by JA Huss
He pulls his face away and for a moment I have a shock of fear that he will deprive me. Punish me for being rude.
But he doesn’t. He pumps his cock one more time, lets me get a good look at it—fully erect and as beautiful as a cock can be—and eases into me so slowly, I have to meet him halfway by lifting my hips.
“Now it’s your turn,” he says, lowering his chest onto my breasts and kissing my mouth. “God, I’ve missed you too.”
That conversation seems years away from this moment. I can’t even recall why we were fighting or what the stakes were. I can’t recall anything but right now. This moment. I am drunk on his dick. I am lost in his world of carnal pleasures. He is the only thing that matters. He is the only thing that has ever mattered—
“Wait,” I say, pushing back on his chest, struggling to get him off me. “Wait. Stop.”
“What the fuck, Tori?”
He’s not the only thing that matters. What the hell is wrong with me?
I get a foot between us and he knows what’s coming. He tries to get off before I get in position, but he’s too late. I flatten my foot on his pecs and—
He goes flying backwards, landing on his ass about four feet away.
“What the fuck?” West yells. “What did I do now?”
I shake myself out of the stupor his cock puts me in and get up, looking around for my clothes. I still have my bra on, and I find my panties covered in semen next to the couch.
“Good God, Weston. Did you have to use my panties as your come rag?”
West is on his feet again, his face filled with anger, and rage, and… regrets. “You’re a crazy bitch, you know that?”
“I’m sorry, OK? I’m sorry. It’s just… I can’t do this with you, Weston. Not now. I have priorities and you’re clouding my mind, as usual.”
“Clouding…” But he lets it go. Just shakes his head back and walks over to his clothes, picks them up in a whoosh, and goes into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
It’s then that I realize it’s dark. Not, like, for real dark. It cannot be later than two in the afternoon. But it’s dark outside. There is a raging storm. The trees near the small house are beating against the windows. Lightning is flashing off in the distance, but at least it’s not trying to burn our shelter down.
I slide my skirt up my legs and zip it up in the back, then straighten my bra out. West had pulled the cups down so my tits were pushing up towards my chin. I put the silk shirt on, then take it off again when the heat and humidity inside this room—heat and humidity we surely created during our ten minutes of fun, even though it’s got to be from the storm—threatens to suffocate me.
I just take my panties to the sink and—fuck. I can’t even waste water washing them. If there’s still water in the pipes we’ll need it to drink.
I stuff them in my purse just to get them out of sight.
My lobster lunch is cold and rubbery, but I eat half of it anyway. I feel famished, but it’s not fair to eat the whole thing since it’s the only food we’ll likely get today.
I know that pilot isn’t coming back. I have a bad feeling about this trip. I have a bad feeling about that phone call I got. I have a bad feeling about why Wallace Arlington isn’t here on this island today. I have a bad feeling about Vlad the pilot. That cannot be his real name. No one is called Vlad in the US.
The toilet flushes, audible even over the wind outside. West comes out of the bathroom, still only wearing those hot black boxer briefs and nothing else.
“You flushed the toilet?” I ask.
“Usually that’s what you do after you piss, Tori.”
“Stop calling me Tori. And I just decided not to wash my panties to conserve water. You don’t know how long we’ll be here. How dare you use that water—”
“Just shut up, for fuck’s sake.”
“Oh, fuck you. So I said no. Get over it.”
“That’s not why I’m pissed.”
“Then why?”
He lets out a long breath and walks over to the kitchen to poke the half-eaten lobster with his finger. He does not eat what’s left.
“Why?” I ask. “Why are you mad?”
“Forget it,” he says, walking over to the door.
“Where are you going? There’s a raging storm out there.”
“We have to eat and I need to see how much water is left in the catch system.” He looks at me with a sad face. I’ve upset him. And if it isn’t because I said no, then what’s up with that look? “And the storm is only going to get worse. So might as well do it now.”
He opens the door and leaves me there.
Chapter Sixteen - Weston
The rain pelts me, and the wind is so strong it feels like little stinging insects. I walk around the building and find the cistern I saw on the walk back from the beach. There has to be water in there. There’s nowhere else for water to come from on this island except a rainwater catch system. Even if there isn’t much, there will be enough with this storm. But it’s better to know how much we have before we start using any more of it.
I climb up the ladder to the elevated tank and spot solar panels on the roof. Two of them are shattered from the lightning. But that’s less than half. So hopefully there’s some kind of restart button on the AC load controller that will kick the batteries back online.
“What are you doing?” Victoria yells over the wind.
I ignore her. That was a shitty move back inside and I’m quite pissed off at her right now. I get it, we’re incompatible. But she’s so fucking clueless.
“West!” she yells again as I reach the roof and grab hold of a solar panel to steady myself in the wind. “Weston! Get down, you’re going to blow off the roof.”
“Go back inside, Victoria. I don’t need your nagging right now.”
I don’t hear her answer, but when I look over my shoulder, she’s gone. Good. I’ve had about enough of her for one day.
I check the wiring of the panels, deduce that the two that were hit have pretty much fucked the system, and give up.
But when I climb down I notice a door on the back of the house.
Bingo. We have a generator.
Whoever built this place thought ahead and had plenty of money. I know how to run this shit—I had a lot of experience dealing with off-grid electricity when I was growing up in Nantucket—so I flip the switch to change the power source and start it up. Lights come on in the room and I notice there’s a motion detector for that.
Nice.
But power is really the least of our problems. One half-eaten lobster isn’t enough, not even if the pilot manages to come back late tonight. And that’s if the storm passes.
So I go back in the house to get my shirt and my shoes.
“The power’s on,” Tori says as I pick up my shirt, slip my feet into my shoes, and head back towards the door. “Where are you going now?”
“Fishing, Victoria. We have to eat something.”
“You’re fishing with a shirt?”
“Just sit the fuck down and let me handle shit for once.”
I slam the door behind me, but it’s as anticlimactic as it sounds, because the wind is louder than any noise that door makes.
“West!” Victoria screams, coming out behind me. “Where are you going?”
Goddammit. I forgot she hates to be alone. “Victoria,” I yell. “Just please, stay inside. I’ll be back in a little bit.”
“No,” she says, defiant. “I’m coming too. I’m not staying there alone.”
I know this is a losing battle with her. Alone is something she doesn’t do. So I ignore her. Let her follow me. What do I care if she wants to get soaked and cold?
I don’t go back to the beach. It’s too long a walk in this rain and wind. Instead, I go over to the rocks near the house and carefully make my way down, thankful for the soft Italian leather shoes on my feet that will definitely be ruined in about five seconds.
“West, this is a bad idea.” She’s so
close to me, I’m almost startled.
“Would you get the fuck back? Do you see these waves? Do you see these rocks? Would you like to fall in and be pulverized?”
She looks at me. Hard. Like she wants to tell me where to stick my orders. But then she looks at the rocks and her expression changes. “I don’t need to eat. I don’t want you to go in there, Weston. I mean it. Get out and come back to the house. Right now.”
“No,” I say. “Stay here and do not follow me in, no matter what.”
I turn away and climb onto the farthest rock. This is her fear talking, not her concern for my welfare. She’s afraid if I go in the water I’ll never come back out.
And then she’ll be alone.
The last thing I hear before I dive into the water is Victoria screaming my name.
Chapter Seventeen - Victoria
He disappears. Dives right between two rocks as waves crash over them. I’m getting sprayed with the leftover mist even though I’m a good ten feet away.
“Weston?” I call out as I try to see below the surface of the water. “West?” It’s no use. The water is agitated and murky even though two hours ago it was calm and clear.
I wring my hands and look up at the sky. The rain stings my cheeks and makes me blink. The clouds are gray and black and the purple ones are closer than ever.
That mass of swirling air has to be something bad. Something very, very bad. Like a tropical storm or a hurricane.
Oh, God. What if it’s a hurricane?
I look around the island and realize how vulnerable we are. How many feet above sea level does the little house sit? Twenty? Thirty?
We could be swept away. This whole island could be swept away. Already the sandbar we swam out to is gone. The tree is gone too. Jesus Christ. The little tree got swept away! We’re totally fucked!
Keep calm, Victoria.
I look back at the spot where West disappeared. He could’ve been bashed up against the rocks when he dove. He might be down there drowning right now. I’m going to get stuck here all alone. No one will ever come back for me. West will die and I will die and—
He pops up out of the water, gasping for air. But just as I’m about to let the relief wash over me, he dives back down.
“Weston!” I yell. “You asshole!” I’m so mad at him. So fucking mad at him. He’s always been this way. Completely oblivious to how his actions affect other people. Does he care I’m up here ready to freak out because he feels the need to play provider? No. He doesn’t. He has never cared about anything but his grand plan. He has never cared about anyone but his family.
And those stupid fucking friends of his. Those stupid men who dragged him into all that controversy ten years ago.
The Misters.
I hated them for making him into something he wasn’t. Weston Conrad was good before those men in that house made him into this man today. He was good.
I want to cry right now. How the hell did this job I didn’t even want turn into a life-or-death situation?
West pops up again and I hold my breath to wait and see if he’ll go back under again. But he doesn’t.
“I got them,” he says, laughing like a boy who has never had a care in the world. What must it be like to be him? So confident, and powerful, and… happy.
“I got them.” He laughs again. This time he holds up his white dress shirt. He’s made it into some kind of catch bag and inside are… things. I guess lobsters or whatever it was he went down there for.
The waves crash over him and slam him into a rock. I gasp, but he ignores it, even though his head is bleeding.
He throws the makeshift sack towards me and I catch it instinctively, but almost drop it when the things inside wriggle and twist.
“If you drop that, Victoria,” West says, pulling himself up out of the raging sea, “I will be pissed.” He hops from one rock to another until we’re on the same one. I look down at his feet. He’s lost his shoes and there’s blood pouring out of a wound on his ankle. “Come on,” he says, grabbing the sack from me. “Let’s get inside and dry off.”
We are soaked. And the fact that we have no clothes to wear as we get dry doesn’t escape either of us.
West is unfazed. He strips out of his boxer briefs and walks around naked like he’s some kind of Jungle Boy. He even starts cooking the lobsters. He got two of them this time.
“Tomorrow,” he says as I stand in the middle of the room, hugging myself and shivering like crazy, “I’ll get us something different.”
“W-w-we’re going to be here tomorrow?” I ask through my chattering teeth.
“Would you take those fucking clothes off, Victoria? You’re soaked. You can’t warm up wearing wet clothes.”
“You d-d-didn’t answer my question.”
“Well,” West says, looking out the window as he deals with the simplicities of cooking lobster, “it’s not looking good, Tori. We have to assume no one is coming until this storm passes. It could be a day or two.”
“A day or two?” I take a deep breath. “Which do you think?”
“There’s no way to tell. Take those fucking clothes off. There have to be towels somewhere. People who put up beach houses with off-grid electricity will definitely have towels.”
I look around, still shivering. But he’s right. There has to be more to this place. There are two doors we have not checked yet, so I walk over to the one closest to me.
I’m hoping for a bedroom with a nice soft bed when I open it, but no such luck. It’s a closet and it does have towels.
“Cool,” West says, reaching past me. But he doesn’t pick up a towel from one of the shelves. He picks up snorkel gear from the floor. “I’ll use this stuff next time. Then I’ll be able to see better. The fucking visibility is shit right now.”
“Here’s a first-aid kit,” I say, picking up the little white box with a red cross on it. “For your ankle. And your head.”
“I’m fine,” he says, walking over to the other door. He grabs the handle and pulls, but… it’s locked. “What the fuck? They leave everything unlocked, including the house, but they lock this door?”
I’ve stripped out of my wet clothes, including my bra, and I wrap the towel around me before West can catch a glimpse. I take one for him too. I can’t have Naked Man walking around all night.
He’s not even paying attention to me, so I had nothing to worry about when I stripped. He’s just staring at the locked door.
“What do you think is in there?” I ask, walking over to him and holding out the towel.
“Hmm,” he says, taking the towel without looking at me. He wraps it around his waist and says, “Something good, obviously.” He scans the room, finds something he likes, and walks away.
He grabs a fire extinguisher off the wall and comes back to the door.
“What are you going to do with that?”
He bangs the tank on the doorknob, bending it and breaking the lock.
“Oh,” I say.
He messes with the handle for a few seconds and then pulls the door open. “Ho-lee shit.”
“What?” I ask, leaning past him to see. “What’s in there?”
West turns around and looks at me. “Guns.”
Chapter Eighteen - Weston
I realize she’s been wearing skimpy clothes all day, but goddamn. I can’t take my eyes off Tori in this towel. She looks the way she did when we took that trip. That honeymoon practice trip. That’s what I called it. I made reservations for that resort on Great Exuma Island and we spent a week just acting like we were the only two people in the world. Like honeymooners.
I turned her into Naked Woman that week. Two of those days we rented a sailboat and just took our clothes off and acted primal as we cruised around all the different cays.
It was probably the best two days in my life.
There is a nice collection of guns. Four AK-47’s, two AR-15’s—I lean in to get a better look at the pistols and see a .45, a 9mm, and a little .380.
> “Why do you think this is here?” Tori asks as I notice a stash of tactical knives. I pick up one, unsheathe it from the nylon case, and find a serrated blade.
“Hunting. Probably.”
“What do you hunt on a deserted island?” Tori asks, annoyed with my answer.
I want to say, People. But I don’t want to freak her out. So instead I say, “Sharks.”
“Sharks?” she asks, as I put the knife back and pick up another one, which does not have a serrated edge to it. “Nobody hunts sharks with guns, West.”
I shrug. “I’m sure there’s lots of people who hunt sharks with guns.”
“OK, whatever. Is this weird?” she asks. “That we have ended up on an island with a closet full of guns?”
Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it. “Nope,” I say, taking the two knives and closing the closet door back up. “I think whoever owns this place is…” I search for the lie I need. “Some kind of survivalist. This is probably like, a cache, you know? A place some paranoid freak might bring his family if the shit ever hit the fan. Probably some nerdy accountant by day and zombie apocalypse prepper by night.”
“So it’s not weird that we’re here?” Tori isn’t buying it.
“It was a mistake,” I say, walking back to the kitchen to get back to the food. “That pilot probably dropped us off at the wrong cay. In fact,” I say, looking out the window and pointing to the many scattered islands, “I bet Wallace Arlington is probably somewhere within a five-mile radius. I bet he’s on another island and we’re so close to him, we’d be able to smell his money if there wasn’t so much wind.”
Victoria follows me into the kitchen and plants a hand on her hip.
She’s not buying it, Weston. Say something. Quick. “We’re gonna laugh about this when we get back to Miami, don’t you think? We’ll probably still be laughing about this in ten years.”
“I don’t think it’s funny. In fact, it’s all very unusual. We get dropped off at the wrong cay on the same day a huge storm is supposed to blow in? Our pilot had to know the storm was coming, right? That’s things pilots look into when they’re flying around in a tiny, unsafe place in the middle of hurricane season.”