every inch of me . . . I don't care.

Hunter can do her fucking worst.

From down below on the dock, Pierce's black hair whips around her face. The wind is coming hard now, and she shouts above it, saying, "Shut her up before they get here!"

An hour or so.

I have to be ready. I have to be—

But Imai must realize my train of thought, because in two powerful, graceful strides, he is stuffing another cloth in my mouth.

This time, it doesn't reek of salt and dust and the sea.

Chloroform.

My head hits the wood of the ship, and the last thing I see is the black, metallic shine on the Yakuza lord's shoes.

The blue-eyed girl.

She whispers, "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course I do," I say. She is my best friend. She is my favourite person in the whole world. "You're—"

But the words stop. My jaw flexes.

I know her name. Why can't I say it?

"There was an accident, Jude," says my mother from behind me. "I was driving and . . ."

"I remember that," I say. Frustrated—I am frustrated.

"But do you remember anything before that?"

"Sure I do!" I snap. "Horrible, demonic little dogs. You teaching me karate. The night Jeremy got shot . . ."

But I trail off. That's all I remember.

And it has always been enough to make me think I knew my childhood.

It has always been enough.

It isn't anymore.

"Who is she?" I demand to my mom. "Who's the little girl? Where is she from?"

"Oh, Jude," my mother says. "You already know."

I wake up thinking, No, I don't fucking know.

Rain moisturizes the air, and I feel the slickness of it against my face.

The ocean, crashing against the side of the boat.

Next to me, Alisa's eyes are wide and terrified. Daniel is still sleeping next to her, but Alistair's dark gaze lingers on me when he notices me.

All of our gags have been taken off. And so have our blindfolds.

Gingerly, I try to move—and realize I am no longer chained.

"We're free," I gasp. "Did Hunter—did the Wolves—are they here?"

I look around wildly, getting to my feet even as my entire body screams. But there is no one around—no one but us four.

"What?" I breathe. "What's—"

We are alone. We are entirely alone.

Because far off in the distance, I can see the thin black line that must be the dock—the shore.

And we are still on the ship, slowly drifting away from the harbor.

"They . . . set us loose?" I say slowly.

Alistair's eyes blaze. His sharp face twists, and I realize, then—what this means.

He says, "Did you think the Yakuza were so foolish they would just leave us there, so close to freedom? All it would take is for the Wolves and the Saints to knock them out, and we'd be free. They'd lose. No, they're smarter than that."

Alisa's round eyes are wide and devastated and shining with tears.

"There's a bomb," she says. "A bomb on the ship. We overheard them talking and . . ."

"As soon as the Yakuza get their money, once Anise and Hunter and the Saints are on this ship, they kill all of us."

My blood thins in my veins. My heart stops.

"We have to warn them," I say desperately. "We have to—"

Alistair kicks a black gadget across the starboard. A two-way radio. "You try talking to those sick bastards," he snarls.

With trembling hands, I pick up the walkie-talkie. "Imai?"

As though he has been waiting, his rich laugh crackles across the radio.

"Oh, Jude, how nice to hear from you," he says. "I was waiting for you to wake up, and you're right on time, too. Your friends have just arrived."

"You mean . . . Hunter and Anise and Elijah are here?"

Imai's voice pauses. "Well, two out of the three."

Please let it be Hunter, I think. And then I remember what he said before, about Anise being gone.

I look over at Alistair. His face is stone.

The wind lashes through my hair, against my face.

The first of the rain begins to fall.

"Why are you doing this?" I demand. "I don't understand, I—"

"Would you like to speak to your mother?"

"What?" I choke out.

Hunter and I agreed she had only imagined seeing my mother that day, when we were chasing outside of the mall. And how could Hunter possibly know what my mom looks like? It's not like she—

You already know. The dream.

The blue-eyed girl. My best friend. My—

Before I can gather my thoughts, before I can even stammer out a word, there is a newer, softer voice on the phone. A woman's voice. This isn't possible.

You're dead, I think.

"Hello, Jude," says my mother.

>>>

I'm thinking I might write a couple more chapters with Hunter, because I really, really miss her voice. Thoughts?

CHRISTMAS IS SO SOON.

From the moon and back,
Sarai

>>>

I'm going to cry now, bye.

From the moon and back,
Sarai