by JA Huss
I don’t buy it. Those two are doing business.
And I’ve been suspicious about Match for a while now. What kind of man runs an online dating site and never has a girlfriend? No. They are up to something and this trip proves it. I’m stuck out here—Victoria Arias is stuck out here—because Paxton Vance gave me bogus information.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Tori asks from across the room. She’s got a remote in her hand and the TV comes to life. “Holy shit. We’ve got HBO and everything. Whose place do you think this is? Some rich movie star? Silicon Valley tech mogul? What if we’re in Peter Thiel’s doomsday bunker?” She laughs like this is ridiculous.
I don’t laugh. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to set this place up. Except I don’t think it’s the PayPal billionaire’s island. I think whoever owns this island probably owns the other one too. And I think I’m on a first-name basis with whoever that is.
“Jesus, West. What are you daydreaming about?” Tori puts the remote down on the coffee table and walk towards me.
I paint on the smile and head for the dry bag to keep myself busy. “Nothing, really. Just thinking about how lucky we are to have found a safe place to ride out the storm.”
“Shit, do you think that hurricane is still coming this way?”
“I hope so,” I mumble under my breath. Because if it’s not, someone will come looking for us very soon.
“What?” Tori asks. “What did you just say?”
“I said I hope not. I hope that fucking pilot has called the coastguard for us and they’re arranging some kind of pickup.”
“Yeah, me too,” Tori says, sighing as she crosses her arms. “I’m cold. Does it feel like this place is air-conditioned?”
I look up at the tall ceiling and see massive fans hanging down by long poles. And sure enough, there are vents on the ceiling.
How much money does it take to run this place? Who would leave all this going if they left the island?
“What if someone’s still here?”
Tori and I come to the same conclusion at the very same moment. We look at each other and I see the fear in her eyes as I start shaking my head. “Nah,” I say, playing it down. “Where would they be? The wind is blowing hard now. And it’s been raining most of the day. If people were here, this room is where they’d be.”
Tori looks around like she needs a moment to talk herself into my lie. For such a wild girl, she sure does have a sweet, vulnerable side.
“Want to check it out?” I ask, reaching to the bottom of the dry bag and grabbing the guns. “Together?” I pull them out one at a time and set them on the floor beside me. When all three are there I look up at Victoria.
“I knew you took them.”
“Yeah? And?”
She shrugs. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
I shrug this time. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Do you think it’s about Wallace? I mean, that was all pretty strange, right?”
I have no answer. “I don’t know, Tori. I’m not sure if it’s Wallace or the people behind the job to get Wallace.”
“Like Liam?”
So she’s been thinking about this too.
“Maybe.”
“But isn’t he a good friend of your family? Why would he set something like this up, West?”
I open my mouth to tell the lie. The lie I’ve been telling since I was seven years old. But I can’t bring myself to say the words.
“West?” Tori prods.
So I make up a new one. “Not good friends,” I say. “Not exactly.”
Chapter Twenty-Three - Victoria
He’s lying. I’ve always known he’s been lying about who he is and where he came from. But I figured it was some small lie. Like, his father wasn’t in the import-export business. I mean, come on. I’m from Brooklyn. I know that import-export is code for mafia.
But I don’t think this is what he’s lying about. It’s something deeper. Bigger. Badder.
“Then…” I say, trying to reason it all out. “Why would Liam set us up?”
“Maybe he didn’t.”
“Then who?” I ask.
West picks up the smallest gun and stands up, offering it to me. “You know how to shoot, right?”
“Sure.” My father was a policeman. He taught me to shoot when I was fourteen. About a week too late, unfortunately. “But I’m not taking that gun.”
“Tori, look. You’re right. Something weird might be going on here. I need to know you can fight back.”
I shake my hands in the air and laugh. “I am a lethal weapon, Mr. Corporate. Don’t you worry your pretty head about me.”
He lets out a long breath and smiles. It’s the first smile I’ve seen on him today, the only time his forehead wasn’t creased with worry and exhaustion. “I know, Miss Arias. But you can’t karate-chop someone from across the room.”
I chuckle back. Karate chop. He’s so cute. What I am capable of doing to a man is nothing short of torture. “I feel safe here,” I say. “I can’t explain why, I just do. I don’t think we’ll need guns. But we should look the place over thoroughly.”
West’s smile drops on one side, making that lopsided grin I love so much. He doesn’t do it often. Only when I’m right and he’s not mad about it.
To me, that look says, OK. We’re OK.
“We’re OK,” I say, to give him the same comfort he’s been giving me these past two days. “We’re fine. We’ll wait it out here and figure it out when the storm ends. And we have a radio now. So… we’re fine.”
“Yeah,” he says, barely audible. “Let’s look around. Maybe they left food.”
We do look. But there is no food. There’s pots and pans and a real oven—gas even—a refrigerator—empty—and a microwave.
All of which is useless.
There is a massive set of stairs which go down on one side and up on the other. We go up first, and find three bedrooms.
“I guess we won’t have to sleep together tonight,” West says.
“I guess not,” I agree. I glance up at him really quick to see if he’s got any regrets about that, but he’s moved on to look at the bathrooms. I wait in the hallway as he flushes all three toilets, and then I follow him down to the basement.
“Well,” West says, once we’re down there. “This is… interesting.”
There’s a safe that spans an entire wall. Complete with one of those round wheel things that you use to open it, and a computer pad where a combination needs to be entered.
There’s a silver envelope taped to the ginormous door. West rips the note off the door like he’s taking it personally, then looks at me with raging eyes.
“What?”
“Do you know who wrote this?”
I feel all kinds of defensive. “Why would I know that?”
“No,” he says, taking a deep breath and combing his fingers through his tousled hair. “No, I mean, Mr. fucking Mysterious wrote this! I fucking knew it!”
“What? Your friend? This place belongs to your friend?” I look around, take it in with a new set of eyes.
“I’m pretty sure that last one did too.”
“So that’s who that guy was at the table with you?” I didn’t see him. I’ve never actually met any of the Misters in person before. West and I went in a whole different direction after those charges. I never saw any of them unless it was on TV.
“What?” West’s eyes are blazing. “What guy I was with at the table?”
Shit. Good going, Victoria.
“You were listening, weren’t you? When Pax gave me the heads up on where Wallace would be yesterday.”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I start.
But West cuts me off. “You were trying to steal that contract, Tori.”
“You don’t even need that contract. You’re rolling in money, Weston. I need it. And not for selfish reasons like you. Like your stupid cars and your stupid houses.”
“Way to get defensive and nast
y when you know I’m right,” West counters.
“It’s all true though. You’ve always been greedy, Weston Conrad. I’m trying to save people and you can’t let me have one stupid contract to keep that stuff afloat?”
“Save who?” He practically snorts. “Cut the shit, Tori. The only person you’re trying to save is yourself.”
“Well, fuck you. You know? Because you’re wrong. You’re totally wrong about me. I’m trying to save my father’s legacy. He’s dying, Weston. He’ll be lucky to live six more months and all he’s ever wanted was to keep that trust fund afloat.”
He looks shocked. “You have a trust fund?”
“Not me, you idiot. The kids.”
“What fucking kids, Victoria?” Now he looks pissed.
I’d forgotten I’d never told him. Jesus Christ. I never told him. It’s been so long since we spoke. Three years at least. And that was only a drunken one-night stand. We went to my place in Scarsdale because it was closer to the bar we met up in and my Manhattan building was still being renovated. West was gone by the time I woke up in the morning. Probably sorry he let things go so far. He was still very mad at me about that seven-million-dollar contract he thought I stole a few months earlier. There was no call, no text, not even an email saying, Thanks for the fun. Just here and then gone.
I didn’t take it personally. I was a little bit relieved. Because there’s no room in my life for a man like West. One night of sex is fine. Like last night. That’s OK with me. It was fun, felt good. But once we’re off this island there’s no way in hell we’ll ever see each other again.
“What fucking kids?” West repeats.
“Look, it’s a long story—”
“Did you have a fucking baby?”
“No.” I laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then what kids are you talking about? You don’t have any siblings.”
“Well, it’s a funny thing. Really. And it is a long story. But I was adopted, West. When I was fourteen. I grew up in foster care and my father, the man you know as my father, well, he saved me after…” Shit. I never had any intention of talking about this again.
West takes a seat in a nearby chair. “Are you shitting me right now?”
“No, why?”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes. Why would I lie about this?”
“So you were never going to tell me your backstory?” He stands up again, begins to pace.
“Are you getting attitude with me about my personal life? Please. You pop off with this little hint that you’re some kind of reformed blue-collar worker yesterday. ‘I worked on a boat, Tori.’ ‘I know how to catch lobsters with my bare hands, Tori.’ ‘I have memorized the fucking tides, Tori.’ And you think you’re allowed to get mad at me for not telling you about my past? Fuck off.”
He grabs me by the arm before I can spin around and leave, but instincts kick in and I deflect his wrist, kick forward toward his balls, and—
I’m down on the ground face first. “Nice try, Miss Arias,” Weston breathes into my ear. He’s got my hands behind my back and… and… I’m stunned.
“What the fuck—”
“I’m a third-degree black belt, Victoria. So you can cut your tough-girl shit, OK? I’m not in the mood.” He lets go of my wrist, gets up, then pulls me to my feet.
“Since when?” I huff. “You never took martial arts when we were together.”
“Wrong. I’ve been taking classes since I was seven. I earned my black belt when I was nineteen.”
“But… you never fought back. When I used my moves on you!”
“You’re a girl, Tori. Why the fuck would I fight back?”
“You’re such a dick.”
“Why?” he snarls. “Because I’m a gentleman? Come off it. I’m not going to hurt you. I only took you down this time because I’m sick of your shit and we don’t have time for this.”
“You’re sick of my shit? Ha.”
West just stares at me. He’s so pissed off right now. He points his finger in my face, the same way I’ve done to him, over, and over, and over. “You’re hiding things from me.”
“You’re hiding things from me! So I guess we’re even.”
“You’re adopted. Where are your parents?”
“You’ve met my father.”
“Your real parents,” he snarls.
“None of your goddamned business.”
“It is my business. We’re here because someone put us here.”
“Yeah, your stupid friend, Mr. Mysterious.”
“Maybe,” he says.
“What do you mean, maybe? You just said this is his place. And how did you know that by that note? Huh? Is his name on it?”
“No,” West says, picking the silver envelope up off the floor where he dropped it. “This,” he says, opening it up so I can see a series of cut-and-paste letters that look like an old-fashioned ransom note, “is his calling card.”
“He’s a kidnapper?” I laugh.
“It’s not funny. None of this is funny. You don’t understand. My friends have been having trouble with people from their past in the past six months. One by one, all us Misters are being targeted again. And this,” he says, waving his arms wide, “appears to be my turn.”
“So your friend, that Mysterious guy, he’s the one fucking with you?”
West sighs and turns away. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. But you’re here, you see.” He turns back to face me. “You’re here and you’re a girl from my past. This is exactly how it’s been happening. Mr. Perfect got a visit from Allen. Remember that asshole? Romantic’s half-sister reappeared in his life before she tried to fuck with him. And now you’re here.”
“You think I’m the one who’s fucking with you? You’re an asshole.” I grab the note from his hand and read it. There’s a bunch of numbers and one sentence. “‘You’ll know what to do.’ What’s that mean?”
West grabs the note back. “I guess I’ll open the safe up and see.”
He walks over to the keypad and punches in the numbers. There’s a loud click and some weird sounds, like something is moving inside the door. The huge wheel thing starts moving by itself and a few moments later another click, and the safe opens about an inch.
West looks at me, then opens it up.
Chapter Twenty-Four - Weston
It’s a room. Like a whole other room. Like a studio apartment. The walls are solid rock, like it’s all built into the side of the island. There’s a little kitchenette in the back with a small dinette table, a door that leads to a bathroom immediately to the left, and a living room filled with a couch and two chairs.
Tori walks towards the kitchen and I try to figure out what Mysterious meant by, You’ll know what to do. Was he referring to the numbers and the safe? I’ll know to open the safe?
OK. I’ve gotten that far. Now what?
“Hey,” she says. “Here’s another one of those silver envelopes.”
I walk over to her and take it from her hand. Fucking silver envelopes.
“‘When the time comes, lock yourself inside. I’ll be in touch.’”
“He’ll be in touch? How? And why the hell would we lock ourselves inside a fucking safe? Would we even be able to get back out? What the hell, Weston?”
I take a deep breath and let it out. What the fuck is happening? Now I know how Nolan felt when that shit started to go down with him. But Mysterious was involved in that as well. He was right there when Nolan got in trouble.
Do I trust him?
What choice do I have? It’s easy to forget there’s a raging storm outside down here. I can’t even hear the wind right now. But the truth is, we’re stuck. There was no boat. There’s no hidden helicopter. And I can’t fly one of those, anyway. There’s the radio, but… I’m not sure calling for help is the right move. And if Mysterious left us this safe room—literally, that’s what this is—then that’s a good reason to stay put.
“West,” Tori sh
outs. I realize she’s been talking this whole time while I was thinking. “What the hell is going on?”
“I’m not sure,” I say. “But he wants us to stay here for a reason, so we better do as he says. At least for one night. We’re not using that radio, understand?”
She just stares at me.
“Understand, Victoria? I don’t need you pulling your feminist card out now. Something bad is happening and we need to work together on this.”
“You are such an asshole. Two minutes ago you were accusing me of being involved. Now you want me to trust you?”
“Just… forget that. You’re not involved. I know that. We better go find food—”
“No, that’s what I was saying. These cupboards are stocked with packaged food. There’s milk in the fridge, West. It’s not even expired. Which means we don’t need to find any. There’s plenty. Weeks’ worth, probably.”
Milk. Not something you keep on hand over long periods of time. Which means someone was here very recently, just like I suspected. “We’re not going to be here for weeks.” Good God, at least I hope we won’t be. “Maybe we should just eat and go to sleep.”
“In here?” Tori asks. “Or the bedrooms out there?”
I look over at the couch and picture last night. It was nice to be near her. I miss her body next to mine. I miss the scent of her hair as I sleep. I want that for another night, but I’m not sure how to insist on this room when there’s a whole house above us and no chance anyone will come looking tonight. “Upstairs, I think. We can take this food upstairs. The first note said I’d know what to do with this room. And right now I don’t. So we must not need it yet.”
“I’m not locking myself in that room, Weston Conrad. No matter what happens. So fuck yeah, I’m sleeping upstairs.”
And then she walks out, a box of crackers and a block of cheese clutched in her hands.
Fucking Tori Arias. Why, of all people to get stuck on an island with, does it have to be her? The only girl I want but can’t have?
And this new revelation about her past. It intrigues me and sends my Mr. Corporate cynicism into overdrive at the same time. Because I see what’s coming. She’s gotten a little glimpse into my lies as well. And if I want more of her, she’ll want more of me.