My fear morphed to panic.
The parrot hopped from one bag handle to the other, chirping and twittering in worry.
“Shit.” I plowed the oar into the water, shooting us forward. A tropical storm could rip palm trees from the soil, claw apart villas, and decimate islands. A tropical storm at sea where a girl and a tiny parrot sat in a flimsy kayak? It could kill us.
I rowed as fast as I could.
The heavens opened.
And big fat raindrops fell.
Chapter Thirteen
I LANDED IN JAKARTA.
Alone.
The whole flight from the USA back to Indonesia had been a torture marathon of my thoughts. The waiting in LAX for a way home had driven me insane. The five-hour delay in Singapore shredded my self-control.
I’d flown to my lab to protect everything valuable to me. I’d left my sanctuary to face a brother I despised with every molecule, yet…before I’d even arrived, I’d turned around and jumped on the next available flight home.
I’d chosen a fucking goddess over my empire.
I’d sent Calvin to deal with Drake when it ought to have been me.
My palms had crescent-moon cuts from my nails digging deep. I’d clenched my fists the entire journey, unable to figure out what the fuck I was doing.
Why had I abandoned everything I’d built? Why had there been no question about which catastrophe to chase?
Even Cal had known. The minute Arbi called, he’d collected my thrown phone, called to book the next available flight back to Indo—a wait-time of eight fucking hours—and then continued to the chartered plane to San Diego.
I trusted him to kick Drake from my building.
I knew he’d set the board straight.
But it should have been fucking me.
Christ!
I raked a hand through my hair, pacing down the air bridge with the two other first-class passengers. I had a good mind to turn around, jump back on the Boeing, and order the pilots to take me back to America. To stop being a goddamn idiot and put my company before a goddess.
I’ll book a return journey.
Right now.
Turning on my phone, I gritted my teeth with determination. I’d made a mistake flying back here. Arbi could find Eleanor. He could discipline her. She couldn’t have gotten far. I’d arrange yet another plane to get me to San Diego, and I’d deal with my fucktard of a brother myself.
And then I’d deal with my runaway possession.
Notifications and emails pinged as I connected to the internet. Ignoring it all, I scrolled through my phonebook to the travel associate on file.
My phone vibrated in my hand before I could connect the call, the ringtone following a second later.
Arbi.
Pressing accept, I picked up my pace to customs and immigration. “You find her?”
If they’d found Eleanor, they knew what to do until I returned. She’d be held with means fitting for an ungrateful runaway. No more luxury. No more kindness. She ran from my gifts? Well, she’d fucking return to my fury.
“Eh, we found the kayak,” Arbi muttered.
“Where was she? How far did she get?”
Silence thickened before he admitted, “We found the kayak, sir. But…not the goddess.”
I slammed to a halt. “What?”
“She, eh, wasn’t on the boat. It capsized in the storm. It didn’t last long, but the wind and rain—”
“Storm? What fucking storm?”
“It came through early this morning.”
Placing him on speaker, I brought up the local weather forecast. Sure enough, a tropical pattern had swooped through just before dawn, drenching the area, causing localized flooding and a few ruined infrastructures.
My island would’ve withstood its ferocity, thanks to the quality craftsmanship of my villas, but a tiny kayak at sea? She would’ve been a cork bobbing at its mercy. No, worse than a cork. She would’ve been a rock, plunging to the depths the moment the boat capsized.
She wasn’t just missing.
She’s probably dead.
The lance to my heart overrode every scrap of common-sense I had left. Hanging up on Arbi, I called my helicopter crew.
The pilot answered on my second ring. “Mr. Sinclair. We’re at the private hangar. Do you still wish to return to—”
“I’m on my way. Make sure you have plenty of fuel on board. Today isn’t a taxi service. It’s a recovery mission.”
Chapter Fourteen
EVERYTHING WAS A BLUR. A drowning, gasping blur.
The rain fell like a heavy curtain, obscuring the island I rowed toward, blocking out light and sight. The thunder split apart my eardrums. The lightning bolts sizzled in the sky.
My parrot passenger squeaked and shot into the swirling, howling air, buffeted left and right as it flew drunkenly toward the land ahead.
The bottom of the kayak rapidly filled with rain, lapping around my toes, then ankles, then shins. Water all around me, water all over me.
Yet I kept rowing.
I had no choice.
The wind grew angrier, throwing my tiny craft against snarling waves. The calm serenity of this paradise had swiftly become a churning hell.
I didn’t remember much after that. All my energy and focus went to my arms.
Row.
Row.
Row.
Quickly.
Quickly.
Quickly.
The island appeared and disappeared in sheets of rain—sometimes closer, sometimes farther, but never close enough to touch.
When the storm reached its pinnacle, I’d already burned through every dreg of energy I had left. I shook from cold and exhaustion. I was totally at Mother Nature’s mercy.
So when the wave finally arrived, heavy and rolling, merciless with gravestones and eulogies, I sucked in a breath and let it happen.
The shock from cold rain to warm ocean wasn’t what I expected. The kayak vanished, my supplies scattered, and the sea cradled me in apology, doing its best to keep me buoyant while air and wind became my enemy.
Strangely, being in the embrace of water rather than being lashed by it gave me another surge of strength.
I traded rowing for swimming.
I ducked under the rolling waves and kept my mouth closed so I didn’t drink rain or sea. I kicked and stroked until the island inched closer still.
My skirt kept wrapping around my legs, acting like ropes dragging me down.
So I kicked it free.
My blouse kept billowing around my face when the current shoved me left and right, suffocating me.
So I yanked it off and let it sink.
By the time my bone-weary toes touched reef, I had nothing left—in belongings or energy.
Reef became sand, and sand became beach.
Crawling on my hands and knees, I traded saltwater and, once again, let needles of rain wash me clean. I collapsed with my cheek on wet gold granules, panting and gasping, protected only by a black bikini.
I didn’t know where the parrot was. The kayak. My carefully packed supplies.
It was just me.
I survived.
Hauling myself to all fours, I eyed the treeline.
So far. Too far.
And in that moment, in some twist of nasty fate, the rain eased a little.
The wind died a little.
The storm hushed into quiet.
My elbows buckled, and I welcomed the soft beach to hold me.
I stayed where I was as the sun speared through empty grey clouds.
Its tentative rays warmed my back, soothing weak and weary muscles.
And I slept.
* * * * *
Thirst and sunburn woke me.
Guessing by the sun’s location in the sky, a few hours had passed since I’d been washed up on this new island. Despite all my attempts at preparing for my escape, my pride at packing rations, and my determination not to be like the other girls who’d run before me,
I’d fallen into the same trap.
I’d run from one island, only to be trapped on another. Yet this one didn’t have shade or food or liquid that wasn’t tainted with salt.
I have nothing.
Stumbling up the beach and into the undergrowth, I winced and gasped as sharp twigs and bracken stabbed my bare feet. Hunger drove me forward, but thirst made me panic.
I’d had my last drink before the storm hit.
Not that long ago, but thanks to inhaling sea and pushing my body to the brink of disability, I craved something to drink.
It was all I could think about.
The only thing I wanted.
My sunburned face hurt as I squinted in the sun’s glare, popping out from the undergrowth to a cleared area. No sounds of rivers. No hints of habitation. No one to help.
Tripping forward, I wrapped my arms around myself—not for warmth as the humidity had well and truly returned—but for shade on my rapidly burning skin. Without sunscreen, my white flesh crisped like crackling.
Cutting across the clearing, I struggled to see anything thanks to the brightness of the sun. My eyes stung from seawater. My hair clung to my back in tangled ropes. I coughed against the soreness in my throat leftover from swimming in a raging storm.
Reaching the other side, I gladly ducked under a glossy bush and back into the shady undergrowth.
Looking back, I froze.
A windsock hung in the now non-existent breeze.
The clearing wasn’t natural but man-made.
A helipad.
Sully.
The moment he entered my mind, my knees wobbled, and I collapsed cross-legged in the dirt.
Would he come for me?
Half of my body hummed with hope that he cared enough to search for me even though I’d defied him and left, while the other half of me went icy with dread.
If he did find me…what would he do?
Would he hurt me?
Kill me?
I shivered in my pile of leaves, willing my logic to wake up and lecture me. I’d always been fairly good at assessing a situation and choosing the most coherent and rational answer. I’d chosen to travel with Scott, even though we’d only known each other for a little while, because his goals aligned with mine, and it was safer to travel as a duo rather than as a single girl.
I’d decided to stop being naïve after the bonfire where the boy forced himself on me and I’d enlisted the help of my friend’s sister to drive us away.
I prided myself on accepting my mistakes…if it meant I could salvage something from my screw-up.
And in a nutshell? I’d screwed up.
I shouldn’t have left Sully’s captivity. I should’ve known I wasn’t a qualified seafarer to get far enough to be found and rescued. I should’ve fought for my future in other ways.
But…I’d tried and failed, and now, I had another choice to make.
Stay hidden and hope I didn’t die from exposure, dehydration, and starvation.
Or…let him find me, accept the consequences, and fight for whatever came next.
Time skipped and looped as I remained sitting there, tearing a leaf into shreds, debating if death was preferable over being a glamorised whore for the next four years.
I’d like to be more of a martyr and choose an ending over the acquiesce of letting men use my body against me. But…I was a fighter. A survivor. The sea had spat me out to give me a second chance.
And Sully…
He’s my second chance.
I sighed as the decisions settled weighty and wrong around my heart. By staying here, waiting for him, I willingly relinquished myself. I would return with him of my own volition unlike when I’d first arrived.
Then, I’d been delivered without any choice. This time, I would walk back knowing exactly what waited for me. I would let the gates close around my free will. I would say goodbye to any key I had at escape. And I’d give him four years of my life, hoping he’d stay loyal to his promise to let me go at the end.
You can’t.
He’s…dangerous to you in more ways than one.
That truth punched me in the belly.
If I returned. If I spent more time in Sully’s company. If I allowed my fascination with him to overthrow my fear…I could risk losing so much more than just my body.
But…I don’t have a choice.
I would rather endure what he had planned for me, rather than die here on this island.
A flutter of wings and a buffet of air wrenched my head to the side. The tiny parrot that’d kept me company descended with its little green wings spread out to float gracefully onto a perch.
I expected it to land on the fallen foliage in front of me—so used to the no-touching rule the feathered creature had set. However, this time, it eyed up my knee and tucked away its wings. Its sharp talons dug into my bare skin, clutching me for balance.
We stared at each other.
Tears sprang to my eyes for no other reason than acceptance of my choice. At least, if Sully didn’t kill me for running, I would be able to continue hanging out with this trusting, tentative thing.
Holding up a finger, I very carefully reached out to touch it. “Are you okay? The storm didn’t hurt you?”
The parrot eyed my hand moving closer. I braced for a peck, but it head-bumped my thumb instead. Its soft plumage so delicate and breakable.
A tear escaped, rolling down my cheeks, soothing sunburn and using up the last liquid in my body. “Thank you for travelling with me, but…we have to go back. It might take a few days for him to find us…but we’re going home.”
The parrot blinked. It bobbed its head and allowed me to scratch under its chin.
And fate once again stepped in to orchestrate my life.
It wouldn’t be days.
It would be minutes.
Because in the distance, a helicopter sounded.
The whir of blades.
The thunder of retribution.
The arrival of a master come to claim me.
Chapter Fifteen
“FLY LOWER. KEEP YOUR eyes open.” I kept my hands clasped between my legs, not showing any sign of worry or rage. I’d flown after goddesses before. It wasn’t a regular occurrence, but it had happened, and we’d always found them.
This was no different.
She is no different.
My heart kicked my lie right into my belly.
Ignoring the ache inside, I kept my eyes locked on the stunning vista below. The storm had soaped, rinsed, and polished the world clean. Not an inch of filth or imperfection remained; only pure sweeping seas, glistening green jungles, and glowing golden beaches.
The ocean looked like a jewellery box full of blue gemstones. The depths glowed like deep sapphires, the shallows glittered like topaz, and the coral reefs twinkled with aquamarine, revealing labyrinths of anemones and sponges, shadows of stingray and shark, proudly showing the water world in all its glory.
We’d flown past Arbi and his boat of searchers a while ago. He’d found the kayak washed up on an uninhabited island named Burung merak. Peacock in English. I’d named each island in my atoll after animals, borrowing the native tongue of my chosen home.
Burung merak was named for the fan of palm trees that looked like a peacock tail, vibrant and impressive but not granting much room for anything else.
Arbi’s crew had walked the island and found no trace of Eleanor, so we’d flown ahead, dipping low over Capung (Dragonfly) and Ikan (Fish). Two islands that had a purpose in my paradise but didn’t seem to have an interloper on its shores.
“Should we turn back, sir?” the pilot’s voice crackled in my headset.
I peered closer at the sea, looking for signs of a washed-up goddess. A dead girl with seaweed-strewn hair. My stomach had knotted itself three times, never to untangle.
“No. Fly farther.”
“Farther?” The static hissed in my ear. “But that’s Serigala up ahead. None of the escapees have made it that far. We s
hould bank and—”
“Keep going.” My teeth bit the command. “Do as I say.” The knots in my belly vibrated with instinct. Eleanor wasn’t like the others, even though I wanted her to be. Therefore, it made sense that she’d attempt the impossible. Achieve the impossible.
She might have made it to Serigala.
She might.
Serigala was special to me. Named in Indonesian for Wolf, it’d become a sanctuary. Not for me, but for the part of my life that’d been the catalyst for so much pain.
The helicopter swooped forward, throwing its mechanical weight into the rotors. The gorgeous scenery below blurred as we shot over the remaining ocean and toward the first outcrop of trees.
This particular island had a helipad. The first I’d created and the most important. Serigala housed so many souls. If it protected a new addition, then Eleanor was lucky she’d found salvation on its shores.
The irony of that thought tightened yet another knot inside me. This one wrapped around my heart, complete with poisonous vines and venomous fangs.
If Eleanor was on Serigala…I honestly didn’t know how I’d react. How my past would cope tangling with my present. How I would behave staring at a future I had never planned to face.
“We’ll do the outskirts first,” the pilot crackled. “Then we’ll land and search the interior on foot.”
“Fine.” I kept staring out the window as we slowed and hover-crawled over the entire island. I spotted many of the island’s inhabitants. Creatures that belonged and so many that didn’t. Perfect and broken, whole and in pieces, but nothing with two legs. Nothing that looked like a goddess who had the goddamn power to knot me up and make it hard to breathe.
She’s probably waterlogged and dead on the ocean floor.
Something clawed at my throat and made it hard to swallow.
A spray of parrots took flight from a banyan tree as we drew closer to the centre of the island. Banded lories and Moluccan Kings. All bigger and brighter than Pika but native to their homeland while Pika was a foreigner, brought by a cage and released by a teenager who’d buried his parents and fought his brother to retain a company that’d brought so much heartache.
Twice a Wish (GODDESS ISLES Book 2) Page 11