Fuck. Here goes nothing. I throw the door open and dash for my bedroom, slamming it shut behind me before locking it and shoving the deadbolt in place.

I clamber for my bedside table, whipping it open and faltering at the sight that greets me. Maybe putting a hunting knife next to my monster dildos wasn’t the best idea.

Shoving the toys aside, I grab the mini taser then change into a practical pair of shorts before locking myself back in my workroom.

It’s going to be a long night.

I’m seeing triple.

My blood sugar is shot from the adrenaline rush I’ve been riding for the last fifteen hours.

I’m on three hours of sleep.

Every time I turn my head, I’m hit with a wave of exhaustion.

I’m convinced Tommy is sitting in the back seat of the car.

My painkillers have made me drowsy, but it’s done fuck all to get rid of the pins and needles assaulting half my arm—not to mention the near-agonizing pain every time I move my elbow.

To top it off, I’m stuck in rush-hour traffic because my fucking supplier thought five o’clock in the middle of Seminyak was a good time to do a drop.

I spent the whole day messing around with my cameras to figure out if the anomaly was intentional or a fault on my part. When I couldn’t get to the bottom of it, I installed a couple of sensors that link to a silent alarm in my bedroom.

Droplets of sweat trickle down my spine, burning the inflamed, still-healing tattoo rubbing painfully against my cotton tank top.

The AC in Nat’s car isn’t strong enough. I feel like I need to throw myself into the water just to wake up—and Jesus fucking Christ, this weather is going to be the death of me if Tommy’s family doesn’t kill me first.

I pull up into a free parking spot on the side of the road and say a silent prayer before stepping out of the car. My equilibrium shifts, and I nearly trip over my feet while doing a 360 check of my surroundings.

Balancing myself on the dirty car, I avoid a near collision with a motorbike and hustle to the sidewalk. I scrub my clammy face, willing myself to wake up so I can pay proper attention. But the world is too loud. Too busy. There’s too much everything.

Too many people want to kill me. I’m in a constant state of fatigue. I need a twenty-four-hour nap. I like my life here—or, at least, I liked it better when the only soul who visited me was Deedee.

I considered booking a hotel room tonight so I can sleep without fear, but I figured if I’m going on the run, I need to save all the money I can. There’s no point wasting it for a single night of reprieve.

Tourists and locals mingle in the street, getting from point A to B or sitting back, taking drags of a cigarette. As always, nobody pays me any mind, but it still feels like I have a thousand pairs of eyes trained on me.

I keep my head down, fighting the ripples of fatigue as I keep my eyes peeled, passing a few more stores before crossing the road into an air-conditioned smoothie joint. Once I have my order in hand, I settle in the seat near the back of the store with a clear view out the front window, waiting for Wayan. If I spot one of the Gallaghers, I’ll have a few second head start to make a run for it.

Deedee may have vouched for Wayan, but I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. The guy rubs me the wrong way.

The pressure in my head grows with the ever-present feeling of doom. The dread doesn’t pair well with my smoothie, but I force myself to polish it off, swallowing down the bile. I need all the energy I can get. Forgetting to eat all day was also a bad move on my part.

My gaze flicks in the direction of the beach. It’s been days since I’ve been out in the water. If I live to see tomorrow, I’ll go.

Maybe for the last time.

My leg shakes restlessly. I check my phone at five o’clock on the dot to see a text come in from Wayan that he’s going to be forty minutes late.

Fucking prick.

That’s another forty minutes of me being out in the open.

I shift in my seat, pushing myself up against the wall, flinching whenever someone walks in or when there’s a loud noise. Even though it’s not my place, I send a frustrated message to Deedee about her supplier. They might be friends, but I don’t care at this point. It’s plain rude and disrespectful to send that type of text at the exact time you’re meant to meet.

Wayan doesn’t pull up across the street from the smoothie joint until an hour and half later. I would’ve gone straight home if I didn’t need the supplies to make more chips and fix one of the machines at the factory.

I sway as I jump to my feet. The world is vibrating with colors and sounds I swear I can smell. I blink back the exhaustion from my eyes and storm across the street, narrowly avoiding a collision as I slip into the front seat of his car. The plan was to meet inside, but fuck it. I’ll get in. I can’t sit in there for any longer.

I have a gun in my bag, a switchblade in my boot, and a modified taser in my pocket. If Wayan wants to fuck around, he’ll find out.

The car unlocks as I approach. The constant state of anxiety has strung me so tight, I’m about to snap.

“What the fuck do you call this time?” I fume, slamming the door behind me. Cigarette smoke and BO slams into me, and I almost swing the door back open to escape it.

My brows spear into my hairline when he holds a hand up to my face without looking at me.

You know what? I might kill him too.

Wayan prattles off a string of words in Bahasa, throwing his hands up in annoyance before pointing angrily at the tourists in front of the car as if they’re the ones on the other end of the phone. He says his goodbye in the form of an aggressive tap before chucking his phone on top of the four others sitting in the center console.

Oh, good. It looks like we’re both in a splendid mood.

“Let’s make this quick, ya?” he mutters, scowling. “I have things to do.”

“So do I,” I snap. “I don’t appreciate being told you’re late at the time you’re meant to be here.”

He glowers at me, and I return the glare tenfold. I flinch when he reaches behind me, and I quickly right myself to pretend it never happened. He unceremoniously drops a box onto my lap.

“Careful,” I hiss. Gripping the container, I send a scathing sneer his way.

His shrug sends a bolt of irritation through me. I grit my teeth and focus on checking the wafers. If he broke any of them with that little stunt, I’m ripping his head off.

Attempting to ignore the low throbbing in my arm and my blurring vision, I unlatch the box to check it.

What kind of sick joke is this? “Where the fuck is it?” I’m not in the mood for any of this bullshit—or any bullshit, for that matter.

He doesn’t look at me. He just takes a deep drag of his cigarette. “Pirates,” is all he offers as an explanation.

My stomach sinks. “Tell me everything,” I demand.

Wayan shrugs, rolling down the window to flick the ash out onto the sidewalk. “Got there, and it was already empty.”

I stare at his side profile. “And?”

“The courier said it was pirates. That’s all I know.”

It’s fine.

It’s fine.

Fuck.

It’s not fine. We need those wafers to make the next batch.

“And the parts I ordered for the machine?”

Wayan nods at the empty container. “Gone.”

I gawk at him, dipping into my energy reserves to stop myself from blowing up at him. “And you couldn’t have called me about this so I didn’t come out all this way for nothing?”

An hour and half, I waited, and for what? The time I could’ve spent dealing with my security breach could’ve been the difference between life and death.

I feel like I’m about to lose my mind. I want to smack him upside the head, or maybe just hit someone in general.