This wild, untamable aspect to Red was a contrast to that of the blonde and blue-eyed Drake. The tight T-shirt, that looked as if it had been painted on, did nothing to hide the bodybuilder’s physique beneath. Hours of pumping iron had clearly gone into creating the sculpted perfection of Drake’s body, every muscle perfectly in proportion. And yet, I didn’t think for a minute that it was a body designed purely to be looked at. As much as that of his friend, Drake’s was a body designed for action – though what that action might be I could only guess. Which of the pair was stronger, I would not have liked to guess. I would have put my money on Drake for straight power, but I suspected Red would have the edge in stamina. They looked like the types who might well compete for gym honors and I guessed they came out even most of the time. As his body contrasted with that of Red – and indeed Campbell – so did Drake’s face.
While Campbell was smooth and suave, and Red rough and rugged, there was a seriousness to Drake that not even the bright sun could dispel. His mouth was stern, his brows low, and there was a tightness to his features that suggested he was always thinking. It gave him a distance, as if he was putting up a wall behind which the world was not permitted to peek, but it also – to me, at least – made him a fascinating mystery. Serious or not, Drake was powerfully handsome and his somber features only contributed to that, the brooding darkness of his soul contrasting with the sky blue of his eyes and his sandy hair, bleached still lighter by the sun. Every now and then, when one of his friends made a joke, the façade would crack and Drake would smile – it was like seeing the sun on a cloudy day, a brief glimmer of brilliance cutting through and lighting up the whole of his face. He was always handsome, but in those precious moments he became beautiful.
As these thoughts passed through my head, it occurred to me that it was perhaps a little wicked to be thinking such things of the two friends of the man with whom I had spent the previous night. Especially with him seated next to me having just, it seemed, saved my life. On the other hand, last night had never been anything but casual, so there was no betrayal, and although hitting on a guy’s friends is borderline, I had come to the island with the idea of sleeping with a different guy every night - or at least every other night, a girl has to rest – and fate had delivered a second and third gorgeous man into my reach. It would have been rude of me not to take advantage, and I wasn’t looking to make things difficult for myself. There might be a moment of awkwardness in moving the conversation in the direction of ‘Well, I had your friend last night – who’s next?’ but if the subject came up naturally, I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. And if the tightness of Drake’s shorts were anything to go by then ‘horse’ was the right word.
All this, of course, depended somewhat on the conversation we were about to have and the explanation they were about to give me for the unusual events of the afternoon. I was hyper-attracted to all of them, but not to the exclusion of good sense.
“First up,” said Campbell, as we crested the cliff and he turned the Vanquish in the direction of the town in which I was staying, “I should apologize. All this is my fault.”
“His,” stressed Red.
“How so?” I asked. I couldn’t understand why three total strangers should have been pursuing me but I also didn’t get how it could be Campbell’s fault, either.
“Those gentlemen,” Campbell continued, “saw you and I together last night…”
“They saw us!”
“When we were in the bar,” Campbell clarified. “Possibly when we were on the balcony, but I guess we both knew that was a risk. The point is; they saw us together. That has unfortunately given them the idea that you and I are working together. That you are part of our mission here.”
“Mission?” I was getting more confused rather than less.
Campbell flicked a look back at his friends. “This isn’t information we would normally give out, but in the circumstances, I don’t think we have a lot of choice. The three of us are what I suppose you would call ‘secret agents’.”
“Of a sort,” added Red, as a look of incredulity spread across my face.
“Supernatural secret agents,” added Drake, as serious as ever.
“Supernatural secret agents,” I repeated. My dreams of bedding all three of these stunning men were slipping further and further from reality. “So you’re like, what? Superheroes?”
“We’re not supernatural,” Campbell explained. “We’re perfectly normal.”
After last night, I perhaps would have believed there was something superhuman about Campbell. And right now ‘normal’ was not a word I would have applied to any of them.
“We hunt supernatural villains and stop them in their nefarious plans,” Campbell concluded.
“Basically,” added Red, “we’re like James Bond, if Blofeld raised an army of zombies and trained them to consume the brains of humanity.”
When you are being chased through a marketplace by obviously ill-intentioned men and someone saves you in an Aston Martin Vanquish, then they are clearly the heroes. This does not necessarily mean that they are sane…
“We’ve been on the trail of an international supernatural supervillain,” Campbell picked up the story again. “His name is LeSoeur and he fancies himself a modern day witch doctor, a master of the ancient magics that govern the living and the dead. Crazy, of course, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“That could be our motto,” put in Drake.
“We traced him to this island,” Campbell went on, “but we haven’t been able to track down the man himself. Now it seems that he’s had eyes on us, and unfortunately that’s had some regrettable repercussions for you. I can’t over-emphasize how dangerous LeSoeur can be; his followers are devoted zealots who would give their lives for him – as you just saw – and some of them may not be one hundred percent human. We can keep you safe, but you need to trust us. Okay?”
I have, in my life, made some bad decisions in the men I hook up with. I have been hurt, I have been used and I have been badly disappointed. But this was the first time I had slept with a man who turned out to be genuinely out of his mind. I still couldn’t quite bring myself to regret sleeping with Campbell – sex like that doesn’t come along every lifetime – but I did now feel a pressing need to get out of here before the men in white coats, who were surely looking for these three, turned up. There was still the question of who the men on motorbikes had been, but that question could safely wait till I had ditched the ‘supernatural secret agents’ who had dragged me into their fantasy.
“Which hotel are you staying at?” asked Campbell.
We were now approaching the town in which I was staying and I thanked God that, as an old hand at conducting one-nighters, I had not given out my real name or contact details. I did my best to look unwell – which at this point didn’t take much acting.
“I’m not feeling so good.”
“Campbell’s not the best driver,” agreed Red.
“Or it may be the whole zombie army thing,” suggested Drake.
“Are you going to be sick? I’ll pull over,” said Campbell. “No offense but… well, it is a Vanquish.”
“I think you’d better,” I nodded, lurching slightly in my seat as if battling down stomach pangs.
Fearing for his leather upholstery, Campbell hastily pulled over on the road that led into town. It was lined with fruit trees, providing just the sort of cover I needed for my purpose. I jumped as quick as I could, hurrying for the tree line. Glancing back, I was glad to see all three of the guys averting their eyes. One thing I had earned from a partying lifestyle as a college girl, was that no guy, no matter how much of a gentleman, likes to see a pretty girl hurl, especially if it’s a girl he has slept with or would like to. I bent over double with one hand against a tree and made some convincing retching motions that soon had all the guys looking the other way.
I didn’t hesitate. I ran like hell into the trees.
Chapter 5
/> Such is the power of the image of a pretty girl hurling, it was some time before I even heard the car doors and the chorus of ‘Shit!’ from the guys, indicating that they had noticed I was gone. By that time, I had already put some serious distance between them and me. They certainly could have outrun me – I’m not a runner – but I had a good head start and in amongst the trees they weren’t going to find me. I was already so far away that their words were barely audible.
Strangely, the last thing I heard from them, which I guessed must have been my imagination, sounded like Campbell yelling my name, “Jane!”
It was the name I had kept from him. Last night I had told him my name was Caitlin, and today in the rush of the chase and the confusion of afterwards, introductions had been cursory and my name had not come up. So it couldn’t have been that that I had heard. But I guess we all imagine hearing our name when no one has spoken it.
By the time I got back to my hotel, I had already decided on my next move. The place was nice but it was by no means the only nice place on a very touristy island, and it would not hurt my vacation one bit for me to move. There was a similar town on the far side of the island, which I had been looking at as another possible place to stay and a phone call secured me a room in a well-rated hotel there. I checked out, called a taxi and was moved into my new hotel before the sun had started to go down.
Looking out from the balcony of the new place it was amazing how similar it all was, as if I was looking out at the same town from a different window rather than having crossed the island. I guess tourist towns are pretty much the same the world over. It looked like another place where I could enjoy a relaxing and self-indulgent vacation, and another place where I would not have any trouble in finding enough handsome young hunks to satisfy the purpose of my trip. And without my name or any other way of tracing me, I figured I was safe from marauding bikers and crazy – if handsome – pseudo secret agents.
I settled back to watch the sun go down. It had been an odd day to say the least. I ought to have been scared or upset or ready to chuck in the whole vacation idea completely, but instead I found that the little adventure had enlivened me. Maybe, without realizing it, I had come out here looking for more than casual sex with strangers. Which didn’t mean I was giving up on that aspect of the trip. I looked down at the bars littering the beachfront. The way I was feeling at the moment, I was sure I could pick up a cute guy in any one of them – my confidence was at an all-time high. But it had been a very long and tiring day, and I was looking forward more to a good night’s sleep than a good night’s anything else.
Perhaps it was early in my vacation to be giving up on the whole ‘different guy every night’ idea, but the way I saw it, Campbell had probably counted for two. At least.
I went to bed, and the absence of sex in reality was filled by a dream of the three men in whose company I had spent the afternoon. They may have been crazy in real life, but they certainly knew their way around my dreams.
Waking up the following morning, I was more optimistic than ever that I was doing the right thing in not letting the unusual events of the previous day ruin my self-indulgent vacation. Whatever was going on with the crazy people I had met – the ones pursuing me and those trying to help me – it was no business of mine. Let the local authorities sort them out while I continued to lose myself in a sun-baked swirl of sand, sangria and sexy men. I had a leisurely start to the day and wandered out around eleven with the idea of exploring this new town a bit. As with that in which I had been staying previously – I wasn’t even going to try to get my tongue around the place names – the hotel was right in the middle of the tourist sector with beaches and bars as far as the eye could see, and which I was definitely going to check out tonight. I wasn’t going to spend two consecutive nights alone; that would feel like failure.
I went for a walk along the beachfront road, running my eyes over clouds of happy bathers – families and couples, groups of friends and occasional singletons like me, on the prowl for company. I wondered idly if any of these might be in the bars tonight. Perhaps even now I was just feet away from the man I would be shacking up with tonight. It made me happy to think like that, and returned my derailed vacation to its default setting.
The further I walked, at my own leisurely pace, the more the crowds thinned. The beaches became less golden and more rocky, and the bars and hotels seemed to lose a star about every five minutes of walking. Eventually, I passed out of the tourist regions and the seafront became populated with the roughly built homes of local fishermen. Time to turn around. Much as I liked the idea of exploring the local color, it had gotten me into trouble yesterday and I had no wish for a repeat of those events.
I turned around and froze.
Throughout my walk, my gaze had been always ahead of me, admiring the views. It was only now I turned that I found I was being followed. The man in the Panama hat – the third motorbike rider, I assumed – stood twenty feet behind me, watching me. He made no move to come closer, and yet there was something quietly horrifying in his stillness.
What should I do? For long seconds I stood there, not knowing which way to go or what to do. A flash of Campbell’s handsome friendly face passed through my mind and I found myself wishing he were there with his equally handsome friends to whisk me off to safety or on another exciting thrill ride. If I could have had my pick of crazy people to run into again today then this was not the one I would have chosen.
On an impulse, I started to walk. Not away from the man, but towards him and picking up speed with every pace I took. Was it wise? I didn’t know and I didn’t care. I was done being scared. If this bastard wanted to follow me then okay; here I was, coming for him - what was he going to do about it?
He stood there. Unmoving. His face impassive. Still watching. I was less than ten feet from him when I heard a sound from behind me. I turned just too late and let out a cut off shriek as a bag was pulled over my head and a hand clamped over my mouth. Strong arms grasped me, stilling my struggles. I lashed out with my legs, kicking at anything that came in range, determined to make this as difficult for them as I could, but it was all to little avail. I was slung across the shoulder of one of my captors and we were on the move.
What the hell was happening?
Had I been able to think clearly through the fiery panic that was searing all lucidity from my mind, then I might have considered that, however crazy all this seemed, it was getting harder and harder to write this off as the simple actions of a bunch of lunatics. Surely lunatics are not so discriminate as to target a single person and go to the trouble of tracking that person across an island. I didn’t know how they had found me, but it must have taken an effort that seemed to me beyond the concentration of the average crazy person. Whether I liked it or not, it was clearly me they wanted, specifically, and there had to be a reason, albeit one I could not fathom.
Suddenly, new sounds were reaching my ears.
“What the…!” A startled exclamation, followed by the sounds of a struggle.
I was rudely tossed this way and that, then seemed to be briefly tugged between two competing sets of hands. The hands that won out plonked me roughly down on my feet again and tore the bag from my head.
“Good afternoon,” said Red, in his pleasant Scottish brogue. “Now might be a good time to run for your life.”
“She’s over there!” I turned to see the man in the Panama hat running towards us followed by five burly men armed with machetes.
Red grabbed my hand and pulled me after him, stepping over the three unconscious men on the floor, who had presumably been my kidnappers, and leading me into a network of narrow alleys that ran between the buildings. I was none the wiser as to what was going on, and frankly I felt that speculation could wait. As Red began to run, dragging me with him, I found my feet and picked up the pace.
“That’s the way,” said Red. “The next few minutes may be a bit…”
As we rounded a corner, a machete slashed do
wn in front of us. Red kicked the hand that held it, sending the weapon flying, then spun on his toes and planted a fist into the face of the weapon’s owner hard enough to make his head rebound off the wall behind so Red could punch him again.
Red grabbed my hand once more. “Tricky.” He finished his sentence. “Come on.”
We darted through the streets, Red seeming to follow a map in his head while I staggered after. There were fast running feet on our tail and Red spun about to face another of our pursuers. He tore towards us, brandishing his weapon until, at the last second, Red knocked on a nearby door. The door opened smack into the face of the machete wielding man.
The elderly woman who had opened the door began speaking in a language I could not understand.
Red nodded politely, replying in the same language with an easy smile that she returned, and then we were off again. Round another bend, two more thugs loomed. Red ran towards them. Ducking and rolling he dodged the slashing blades and, keeping low, spun a leg round to kick out the feet of one man who crashed to the ground on his back. Red used the man’s prone form as a step to leap up and kick the second in the face, knocking him to the ground, too.
“Come on.”
I willingly took his hand, no longer wondering if this was sensible or sane, no longer choosing him over kidnappers, but just choosing him. Anyone willing to put his life on the line for me deserved a second chance.
Her Shadow Harem: A Paranormal Reverse Harem Romance Page 4