by Henry, Jane
“Yeah,” I sputter, confused and shaken, but it works. He lets my hair go and kneels beside the broken body of the man who attacked me.
“You killed him,” I accuse, angry at him for doing what I wanted to do, though I know I wouldn’t have had the actual nerve to go through with it. “I was supposed to kill him.”
He’s holding the man’s wrist between his fingers, frowning, and when I speak, he turns to me with a fierce snarl. I shiver. He’s like half wolf or something.
“You had your chance,” he mutters.
“He tried to rape me,” I say, my voice shaking, as if I’m pleading with the universe to understand why a human life was taken. “He tried to rape me.”
The savage man kneels on one knee and turns to look at me, his blue eyes piercing straight through me. “Of course, he did. He was nothing more than an animal when he saw you.” He shakes his head and his eyes narrow on me. And what he says next sends a terrifying chill straight through me. “None of us are. You shouldn’t be anywhere near us. You shouldn’t have come here.”
I blink in surprise. “Oh, this is my fault? I brought this on myself for setting foot on your precious island?”
He nods. “Yes.”
I don’t even know how to respond. The women I write for would have a field day with this line of thinking. Instead, I change the subject.
“Is he dead?”
I’m still shaking, from nerves and anger.
Scowling, he takes the man’s second wrist in his hand and feels for a pulse, as if to confirm what he already knows.
“Sure as hell is.” He shakes his head. “Not many survive a broken neck.”
“You broke his neck?”
He just gives me a withering look and pinches his lips together.
I take that as a yes.
“So, he’s dead.”
“He is,” he says with a sigh. “I’ll have to get rid of the body.”
I’m pissed he did this. I hate that he killed this man, when all I wanted was to do the very same.
“He was supposed to be for me,” I repeat.
What am I saying? Who am I? I don’t kill people. What is it with this place? I shudder. I can’t seem to stop speaking. I’m angry at him for killing the other guy but not because it’s a savage thing to do.
“I was the one who was supposed to kill him for trying to rape me.” The more I speak, the angrier I become. “No one asked you for your help. No one asked you to save me. You did that on your own.”
At first, I don’t heed the way his eyes narrow and gleam with flicks of fire in them, the way his body grows taut and he flexes his fingers.
“I was going to kill him myself,” I protest again, repeating the words as if somehow, it’ll give them more weight. “He tried to rape me. He was mine to kill, not yours.” I want to stomp my foot and shove him, I’m that angry, and I think the shock of it all has made me maybe a little insane. “But no. You had to swoop in here and kill him for yourself, didn’t you?”
What the hell am I even saying?
He just killed a man. Maybe I should proceed with a little more caution, but a part of me wants to show him I’m not a hapless female who needs his prowess to survive.
I pause in the middle of my tirade and swallow.
Where am I? What just happened? Where the hell do I go from here?
Where did the third man go?
I have to get back to the ship.
The man doesn’t say a thing, just watches me with his furious, narrowed eyes, and it makes me angrier.
I continue inanely, though my voice has lost some of its edge. “The next time someone tries to attack me, you don’t have to swoop in and save me.”
This might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever said, the stupidest non-conversation I’ve ever had.
Still, he doesn’t respond. Instead, he grabs me by the arm and hauls me away from the dead body, dragging me toward him. My pulse spikes when suddenly I realize he could hurt me, that maybe he wasn’t trying to help me at all.
Maybe he just wants me for his own.
Oh, God.
“Let me go,” I whisper, but he ignores me, tugging me closer to him so that I’m standing toe to toe. He wraps one strong, sinewy arm around me as if to anchor me to him, and with his free hand, tips my chin so he can look in my eyes.
In another time and place, he’d be hot as hell, ruggedly masculine with the square cut of his jaw and vibrant blue eyes, muscular and tall, covered in ink that makes my heart accelerate. But there’s a desperation in his eyes and thirst in his grip that sends warning bells clanging.
“Who sent you here?” he demands, his voice thick and snarling. “Was this a trick? Were you sent here to distract me?” His voice is angry and tight, his eyes flashing while he questions me. “To tempt me?”
Tempt him?
“What the hell are you talking about?” I say, trying to pull out of his grip, but he only tightens his hold. This man is no savior of mine, but every bit the enemy.
“Why are you here?” he demands, shaking me.
“I—there was a ship,” I say, almost pleading, because his grip hurts, and I want to get away, but he only holds me tighter. Still holding my chin in his hand, his narrowed eyes tell me he doesn’t trust me. “There is a ship—”
“And why aren’t you on that ship? Why didn’t you get back on before it left? Did you know I was here? Have you come to mock me?”
“I… what?” I whisper. “No, I—I just wanted to explore a little.”
Is the ship still here? Oh, God, it has to be. Is he serious?
How will I find it? How will I get home? I’m going to cry, and I don’t want him to see me, so I yank my chin out of his hand. He still holds me in his vicious, tight grip.
“I don’t need your help,” I manage to grit out. “You didn’t have to kill that other man.”
“Fine, then,” he finally says. His voice is husky and rough. “You can kill the other one.” He lets me go so quickly, I stumble, falling to the ground and skinning my knee, but I barely pay attention.
There were three men in that skirmish. One lies dead, one walks beside me, manhandling me like I’m a piece of property, and the third is missing.
I get to my feet. He’s eying me as if I’m a slab of steak and he’s a starving dog. I swallow hard and pretend I’m courageous.
“Where’d he go?” I snap.
He scoffs, his eyes traveling the length of my body before he answers. “Who the hell knows? Likely to the easiest place where he can hide, maybe one of the shelters we’ve made before. He’ll need food and water, and he’ll want to put as little effort into his own fucking survival as possible.”
He takes a step toward me and grabs my hand, pulling me away from the forest and toward the beach.
“Let me go,” I tell him.
“No.”
I grit my teeth but don’t fight him. I’m not so sure he won’t hurt me if I argue, and if I’m honest, the terrain is rough and rocky. His footing is more sure here, and if I hold his hand I’m less likely to fall again.
I’ll get away from him. I’ll fend for myself. But first, I need to find out where I am and how I’m getting out of here.
He continues to drag me out of the woods to a sort of cliff that overlooks the beach. I blink. The beach is familiar. I still see the shells lined up at the water’s edge where I left them earlier today. But my stomach ties in knots when I see the vast, empty shoreline with no ship in sight.
“Where’d it go?” I whisper. I’m suddenly cold and shaking. “Where?”
He raises a brow to me. “Your ship? I have no idea. The only thing I know is that it came today, when we called out to them, they somehow didn’t hear us, and by the time we got to them, they were gone.”
I blink. “They weren’t supposed to leave without me.”
He narrows his eyes and looks with hatred at the horizon. “Nor me. But here we are.”
I fall to the ground in a sitting position and bury my head in my h
ands. “And where… where might that be?”
He scoffs. “Who the hell knows?”
Five
Cy
Jesus fucking Christ.
It was bad enough when Eugene was alive, and we didn’t know where he was. This is far, far worse. As soon as he could, while I was distracted ending the motherfuckering savage, Eugene, Will took off. Where to, no one knows, but Will’s selfish insistence on taking care of himself will always prevail. He likely took one of the shelters we built, the son of a bitch.
And now not only do I have Eugene’s dead body to bury, I’ve got a riled-up girl who thinks she can protect herself on my hands, a girl who doesn’t have a goddamn iota of self-preservation in her body, and Will is in hiding.
And why is she here? This was no accident. Cruise ships don’t land on this island, and no random turn of events brought her here. There was something malicious and deliberate about her being here, though I can’t understand how or why it happened.
Jesus, we’ve got to get off this island.
It doesn’t make sense, though, any of it. Why the hell did they bring her here, only to leave? Why would anyone do such a thing? Did they forget her?
Or was this on purpose?
She’s sitting on the ground, her head buried in her hands, and Christ, she’s a mess, but even a wreck she’s stunning.
I blame the island for the way my body responds. My pulse quickens and my dick hardens. It would be so easy to take her like Eugene tried. She’s small and fragile, and she wouldn’t be expecting it. I could pin her down and slide my cock—
God. What am I thinking? I don’t rape women. I just killed a man for trying. Who—what
the hell have I become?
I won’t let my mind deteriorate any further. I will retain whatever civility I have left if it kills me.
Still, I can’t help but give her a solid, thorough once over.
She’s short, and younger than I am, but not by much. With a sturdy, well-built frame and gorgeous, vibrant auburn locks, she stirs something deep and primal within me. But now her auburn hair hangs about in her in wild, scraggly curls, her face is streaked with dirt, and her clothes are torn, revealing a curvy body and full breasts. She’s a mess, though if I’m honest, I’m not that much better. I look from me to her and realize the responsible thing is to get her to safety before we assess our situation.
I don’t know what’s affected my head since I’ve been on this island. I know my hold on the civilized behavior fades with each passing day, and I become more and more uncivilized with every day that passes. But when I saw her… when I first laid eyes on her, I could see nothing beyond how beautiful she was. It awoke a hunger in me, a deep, abiding need to bury my cock between her thighs and fuck her like the savage beast I’ve become. I got one look, caught one glance, and I had to have her.
What the hell is that all about?
When I saw her, I didn’t see a fellow human or someone in trouble, but a beautiful woman in need, and my instincts took over. I had to save her. I had to protect her. I was taken with the sudden, irrational need to drag her off and claim her as my own, away from the danger. Yet, she nearly slapped me for saving her from rape.
The other men likely felt and saw the same, which makes sense in retrospect. When Will and I saw her, we reacted more strongly than we did when we saw the roasted meat. We’ve been starved for real food and damn near ravenous for female companionship. Even now, just looking at her, sitting on the ground helplessly, her clothes hanging about her in tatters, I want to claim her, to ravage her.
But I won’t let myself succumb to my base needs. I’ve been stripped to primal urges, torn down to the most basic needs, and I won’t let this be one of them.
“Come,” I command gruffly. She looks up at me with her vivid green eyes, and they immediately shutter.
Is she in shock?
“Uh, no,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m not going with you. I’m going to find my ship and get out of here. I’m not staying another minute on this godforsaken island.” She shudders.
I look from her to the wide expanse of the sea, then back to her again.
“Are you, then?”
She stumbles to her feet and plants her hands on her hips, glaring at me as if I personally took her ship for my own.
“I. Am.”
I shake my head and against my better judgment, try to reason with her. She’s being stubbornly stupid. “There were three of us. One, as you know, is dead, and the other ran off. You do realize that he’s probably going to come after you? That he ran from me but was as ready to violate you as the other was?”
She blanches, and it gives me momentary hope that maybe she’s coming to grips with the reality here.
I go on. “At the very least you should come with me to shelter before you make your plan.” I snort mirthlessly. “And if finding a way off this island were as simple as you make it out to be, I wouldn’t be here myself.”
“What do you mean?” she says, her bravado momentarily slipping. She swallows hard. She looks out at the wide expanse of ocean. “They… they have to come back. We’re not… stranded here…”
I shake my head. “You might say that.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” she says.
Will may eventually find me—find us, if she joins me—but knowing the location and intricacies still gives me a decided advantage.
“I’m going to find my ship,” she says stubbornly.
“Go, then,” I say, waving my hand toward the water. “If you find it, let me know?”
Panic flits across her features, and her eyes roam over my body again, as if she’s just seeing me for the first time. I don’t look like she does, like someone who accidentally found their way here after getting off a cruise ship. I look like Robinson Fucking Crusoe who’s been fending for himself for an eternity, because that’s what I fucking am.
I have no doubt it sobers her, but she juts her chin out and squares her shoulders, then turns to head back to where the body lies.
“Where are you going?”
“My bag is down… down there.” She takes off at a good clip, I watch her go.
I follow behind her, shaking my head. She isn’t going to find her ship, but at least she locates her bag. My stomach swirls with hunger when I catch up with her, the half carcass I ate earlier now a distant memory. I wonder if she’s eaten. I wonder if she has any food with her. She’s walking away from me and I have to stop her because I know if Will finds her, there’s no telling what he’ll do.
But is she even safe with me?
She takes off for the shore and I follow, cursing behind her.
She paces the white sand, like if she keeps looking, she’ll find the ship under a rock or something. She’s wearing a thin, light green sundress with a faded brown pattern and delicate sandals that will do little to protect her from the elements, looking every bit the part of stranded tourist.
“They wouldn’t just leave,” she says, biting her nails, and hell I wish she wouldn’t do that. She looks vulnerable and innocent, and I don’t trust myself not to lose my fucking mind, because my hold on my self-control is nebulous.
“No? They wouldn’t?” I follow behind her, though my eyes are on the forest and not the shore. Will is hiding. He likely won’t make his move anytime soon, but I know he will in time.
“No,” she says. “I was the one who won the prize. I only went because I needed the vacation. God! I was the one they attended to most. I mean I couldn’t even come out to breakfast without the entire staff making sure I was taken care of. I was the one every single member of that ship looked out for.”
What the hell is she talking about? She seems nearly irrational, and her chatter borders on the frenzied.
Prize? What prize?
It doesn’t matter, though. Not now. She’s not making reasonable sense, but she’ll have to find that out for herself.
I pace the edge of the beach to keep myself calm. To keep m
y instincts in check, because all I see before me is a weak, fragile creature. The rational part of my brain reminds me that she’s probably capable of taking care of herself and she isn’t here for me, and another thread of thought filters in and out of my consciousness, begging the question: what the hell has this island done to me?
I didn’t used to be barbaric and desperate. I used to know how to talk to women. Hell—the memory is faded, but I think I once had a woman I loved, even. Did I? God. And as I pace the beach, I filter through my thoughts and try to sort memory from dream. I can’t. I growl to myself, angry that I don’t know who I am, why I’m here, or what to do with the girl.
The sun beats hard overhead, heading toward the peak of early morning. I look from her to the sun again. She’s fair, lightly tanned and heavily freckled.
“That sun is fucking brutal,” I call out to her from my position on the edge of the beach. I try to keep my tone conversational but fail. My voice is harsh, unwelcoming, and it makes her jump. I continue, trying to quell my rising temper. I hate that she’s here. I hate that I am. I hate that I can’t control my thoughts and barely contain my actions. My words come out heated and sharp like flames. “For Christ’s sake, don’t stand in direct sunlight like that for more than a few minutes at a time. You’ll make yourself sick.”
She pauses, looks up at the sky as if just noticing the full force of the sun’s rays, then glances back my way.
“Right,” she says, waving a hand in my direction. “I know, I know.” She paces away from me again. What the hell is her problem? Her ship isn’t coming back. She’s stuck here with me.
I grunt, but don’t make a move. I’m still keeping an eye out for Will, I’m starving, and I don’t trust myself not to hurt her.
There was a reason why Eugene attacked her. I doubt he could even help himself. Whatever brought us to this island has contributed to our tenuous hold on civilized behavior. He probably couldn’t help himself, he was that far gone. Killing him was the only way to keep her safe.
“Any food in that backpack of yours?” I ask her. I prowl toward her, suddenly nearly delirious with hunger. I’ve gone days without eating, but the thought of actual food right where I can grab it tempts me.