by Ker Dukey
I frown. Has she not heard the rumors?
The door opens behind her. She lifts the lamp again, aiming it toward Colt.
“Did I interrupt something?” he asks, amused. “Islander, are you trying to turn me on?” he adds, walking past her until he’s standing in front of me. “Did you honestly get bested by a small woman?”
“Fuck you. Untie me,” I grind out. “Colt!” I nod toward Mona running from the room.
“She won’t get far.” He tugs on the fabric encasing me.
When I finally get free, I march from the room in search of her. Colt was wrong. Mona didn’t head for the front door, which is securely locked. She fled through a window in the library.
“Hmmm, I didn’t see that coming,” Colt muses, looking over my shoulder. Mona’s hair wisps behind her like a cape as she runs toward the gates.
“She’s shoeless,” I grind out. Colt slips out his phone and calls Miles at the front gate. “Bring our little runaway back inside please.” I follow him through to the dining room where the table is set for a king—or kings. An array of breakfast foods layer the table. Colt seats himself at the head and unfolds a paper, sipping a black coffee. “You look like Father,” I scoff.
“And you look like you’ve been on a five-year bender,” he retorts, refusing to look up at me. We were closer than two brothers could be at one time. We shared everything—then Clara came into my world and changed it all.
Colt detested people from Cult Island. Our father’s hate for them was bred into us from such a young age. With Colt, it stuck. With me, Clara captivated me and spun my world on its axis.
She was leaving that place for good. She wanted to change her whole life for me—for us. My father lost his damn mind. Colt, despite his disapproval, sided with me when our father threatened to cut me from the family businesses and will.
“Let go of me.” Mona’s angry snarl brings me back from my thoughts. Colt looks up from the paper, a smile on his lips.
“Why don’t you sit and eat, then I’ll get a pair of shoes brought in for you and we can talk about the questions you had last night.”
“Am I a prisoner?” she grinds out.
“We’re not the ones tying people up,” he says with a quirked a brow at the same time I say, “No.”
Her gaze darts around the offerings on the table, then back to Colt.
“Sit,” he instructs, conflict all over her beautiful face. She doesn’t want to give in to him, but the food is calling to her.
“Fine.” She sits in the seat across from me, and I can’t help but stare at her.
Thick, dark curls frame her face and fall down her chest to her waist. Her eyes are the color of burning embers. It’s mesmerizing.
Clara was a beautiful woman, but Mona has a beauty rarely born naturally. Wide oval eyes fanned with dark lashes, small pixie nose, and high cheekbones scattered with light freckles. My eyes drop to her thick, plump lips, and I have to adjust myself discreetly.
“Eat,” Colt adds. She waits a few seconds, then fills a bowl with fresh fruit and yogurt and a plate with bacon, eggs, and sausage. Taking her fork, she tastes everything. Her animated response to each new thing is compelling to watch.
“Oh my God. What is this? It’s magical.” She holds up a jar of Nutella and dips her finger inside. Scooping out a finger full, she sucks it clean while moaning. Both Colt and I groan in response.
Fuck, does she realize how sexual she sounds—and looks—and is? There’s sexuality about her Clara didn’t have.
Clara was nervous, innocent, and cautious around men. I was the first person she’d kissed. I don’t think that’s the case with Mona. There’s a maturity about her despite her young age. I think back, trying to remember how old she would be now. “Eighteen,” I say aloud when it comes to me.
“What?” She freezes.
“Yesterday was your birthday.” I only remember because it was the same day Clara’s body was found.
“How do you know that?” She gasps, a smudge of Nutella in the corner of her mouth.
My eyes flash to her necklace.
“Is this how you knew Clara? Because she came to you to buy these?” she asks, clutching the heart pendants.
“I didn’t meet Clara here,” I informed her, taking a piece of bacon and biting into it.
Her eyes widen. She puts the jar down, and Colt reaches over to swipe the smudge at the corner of her mouth, making her inhale sharply. He sucks the pad of his thumb into his mouth and hums, “Mmmm, magical indeed.” A flicker of jealously and arousal sparks inside me, catching me off guard.
“Come,” I interrupt, the tension thickening the air between us all. “Let’s go for a ride.”
“Ride?”
“Ah, you would have never ridden in a car before.”
“No…” she breathes in wonder.
“Well, plenty of firsts will be happening for you this trip.” Colt winks, and I frown over at him. He’s not usually this playful.
“What?” he asks, genuinely perplexed.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. Nothing at all. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen life in his eyes. I like it.
“Put these on.” Colt drops a pair of sneakers at Mona’s feet.
“Whose are those?” I quirk a brow.
“Annemarie filled a closet when she spent time here,” he grunts.
Annemarie was the closest a woman ever got to being Colt’s girlfriend. He was a moody motherfucker who only cared about building his empire where he could sit on his throne and play God.
“Wow, this is so pretty,” Mona says in awe, circling Colt’s Mercedes—one of many cars he owns.
“Pretty?” Colt snorts, opening the door for her before getting behind the wheel as I slide in on the passenger side. When he kicks over the engine, she lets out a little startled noise. I lean into the back to pull her seatbelt over her, my arm brushing her breasts. She gasps, and our eyes clash. She feels the tension, the attraction. Fuck, I can’t see her that way. It’s morbid—wrong.
“Thank you,” she tells me, her tongue dampening her lip.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Twelve
Mona
Noise and people—hundreds of them—concrete buildings and roads…everything is so in your face. The streets are bustling, everyone seeming to be in such a hurry. Where are they all going? It’s overwhelming.
“Come,” Colt tells me, his hand on my back, the gesture protective, sheltering me from the chaos around us. I welcome it. I scoot closer between the two of them, using them as a shield. Cash opens a glass door and ushers me inside the place with their name emblazoned above the building: Shiny Jewels by Ward Brothers.
“Wow,” I breathe, taking in the sight before me—glistening sparkles, jewelry as far as the eye can see in an array of colors.
“Let’s go through to my office,” Cash instructs, pulling me away from all the beautiful objects.
“Cash is a collector of shiny things,” Colt whispers against my ear once we’re in Cash’s office. The contact sends a zap of energy through my nervous system. He seems to recognize he evokes a reaction inside me. The look and hook of his lip tell me so, only inflaming the already burning need inside me.
It’s new—something I can’t control. I think I like it.
“What do you think?” Cash asks, turning around with his arms out in front of him.
He’s proud of his possessions—and he should be. Huge colored rocks sit behind a lit glass window, making the rocks sparkle. “I collect rare jewels. I guess that’s what drew me to your sister.” He smiles, and it’s different from Colt’s. It’s gentle and friendly. He has a warmth to him Colt lacks.
My heart skips at the mention of Clara. “You said you didn’t meet her here. What did you mean by that?” I brush my fingers across the glass, desperate to pick up the rocks and look at them more closely.
“Let me start from the beginning,” he tells me, sitting at a huge desk dominating the room. Colt sits on a l
eather couch along the back wall and taps the space next to him. “I’ll stand.” I narrow my eyes on him. He’s full of himself, but something deep inside me likes it. I feel a gravitational pull toward him I’m fighting out of principle.
“The beginning then,” I say, looking over at Cash.
“When Colt and I were four years old, our mother met someone from your island. A missionary, he called himself.”
Like Mother talked about. I find myself moving closer to the desk as Colt shifts forward. “He spat shit about sinners and those who can be reborn in God’s name, forgiven—cult bullshit your people convince themselves of,” Colt sneers. There’s hate in his tone. A chill chases up my spine, settling in my heart.
“We’re not all of the same thinking,” I defend, and his gaze burns into me.
“Our mother was unhappy with our father. He was a notorious cheater and worked all hours under the sun,” Cash interjects, pulling my attention from Colt.
“What do you mean by a cheater?”
“He fucked women who weren’t our mother,” Colt grunts, focusing on brushing his pant leg.
“Fucked?” I taste the word on my tongue.
Both Cash and Colt shift in their seats, eyes alight, focused on me.
“Sexual intercourse,” Cash clarifies.
“Oh.” I feel the blush creep up my face.
“Could he not just take other wives?” I ask, even though I’d hate it if my husband had more than one wife.
“We don’t do that shit here,” Colt snaps at me.
“I’m sorry,” I frown. “Just because it’s what I grew up conscious of doesn’t mean I agree with the customs my father implements.”
“Your father is an abomination. He’s nothing more than a cult leader who has a flock of sheep drinking his Kool-Aid.”
“Enough, Colt,” Cash barks, slamming his palm on the tabletop.
“We’re not opposed to sharing, Mona. But it’s sacred, agreed by all parties—not forced upon women who have no say in the matter.”
“Sharing?”
Colt stands, his essence pouring from him and coating me in his identity. “Sharing, like the two of us sharing your body to bring you unimaginable pleasure.”
I gulp down the saliva filling my mouth. My breath hitches and an ache forms between my thighs. He’s so close, leaning into me, his mouth right there.
“As he said,” he pulls away, making me come back to myself. “All parties have to want it.” Is that humor in his tone? Damn, he’s…what did he call it? An asshole.
“Anyway, getting back to the story.” Cash clears his throat. “Your father wasn’t in charge at this time. Once he was, he stopped people from leaving for missionary work. He didn’t want outsiders coming in anymore—only pure children raised from birth on the island so there were no outside influences, stories, or truths corrupting his perfect little life,” Cash finishes, and Colt picks up.
“Point is—our mother left our father and went to live on the island with the man, Charles Maine, who brainwashed her.”
“What?”
“She was pregnant at the time and left with his child. All the garbage they talk, their righteous fucking Godly bullshit, and he knocks up a married woman then whisks her away from her other children to be his fucking wife on an island full of cult worshippers.” Colt paces the floor.
“Judith?” I choke, my hand wrapping around my waist. “Judith is Eli’s mother. Judith is your mother?” It feels like a hand wraps around my throat.
“You know him?” Cash asks, a line creasing his forehead.
“Of course she does. It’s a small fucking island,” Colt barks.
“Eli is…” my mouth is dry, and my head pounds. It’s so hot in here.
“Is what?” Colt demands.
“He’s my…”
“Your what?” they both grind out.
“I need water. I’m so hot and…”
“Fuck, she’s going to pass out,” one of them says.
Arms wrap around me, citrus and rainwater. Colt. I’m led to the couch, and Cash leans down, pulling a cap from a bottle of water and placing it against my lips. I swig the delectable nectar down.
“Don’t you have air conditioning in here? It’s ridiculous,” Colt fumes.
“It’s a fucking vault. The shit in here is priceless. I can’t put easily accessed vents.”
“Come on. Let’s get you some fresh air.” Colt slips his hand up my back, leaning me forward.
“I’m fine, I just…”
Black.
I wake in the car, fresh air blowing on me from a vent positioned in the interior of the vehicle. So smart. “How are you feeling?” Cash asks from beside me. Colt is upfront driving. “What happened?”
“You overheated…or got overwhelmed. Maybe a combination of the two,” Cash comforts.
“I’m sorry.” I shake my head to clear the fogginess.
“You don’t have to apologize. Your sister did that a lot too.” He smiles, reaching up to feel my head. “You’re cooler now.”
“She passed out a lot?”
“No.” He chuckles. “Apologized a lot.”
“Did you love her?” The ache that always accompanies thoughts of her opens in my chest. I sense Colt’s eyes on us through a mirror hanging from the center of the front window. “Infatuated is a better word, but that would have grown to love if we’d been given the chance.”
Tears burn my eyes, leaking onto my cheeks. I wanted her to be loved, adored, to feel all those butterflies and shockwaves up her spine that she said you feel when the right person kisses you.
“We’re here,” Colt grunts.
“Where is here?” I look out the tinted windows.
“My home. I like to live a little less…grand than my brother.”
Colt gets out first and opens my door. I take his offered hand and hold my breath when a zap of energy sends a ripple of excitement through my body. “Are you okay?” he asks, a brow raised. Why is that so attractive?
“I’m fine.” Warmth travels up my neck and over my cheeks.
I turn my attention to a square-shaped building. Our images are reflected back at us through the windows making up nearly all the walls. It’s beautiful. All our houses are made of wood that swells and wears from the salt of the ocean, the small, rickety windows stubborn and allowing in minimal light.
“Come on,” Cash commands, leading us to an enormous glass door opening up to a generous corridor. An array of art adorns the crisp white walls. We weren’t allowed art unless we created it ourselves.
He gestures for me to follow them. Our movements echo through the house. Tiled floors and plain white walls give it a sterile feel. It’s almost like being in a colossal version of Colt’s bathroom. We enter a living space. Gloss floors I can see my reflection in are fitted through the entirety of the place. Everything is white—the couch, the floors, walls, ornaments. It’s not homely like Colt’s castle, but it’s pretty to look at, I suppose.
“Make yourself at home.” Cash gestures to the living space, a massive couch centered in the almost perfect square.
“Why did we come here and not go back to your place?” I ask Colt, who smiles at me, making my core squeeze. “Because my father tends to stop by Colt’s place whenever he feels like it,” Cash answers for him.
“It was his place at one time.” Colt shrugs, slipping off his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves. The apex of my thighs throbs at the sight. Ink covers both arms. The veins in his forearms bulge as his long, thick fingers fiddle with cufflinks.
It’s hot again.
I’m overheating.
“Mona, are you feeling okay? You look flustered,” Colt asks, real concern in his tone.
Oh God.
“I think I may be hungry,” I lie. I’m always lying. If everything Father preaches is true, I’m on a one-way ticket to the pits of hell.
“Hungry?” Colt snorts, amused. “It can’t possibly be for food. You ate enough to keep you going f
or a week at breakfast.”
“Are you food shaming me?” I ask, pushing past him toward a fruit bowl. Bananas, perfect. “Food shaming?”
“Yes, shaming me for liking food? I appreciate girls shouldn’t have a hearty appetite like men, but I like the different textures on my tongue, the flavors bursting in my mouth and warming my insides.”
Colt looks at me like he’s now hungry too.
“By all means, enjoy your banana if you want to give us both blue balls.” He huffs, throwing his weight back against the couch.
“What are blue balls?” I ask, confused by his words, “Oh, do you mean blueberries?” I ask, pleased I worked it out for myself.
“I’m not going to survive this woman,” he groans.
“I don’t wish to harm you, Colt. Let’s hope we both survive each other,” I tell him. He stares at me like I’m the one speaking words he doesn’t understand.
This world is nothing like Father warned. It’s full of comfort and luxuries and people who look like Colt Ward. No wonder Clara never wanted to come back.
Thirteen
Colt
Is she serious with the description of the food, the flushed fucking look, and now eating a fruit shaped like a cock? Both Cash and I can’t take our eyes off the damn girl. I wish she were more like those freaks from the island. It would make this easier, make hating her easier. You don’t hate her.
How can anyone fucking hate her? She’s adorable one minute and feisty the next. I’ve always loved playing with fire, and I can tell her blood runs hot. When she said, “I don’t wish harm to you, Colt, let’s hope we both survive each other,” I felt like she dropped a match in my gas tank.
“Tell me what Eli is to you?” Cash asks, the burning fucking question racing around my mind. I shouldn’t care. I hardly fucking know this girl. But when she froze up and lost her mind about him being something to her, I nearly lost mine too.
She squirms at the question, a bloom coloring her neck.