by Ann Denton
"Question is, are you crazy enough to fuck me here in this pool?" Alec nuzzles my hair as he asks the question.
My heart pumps faster. Heat gathers at my center. “After what you just did, it’s not that much more. Is that what you want?” I ask. But as my mind reboots, thoughts of Heather and her guys come back online. The sick guilty feeling doesn’t return. But the sense of urgency, the need to get to them, to help if we can, does.
Alec leans to the side to look at me. And it’s as if he can read my thoughts. "Not yet."
I give him a little shrug. "Sorry."
"No sorry allowed." He flips me back around to face him. I straddle his hips as he pulls my skirt back down over my ass.
On the shore, Danny calls out, “Boo!” as he senses the end of the show.
Alec ignores him, dragging his hand up my side until he can cup my chin. He places a chaste kiss on my lips. He pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. For a minute, we just breathe each other in. Then he asks, "Head clear? Are you ready to hike back down and make a plan for what we're gonna do when we get there?"
I nod.
"Good." He smacks my ass and drops me in the water. I’m not expecting it and fall backward, my face slipping under the surface of the shallow pool.
"Dick wad!" I call out after I surface, spluttering again. Alec is already wading back to shore on his own.
He turns back over his shoulder and grins. "That's what you get for mixing me up with a nice guy!"
I flip him off. But the inside of my chest blooms like one of those time-lapse roses. Dammit all. Alec might not want to be called a nice guy. But I know better.
Chapter Twelve
Heather
Apparently, essence of lime is flammable. I have to ask what the fuck essence is.
It’s really fucking annoying to have gap-toothed, loony prepper Jeremiah sneer at me and say, “The peel, grated,” like I’m some uncouth, backwoods idiot. Excuse me, I’m not the one who grew up digging holes to poop in, thank you.
For some reason—that I don’t ask about after the stupid lime essence Q&A—lime plus a pressure cooker or two, plus whatever the hell else … equals explosion.
Jeremiah’s been bustling around the kitchen grabbing and sawing things apart. He’s pulled apart Kenneth’s recipe printer and extracted a ‘laser diode’ or something. He shoved that into a flashlight. And he’s got a whole pile of crap next to him on the floor at the back of the kitchen and he’s looking happy as a pig in slop.
Andrew’s busy measuring out and mixing different amounts of bleach and rubbing alcohol and then dipping rags in his little mix. We each get one to hide under our ass because, apparently, that combo makes chloroform. The better to knock the Ruskies out with … if it comes to that.
Next to him is a container of oven cleaner. He’s cut off and peeled back the lid. We’re apparently gonna take that and a bottle of bleach with us on the run, because homemade fucking mustard gas is a solid backup plan.
BJ is over at his table, using a knife sharpener to sand down the edges of pie pans. Because he “rocks the disc golf, yo”—his words, which somehow justify him turning pie pans into Xena-like death chakras. Because Xena powers are a real thing.
All this shit makes my teeth clench. But it’s better than feeling powerless. Even if we fuck ourselves up, it’s better than handing everything over to the damn Russians. If Katie made it out of here alive and I don’t … at least I took care of all that lawyer shit right away and she’ll get my money. But she’d better not give a goddamned cent to her black-mouthed mother. Fuck. I shoulda’ put that in the requirements. If I make it off this island, it’s getting added, I think, as I grab another lime.
We’re all working in our respective “tied up” spaces, so that when the Russians get back, we can just throw our stuff on the shelves under the worktables and act all forlorn. But I got stuck grating limes for the bomb. As if I’m the dunce of this group. Grating limes is like cutting men’s hair—boring and simple as fuck. It’s all tiny little trims that are dull. After an hour, I start grating in a spiral pattern just for something to do.
“How much a’ this shit do you need?” I ask for the twentieth time. Ugh. I never went on road trips, so I never got the chance to experience the dullness that is miles and miles of flat land punctuated by occasional roadkill. My parents were always too strung out for that shit. But still. This sitting in the same spot and doing the same thing is about to drive me bananas. Can’t I do something bigger? More important than damn limes?
“Why don’t we play a game?” Andrew suggests.
“Anything!” I respond. “I’m dying.”
“Never have I ever—” BJ suggests.
I laugh. “Dunno that you’ll find much I haven’t tried.”
Jeremiah even grins from whatever electrical crap he’s working on. “I mightta’ won that game before we got here, but now, shit, orgies, food sex, getting kidnapped by gunmen—”
“One round,” BJ insists. “Let’s just see if I can stump you.”
I finish grating one lime and grab another as I say, “Give it your best shot.”
BJ thinks awhile. “Never have I ever swam with sharks.”
All of us stop what we’re doing and look up. “Dammit!”
BJ laughs and slaps his knee. “Yes!”
I point my grater at him. “Just so you know, I’m pretty sure Katie had something like that lined up for us.”
BJ shudders. “No way. Out. Sharks are a no go.”
“I didn’t know they had a lot of sharks near here,” Jeremiah says.
“It’s the ocean—” My sentence is interrupted by footsteps on the path outside.
We all freeze for a second in panic. Andrew’s the first to recover. “Shit. Quick, hide everything and tie yourself up!”
We all start shoving bowls and crap under the tables. Luckily, that Kenneth guy used every spare inch of storage space. So I don’t think the mobsters will notice that we’ve moved things around. I toss my tools under the table I share with Andrew. I start to shove my limes under there. All the guys are already re-tying their hands—they didn’t have to put away twenty damn limes. Fuck! My hands shake with nerves and the new lime I’d just started to grate rolls away from me. I shove the rest of the limes into the bag and under the table. Then I scramble on my knees toward that green motherfucker.
The door starts to open.
Shit! I ditch the lime and crawl back to my spot, boobs banging my damn arms every few seconds. I tie myself up next to Andrew with shaking hands and sit my ass down on my chloroform rag to hide it. I’m still pulling the rope tight with my teeth when the Russians walk in.
“You won’t get out so easy,” Suity McGunpants mocks me.
I drop my mouth from the rope and glare at him. Little does he know. Idiot. Fuck. I have to fight a smirk. I suck at being all passive and shit. But I gotta try. Channel Katie, I tell myself. Channel the fuck out of Katie.
Rubin picks up the lime I dropped. “What is this?” He rolls it over, examining it. Luckily, I’d just started zesting, so there’s only a small chunk where the peel is worn down to the white pith.
Crap!
My eyes dart to Jeremiah, and his eyes widen in a “do something” glare. Fuck him! Fuck! What do I do?
“I was hungry,” Andrew says. “We’ve been here all fucking day. I got desperate.”
Oh, thank goodness. Andrew to the rescue. Shit. I try to keep the relief off my face and somehow end up crinkling my nose.
“Yes, it’s gross,” Rubin agrees with me, tossing the lime on the table. “The peel is not good to eat.”
“Well, maybe if you’d give us something to eat,” Andrew mutters, as if he’s bitter and his belly isn’t full.
Damn. He’s a good actor. I bet he’d be great at sex role play. My lady bits agree, reminding me that I haven’t had an orgasm since yesterday. That’s the longest I’ve gone on this island without one.
Suity sneers down at me. "She
sign papers, you get food."
I turn to the twins. "Are you really gonna let this asshole deprive me of food? You gonna let him speak to your future wife this way?" My sentence is too long. It's taking too long for comprehension to dawn. I dumb it down. "Marriage papers? Me? Punch him."
Rubin and Reval look at each other and bite their lips. They look torn about what to do. Ugh. Part of me loves that they kind of want to obey my order. And part of me hates that they’re stupid enough to think that might be a good idea.
Rubin does turn to Suity. “You’d do well not to …” he trails off but gestures at me.
It’s a start. Given the fact that he’s a pussy, those are practically fighting words from Rubin.
Suity is not torn up about being a jerk. He seems to embrace it. He pulls the lime off the table and drops it. He kicks the lime at me and says, "If you're hungry, go ahead. Eat. I will watch."
Dammit all to hell. Mother fucker. I don't want to eat this fucking lime. I want to kick it away. But that will just start shit up. Ok, focus. I don't want them to stay here. Right now, I just want to go back to grating limes in peace. I want Jeremiah to finish this damn bomb so we can attack.
I need to figure out something that will keep them away from the guys and out of the kitchen for a couple of hours. I rack my brain as I slowly pick up the lime and press it to my lips, trying to act compliant and gain the twins’ sympathy. I bite into it and juice squirts all over me. My toes curl at the combination of bitter and sour and utter nastiness. It kind of reminds me of Shane Paul's spunk.
Spunk. That does give me an idea. And idea for something I can do, something Jeremiah and the other guys can’t. Something important. I swallow down the nasty lime juice and try to think of how to word this properly. I have to be convincing. I have to make them think I’m telling the truth. That I care and shit and this isn’t just a ploy. The twins. The twins are the key. Betraying motherfuckers. But they’re weak. Mushy and shit. They think our skin-to-skin contact means something more than a quick O. If I want to see them fly sky high, I need Andrew and company to finish that fucking bomb.
I eye Rubin and Reval, the hot-as-sin fakers. I’m gonna have to get the others to follow along, but I need to bait this hook. My eyes lock on Rubin. And I turn on seductive voice, like I’m tuning into the old Delilah show on the radio. "I'm hungry … but not just for food. I haven't had an orgasm since yesterday." Orgasm is a word I know these assholes know. I taught it to them.
Immediately, Rubin's eyes light up. "You want help?"
I lick my lips so that I don’t laugh at how easy his interest sparks. Distracting them and getting them out of here might be easier than I thought. "Yes, my fingers can't reach deep enough. I need dick."
Blob turns to the other guys. "I feel like this is not real.”
I turn around and ask Rubin and Reval. "Have you told him about your orgasm board?"
The twins started an orgasm board the first time we had sex. It’s a scoreboard they keep posted in the living room of their villa. They’ve been having a competition to see who could give me more orgasms. It's part of why they’ve gotten to stick around so long on this goddamn island.
"Tell this guy about the time you gave me ten orgasms in one sitting," I urge the twins. “How you used the shower sprayer—”
“Shower?” Blob asks.
“Yes, and tongues, and vibrators, and the double team …” Rubin and Reval are pitching tents through their pants at my words. “You guys have made me addicted to dick."
The twins swell up with pride. Literally swell. Rubin, I think he might be the slightly dimmer one, takes a step toward me. But Suity grabs his shoulder.
An argument in Russian erupts. Broken English phrases shoot out of the twins’ mouths. "Is true!" and “Tiger style!” and "Full train, six guys, one night." That makes Blob and Suity go quiet for a second. When Reval mentions the double facial, they all turn and stare at me for a second.
“No,” Blob shakes his head. “No woman does this.”
I raise an eyebrow and nod, giving him a naughty little grin. “I love facials.” Total fucking lie. But—whatever it takes. I need to get these guys out of here. I need to get them to fuck me like I used to get those dickwads at the sex club to fuck me to make Shane Paul jealous. Only this time, my goal’s bigger. I’m gonna fuck them so that we can kill them.
The argument starts up again and the Russians form a huddle. While they’re turned away, I shove the chloroform rag from under my ass to under the table, in case this crazy stunt works out. I can’t tell, but I fucking hope my pity facial is pushing me toward the win.
While the Russians argue, I make eye contact with the other three guys who are tied up. I mouth to Andrew, “I'm going to try and get them out of here and keep them distracted.” In case he’s not sure what I mean, I add, “with sex.”
Andrew rolls his eyes and nods. “Obviously,” he mouths back.
“You okay with that?” I mean, I kinda already started down this path, but shit. I don’t wanna hurt Andrew. Or piss him off.
He mimes a silent explosion with his mouth and hands and then winks.
Fuck yeah. I love how we’re always on the same page. I wink back.
I think the facial thing might have made Blob interested, at least. I just need to push them over the edge, so to speak. I reach down my body. The ropes don’t have a ton of slack, but I'm able to pinch my nipples. Reval stops talking first. Then Blob turns to look at me. When Rubin turns, I leave one hand on my breasts and lift my free hand to my mouth. I swirl my pointer finger around my tongue. Then I drag it back down my chest and trace the other nipple. I groan.
Suity and J2 finally cave and looks at me. I pinch my nipples, tugging on them, enjoying the sensation of having all eyes in the room on me. I've always loved attention. I love the ability to drive men wild. My chest fills with that wanton rush of sexual power—their desire—as my hands wander down my belly. I part my legs and let the Russians stare at my gaping slit. I pull aside the lips, letting them see the rosy center. Then I start sliding my fingers up and down along the sides, teasing myself, but not going right for the clit. I close my eyes and throw my head back, playing it up more than I really feel it. "Rubin. Reval. I need you. And your friends. I need it. Have to have sex.”
There’s more arguing in Russian. But it’s low and frantic, not loud like before. I start moving my hand faster and the arguing sputters out to grumbles and then murmurs and then nothing. I hear a footstep on the tile floor come closer to me. The smile that stretches across my face has nothing to do with my impending orgasm. It has to do with the fact that I'm about to win.
Chapter Thirteen
Katie
We hike down, dragging Peter Brown with us. He protests at first, but then we remind him there’s a doctor on the island—Andrew. Since he’s grunting and groaning with every step from the damned bites and can hardly twist, (he’s seriously as swollen as a misshapen balloon) he shuts up. He hangs at the back of the group with Alec, who has undone enough of Sports Coat’s legs for the guy to walk, but keeps an arm threateningly on the other guy’s shoulder, gun in hand—just in case.
Kenneth, Danny, and I discuss how the hell we might take out the remaining gangsters and the two backstabbing twins. My three guys, a limping and reluctant Peter Brown and a prisoner against potentially seven dudes. And while the twins didn’t come to the island with weapons, we have to assume the other five are armed. They might have even brought guns for the twins.
“The good news is they don’t seem to have vests on,” Kenneth points out. “So our guns have just as good a chance as theirs.”
I worry my lip, which makes it start to bleed. It’s been rather abused lately. “We need something better than guns. We need to be able to take out more than one of them at a time.”
Danny runs a hand through his blond hair, his tricep gleaming in the afternoon light. “I might be able to help. I did a stint for a hypnotist—”
I hold up a hand
. “Not now. Please.” I turn away from Danny. I know he can’t help it. But I can’t believe he’s lying now. We need a plan! We need an idea. Something real that might work to take these guys down. Right now I’m as nervous as a cat stuck in a roomful of rocking chairs. Those Russians are the real deal.
Danny doesn’t drop the hypnotist thing though. “But, he did this thing where he—” Danny just can’t help himself. He can’t stop the lies from pouring out.
I put my fist to my forehead in frustration. “Stop lying.”
“I’m not!” Danny grabs my hand off my forehead. He pulls it down and entwines our fingers. “I swear to God, I’m not lying, Katie.” His eyes shine earnestly.
“Even if you aren’t, hypnotism isn’t real,” Kenneth scoffs, rolling his eyes.
“Let me try it on our POW,” Danny points at Sports Coat.
“We don’t have time.”
“Two minutes. Just two minutes.”
Alec calls out from the back. “We’ll probably need to break in a couple hours to pee. Just let him do it then.”
Why he says that, I have no clue. Probably to keep the peace so Kenneth and Danny don’t chip at one another for the next few hours. I guess that’s worth the two minutes of wasted effort. I roll my eyes. “Fine.”
Danny grins and fist pumps. Then he lifts our entwined fingers and kisses my hand. “You’ll see. I’m gonna make that Russian think he’s on our side.”
I shake my head while Kenneth and I continue talking about possibilities based on what I’ve got available in my villa. The conversation goes on for awhile. An hour, maybe two. My throat is parched by the time we start repeating suggestions we’ve already made. Luring the Russians out one by one seems like our best option. But, the likelihood of getting more than one of them out and down before the others all come chasing after us seems slim.
“We need some kind of distraction. Like a fire or something,” Kenneth says.
“It’s too wet here,” Alec calls out. “Stuff will smoke but not really burn.”