When I woke up the next morning and looked out the window, heavy hailstones were rattling against the glass. I let out an annoyed sigh and muttered, "And I thought I was on a dream island and could go swimming." Instead, the weather seemed to have decided to keep me here—with him.

With a tired groan, I swung my legs out of bed and rubbed my face. Today, I wouldn't consciously avoid him again. I had told him clearly enough yesterday what was going on. If he dared to touch me again, I wouldn't hesitate. My pistol and switchblade were always on my body. I was prepared.

Outside, the wind...