by Celia Crown
Working at a tiki bar is not what I had in mind when I moved here. But I don’t regret it; I met Audrey here and have been her roommate for the past four years. We often hear exaggerated stories from tipsy college students, rich boys with sunburns who got their Bugatti stuck in the sand.
The local police are not kind when people illegally ruin the beautiful beach with their abandoned vehicles, handing out expensive tickets and impounding the cars.
Audrey gets invited to many parties at the mansions in the hills and joyfully goes with a big smile. I avoid them because alcohol and sweaty people dancing are not of interest to me.
Working at a tiki bar does serve one essential purpose; it allows me to blend in as just a face in the crowd. Heavy foot traffic, intoxication, and glaring sunlight turn me into a faceless girl who serves drinks.
Audrey makes fun of me for being boring, missing out on fun times.
I tell her that social interaction exhausts me. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s an acceptable excuse.
“We have a VIP guest asking for you,” the owner mentions from behind the counter, pouring an orange drink into a glass.
The restaurant and bar are connected, owned by a guy in shorts with beads around his neck. Everyone here has a strange sense of fashion, but I’m not one to judge.
“Patio seven,” the owner says as he nods toward the restaurant next to the bar.
It’s common for rich people to reserve a private patio that overlooks the beach. I’ve been asked to serve them food and drinks many times.
A young girl with a pretty face often leads to customers happily leave big tips. Or so Audrey said when I was sent there for the first time.
Sometimes it gets uncomfortable. Many people are too aggressive, slipping the tips into my hand while holding on too long, slapping me on the ass, or patting my knee to thank me for doing a good job.
I would do a better job if they kept their hands to themselves.
The tips are so good, though.
The best ones are so drunk that Audrey can just give them a number for the tip, and it shows up on their tab.
She calls herself “the siren.”
Honestly, it’s embarrassing.
I shake my head and set the tray of dirty glasses down. I’ve been walking on eggshells since Remo showed up and bulldozed his way into my calm life, overwhelming me with his unrelenting presence.
I nervously look around, expecting to see him with a big scowl on his face or lurking in the shadows. He would stand out from the crowd; Remo is a force to be reckoned with and can crush someone without even lifting a hand.
His tall, broad, muscled frame speaks volumes.
I must go to either the police or the embassy. The restraining order against him is still active, and he’s violating it by being within three hundred feet of me. He should be in either a psychiatric hospital or a medium-security prison for the next ten years.
His expensive attorney had negotiated a plea deal that would be of the greatest benefit to Remo. No one ever understood how Remo could afford one of the country's most notorious criminal defense lawyers.
Did Remo get released early?
“Jenny?”
I inhale sharply, my eyes meeting the owner’s concerned gaze. I smooth over my expression and smile brightly at him.
“Do you know what he looks like?”
His brows lift as he stops cleaning a glass. “I didn’t say it was a man. Is someone bothering you?”
“No,” I say quickly, “No, no. It is just usually a man who asks for me.”
The last thing I want is for him to confront Remo. It doesn’t take a genius to know who would come out alive from that situation.
The owner accepts my explanation with a shrug, saying, “The man’s buff, but he looks like he hasn’t seen the sun since the Bronze Age.”
I sigh in relief. That doesn’t sound like Remo, and I figure it must be a tourist.
I hope it’s anyone but Remo. Hell, I wish I could turn back time and walk away from the new one-year lease I signed with Audrey last month.
If I had known Remo was coming for me, I would’ve hopped on a plane immediately and vanished.
He would eventually find me again, but I would have had months of peace before he succeeded.
“What did they order?” I ask.
The owner purses his lips and grumbles, “He didn’t order anything other than a side of onion rings. He inhaled them all like it was nothing, Jenny.”
“Why are you surprised?” I give him a cheeky smirk. “Your food is the best.”
“Are you buttering me up to get a raise?” he asks with playful suspicion twinkling in his eyes.
“You deserve a raise,” I correct him. “For having to deal with Audrey.”
“That girl is a handful,” he says, groaning.
I nod in agreement before waving and walking away. The path over to the restaurant section is a struggle, weaving through patrons and crawling behind a waiter carrying a tray of hot food.
I smooth my shirt as I approach the VIP area. My brows furrow at the sight of a man leaning against the wall and tapping on his phone. He is paler than most of the people on the island, almost pasty.
Typically, there would be a cart of covered food by the door for the server to deliver. But the hall is empty.
I stop before reaching him, silently cursing the fact that this is the correct patio.
“Did you ask for me, sir?” I ask, and the man gives me a satisfied smile.
“Aye,” he quips, “You’re Jenny.”
I’m sure I’m not the only one who goes by that name.
The smile stays firmly on my face when he looks behind me and then glances to the other end of the hallway. The glowing eyes of Anubis stare into mine.
“My bad,” he says while turning to me, “I’m just looking for my girl.”
An idea comes to mind, he’s waiting here for his girlfriend so she can find him. He would be easy to spot with his height.
“I’m Jenny, the waitress.”
A scarred brow raises while he silently regards me with a perceptive smirk. Even after shoving away fears of finding Remo at patio seven, part of me wonders if he’s somewhere planning a bigger scheme.
An untimely burst of wind assaults my nose, like a hint of Remo is lingering in the air.
I flinch, and the man picks up on it with another unkind grin.
Stepping back unsteadily, I put needed distance between us. I should’ve known Remo wouldn’t leave me alone, and this man could be the one who has been watching me.
The feeling of being watched wasn’t really bothersome until Remo came to town. My therapist had said I could have PTSD, but we’ll need more sessions together to be sure. My sense of unease has amplified greatly since Remo showed up.
“Not so fast,” the man remarks playfully, jabbing a wiry finger towards the doorway. “Get inside, or my ass will be swimming with the sharks.”
He’s with Remo.
Screaming and running away would alert others here, sparing me from being alone with Remo.
“Don’t run away again, pretty girl, or I’ll break Audrey’s neck.”
His earlier words echo in my mind. Regardless of where I run, how much help I’m getting to heal, or how strong I pretend to be, my fear of him always wins.
I steady my trembling hands, clenching them until my nails break the delicate skin. I ignore the man’s scrutinizing stare and his voice telling me to hurry inside because his boss will skin him alive.
“Boss,” I repeat absentmindedly.
“Yeah, yeah,” the man mumbles and waves his hand to usher me in.
I can’t avoid Remo forever, and it’s not like he’s giving me any choice but to meet him. He hasn’t done anything harmful yet, and I’d like to keep it that way.
Maybe he wants my attention badly enough to avoid being reckless.
“Chrysanthemum tea, pretty girl,” Remo says in a deep voice. “Your favorite.”
I catch his cerulean eyes as he abruptly snatches my arm, pulling me onto his lap. One inked arm circles my waist as the other hand grasps my jaw. Nudging my face towards him, he nuzzles his nose against my temple.
I’m terribly uncomfortable, and the forearm he has nestled between my breasts isn’t helping. He’s successfully limited my movement with just one of his arms, and it’s humiliating.
Something moves in the corner of my eye, and I grunt in distress. A couple is leaning against patio six’s railing, staring at us with unabashed curiosity and whistling.
“Let go—”
Remo’s grip is inconspicuous enough for the couple to think it’s a lover’s embrace. But his finger is pressing on the pulse in my neck with deadly precision.
“Are you avoiding me, darling?”
I am avoiding him.
I have been getting up earlier in the morning, taking different routes to both work and tutoring sessions, and staying late at the bar so he can’t ambush me.
He broke into my apartment once; he’ll do it again.
I have stopped going to places where he could corner me, and Audrey thinks this lovers’ quarrel is getting out of hand.
I can’t tell her that Remo is a stalker, and I have a restraining order against him.
“I’ve spoken to your roommate, Audrey… nice girl. She said you have taken up a new hobby, puzzles, is it?” Remo murmurs, his voice sending shivers up my spine.
Puzzles relieve my stress and help me escape my thoughts for a while. Those few hours of peace are likely the only thing preventing me from going crazy.
“Do you believe in soulmates?” he questions out of the blue.
“No,” I hiss lowly.
“What kind?” he asks, disregarding what I said.
It doesn’t suit him; a rough criminal with a mean punch has no right to taint the concept of soulmates.
“Red strings of fate are connecting us,” Remo notes as he pulls my body closer until I’m pressed against his chest with my ass on his muscular thighs.
“I came across something about soulmates having the names of their other half on their skin,” he muses, another chuckle rumbling in his chest.
His massive body is relaxed, emitting a reassuring warmth that seeps into my muscles. The apprehension in my stomach fights the involuntary pull I feel towards him.
Do as he says, I convince myself. I can live longer, and so can Audrey.
“You’d look beautiful with my name on your pretty skin,” he says with an indulgent smile as his other hand strokes my bare thigh. “It belongs there just like your name is on my skin.”
The Anubis ink on his forearm strikes terror in my heart.
Fleetingly, the thought of my name in obsidian ink marks him as mine. I blink, horrified at the unintentional thought.
“Soulmates feel pain simultaneously,” he says distractedly, his hand cupping mine a bit too gently.
“I’m not fond of that concept.” The dropped octave of his velvety voice says otherwise.
“I’ll never hurt you, pretty girl.”
“You already did.” And he still is.
He says without concern, “Love hurts.”
He never raised a hand to me, but everyone around me is fair game. He’s made that clear repeatedly. I’ve asked for help, but the law will only protect me if I’m in imminent danger.
I’m not in imminent danger despite my blood running cold, my heart risking failure, and losing my mind.
I don’t meet the criteria for witness protection. Not that I want it, knowing he would just use my mom to bring me back to him.
We’re not soulmates, but that hasn’t stopped him from using a knife—because he’s violent and unstable—to carve out pieces of me to fit us perfectly.
“Happiness won’t fall into your lap,” a post-it note in his beautiful handwriting from three years ago flashes in my head, “You have to work for it.”
One of many notes he put around the house, but that one stood out because I woke up that same night with his monstrous shadow looming over me. It could’ve been a side effect from sleep paralysis, or he was really there.
I bought a camera and set it up in my room; it hadn’t caught anything until I found out it only recorded one night and turned the tape into a loop.
I broke out in hives and sobbed in my mom’s arms. We slept in a hotel room for a week, and they were the muddiest and clearest days I remember.
The police report said there was insufficient evidence to move forward, destroying my faith in the system.
“We’re a perfect fit, darling; we belong together. Don’t deny it.”
Remo reaches for my hand, taking it into his warm one. It’s big and calloused from years of violence. I hate myself for not reacting much when the detective told me snippets of Remo’s past.
It was filled with names of people he had murdered with his bare hands, lives he had ruined with a cold smile, and carnage he left behind.
A clinically diagnosed psychopath.
Most interviews with psychopaths reveal that they are unable to form emotional attachments. I think there must be more to his case, given his obsession with me.
Something much more sinister than silly infatuation.
“Let me go now,” I demand, voice small but firm.
His fingers uncurl from mine, he releases the pressure on my jaw, and his arms fall to his side. I hop off his lap, rubbing my jaw to erase any trace of him.
I don’t dwell on my triumph, but I do learn from it. This is the first time Remo ever listened to me when I demanded it.
Glowing in the fading sunset, he looks happy and is buzzing with chaotic energy.
I spin around and walk away with intense determination in each step. The other man, who has the same Anubis tattoo on his back, follows me out with mirthful eyes.
Audrey stops me in the hallway and runs a soothing hand down my back, chasing away the ghost of Remo’s touch with a smile.
“I have a stalker,” I blurt out impulsively.
I didn’t mean to say it; my thoughts are going haywire. The longer Audrey stays in the dark, the easier it would be for me to just disappear. She doesn’t deserve to have Remo ruin her life because of me.
I can prevent that if I handle this right.
Audrey tucks the hair behind my ear, a gesture too similar to Remo’s. A pit of nausea forms in my stomach.
“Stalker?” she repeats, glancing over my shoulder. “The man with eyes tattooed on his back?”
I shake my head. I don’t know who he is, but he’s associated with Remo.
“The one I let inside our house who said he was your boyfriend?” she presses.
She’s trying not to feel guilty as her trembling fingers run down my arm.
“I’ll beat his ass,” she says and grins bravely.
I can’t bring myself to tell her the truth.
“No, it’s not him,” I whisper, drained.
Remo would kill her.
Chapter Four
Remo
I refrain from scolding her.
I understand my little Jenny is still angry with me, but she needs to take care of her health. She has taken on more shifts at work and goes home later at night just to avoid me.
I have wanted to barge into the tiki bar, toss her over my shoulder, and force her to eat something healthier than fried food. But I can’t do that since I’m not welcomed by many here.
The night I brought over a meal I cooked for her was intended as a peace offering. I had waited for her to get home after tutoring someone. But despite nearly four years of separation, she had not been ready to consider forgiving me.
Ridding the world of that pest was for Jenny’s own good, so why is she pretending I’m the bad guy when all I did was protect her?
What did that stupid detective do to brainwash her?
I don’t care that he let Jenny look through my criminal record because I have nothing to hide. I believe our relationship is based on honesty.
; I was not following her; I was just making sure she was safe walking home.
She gave me her house key so I could make my own copy. Why else would she leave it on her desk by an unlocked window? She wanted me to watch over the house when she and my future mother-in-law were at work.
I may have been too enthusiastic in my domestic efforts after she trusted me not to burglarize her home. She didn’t seem to like the notes I left, but she didn’t actually throw them away until much later.
Everyone has a different language they use for love, and Jenny has more than one. I figured out she likes being touched because she used to wrap her arms around her mother when overwhelmed with laughter. She doesn’t touch everyone, just those she trusts.
It was difficult to stop myself from breaking her neighbor’s arm when he introduced himself and shook her hand for too long.
She had been working as a barista in a café when we first met.
I saw her through a window when she was elbowing her coworker. A strange flutter hit my stomach, and I assumed it was from the heat. I went into the café solely for the air conditioning. In her black and white uniform, Jenny was lovely, a maroon apron around her waist and a baseball cap blocking part of her pretty face.
I later learned the hat was intended to keep stray hair from falling into the food.
My coffee was free of charge, courtesy of the owner who left her number on a napkin for me. I was too focused on Jenny to care about the owner’s phone number. Jenny’s little tongue would peek through her pink lips when she tried to make foam art, and she pouted whenever it did not turn out perfectly.
Defeated, she placed one of the ruined drinks on the counter, and I grabbed it as I left the café. The crooked foam heart on top gave me a warm feeling, but it was the most disgusting drink I’ve ever tasted.
I felt a surge of affection I had never experienced before, and it started to become an obsession.
Now she has come down with a fever from overwork and poor nutrition. Too busy avoiding me, I suspect.
“My pretty girl,” I whisper over her cough. “Always needing me to rescue you. You’re lucky I don’t mind taking care of you.”
Jenny thought she had succeeded in avoiding me for an entire week after our meeting on patio seven at the restaurant. She was never out of my sight, however. I was just giving her a chance to adjust to my sudden reappearance in her life.