Chapter 4
Bayne
Eamon gives me that look I hate. The baby brother one. The one that means he’s about to talk me into changing my mind.
“Don’t turn them damn pup eyes on me, Eamon.” I grip the wheel tighter. He’s the only soft spot in my hard world. “It’s got to be done.”
Eamon pushes his shaggy hair back from his face. White-blonde when he was born, it darkened as he aged but is already beginning to lighten from his hours fishing in the early summer sun. “But she’s just a wee lass. One of them tree huggers. She’s got no idea how things go around here.” He locks his eyes on me, light yet piercing, same as mine, blue with a hint of green if there’s a storm coming, same color as the island waters at their shallowest, just before they touch our shores.
The color’s been dubbed Bayne blue for our surname, as Eamon’s eyes are like mine and Dad’s and our grandfather. He and I are the only two Baynes left in our immediate family.
“Well, she’s gonna learn, then,” I say. “Isn’t she?”
“Not like this.” He shakes his head, hair falling back over his eye. “She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. She didn’t do wrong.”
“I’ll make it quick,” I reassure him. “It’ll be painless.”
“It’s wrong.”
“Eamon.” My tone goes dark, closing the subject. “You know how it has to be.”
He turns away from me, his focus on the view outside his window. Like there’s more than sheep and grass out there to look at. His next tactic in getting his way—ignoring me.
I hold the wheel so tight my knuckles go white. It’s not like me. To be like this. To second-guess myself and my initial instincts.
Only with Eamon.
Now, his silence breaks me, making me further validate my position. “I warned her,” I say. “And you’re the only one I even told I saw her. Do you even know what Jonjo would do with her before he offed her?”
“Jonathan Joseph’s decision-making skills aren’t always agreeable.” Jonjo hates his full name and Eamon uses it now, showing his own distaste for Jonjo. “We can at least agree on that.”
I choose to agree with nothing. “I kept her safe from the others. Told her exactly what she needed to do to keep herself safe. And she didn’t do it. Did she?”
Eamon keeps going. “She’s young. She’s American. You’ve seen the shows. You know how soft the ones from California are. Hell, spell Tiffanii without the extra ‘i’ on her Starbuck cup and they’ll start crying.”
“I’ve not ‘seen the shows.’ I work day and night. Remember? And she’s not soft. She’s disobedient.”
I think of her lying there in the grass, dark hair spread around her pale face like she was floating on the surface of the sea.
Her skin warm and soft against the cup of my palm.
And her eyes.
I’ve never seen eyes like hers. Beautiful. Determined. Wide-eyed innocence and such a dark, expressive brown. Like the deep chocolate wool Mum used to make wedding ring scarves out of. The fibers so delicate, the scarf could pass through a bride’s ring.
“She was warned,” I say again, wanting to talk sense into Eamon.
He’ll hear nothing of it. “Aye.” He nods at the window. “You’ve said.”
I drum my fingers on the wheel, pulling up to Bayne-Burnes house, the shared Gothic cathedral that we’re in the decade-long process of renovating. The Baynes and Burneses being the kings of the island, we call this place the Castle.
“We’re here,” I say.
“Useless statement,” he mumbles to himself. “We’re obviously here.”
Still angry. Still a kid.
I throw the truck in Park. “Get yourself inside and I’ll be back when the deed is done.”
Baby brother heaves a sigh, wanting to say more but knowing better than to argue with me any further.
He’s pure goodness, never leaving on an argument, like now when he rolls his face over his shoulder and locks his Bayne’s blue eyes with mine. “Alright then. Be safe.”
“Aye. Always.”
A prick of pride stings my chest, watching Eamon go. He’s seventeen, eighteen in a few weeks, going on twenty-five. His shoulders filled out over the winter. He’ll soon be a man, no longer the wide-eyed, towheaded kid that followed me around the island.
Once he’s inside, I set off down the road, going back the way I’ve come.
Our informant at the station’s let me know the girl’s called in. She’s expecting a copper in a police car to be waiting outside the lodge. Instead, she’s gonna find me.
I open the glovebox, taking out the single red rose I’ve procured for the occasion, and toss it on the empty passenger seat.
Everyone deserves a proper burial.
The petals of the flower make me think of her deep red lips. How they trembled as I touched her.
“Fuck.” I run a hand through my thick dark hair, leaving it as unruly as it was when I started this day.
Eamon’s right.
She’s young. She’s not from here. She doesn’t know any better.
As I drive, I tell myself these are the reasons I’m changing my mind.
Not because of her pretty brown eyes and the way looking into them makes my buried cock come to life.
The lodge comes into view. Low white building set under two streetlights.
I grab the burner phone from where it sits in the cupholder. One hand on the wheel, I text the number I’ve been given for her.
Here
Toss the phone back into the cupholder and pull in front of the building. Hop down from the truck. At the last moment, I eye the rose on the passenger seat and grab it. Shut the door.
And wait for her to come to me.
A moment later, the door opens, a gust of wind blows back her hair. She’s not seen me yet. But when she does?—
I’ll not soon forget that look in her eyes.
Makes me want to reach out and touch her face once more. Instead, I twirl the stem of the rose between my fingertips.
She keeps her eyes locked on mine as she reaches behind her.
I shake my head. “Don’t make me chase ye. You’ll only make it worse on yourself than it’s already gonna be.”
Breaking our gaze, she stares down at her feet and mutters a soft string of words under her breath I can’t quite make out.
I need to get her in the truck and away from here before anyone comes looking.
I stride across the gravel. She stands there waiting for me to fetch her. “Good girl,” I say. “Let’s get you in the truck.”
She shakes her head, trying to take a step back, to create some distance between us, but she just ends up bumping herself against the closed door.
“Come on.”
“Are you going to hurt me?”
“Aye.”
Her dark eyes go wider than they already were.
“But not like you’re thinking.” I lift the rose, snapping the stem above the thorn so there’s a few centimeters of smooth green stem. Just enough to reach out and tuck behind her ear, holding her hair back in the wind. I don’t stop myself from letting my fingertips trail down her soft cheek. “I’m gonna punish you. Teach you what happens to bad little girls out here. Ones who don’t do as they are told.” I grab her arm, pulling her toward the truck.
She resists, dragging her feet in the gravel. She’s not thought of calling for help yet, and I quickly warn her off.
“Don’t say a word. Or I might reconsider keeping you.”
“Keeping me?” Her harsh whispered words are filled with fear. “Was there a scenario where you were going to… dispose of me?”
“Aye. Eamon talked me out of it,” I half-lie.
Through her fear she pops out a joke. “Well, thank you to Eamon. Whoever he is.”
I almost laugh, my lips turning up in a grin.
We reach the truck. I open the driver’s door—on the American side, never did get around to switching it over—and lift her up, shoving her in.
“Don’t bother with the door. It’s locked from the outside. You’ll never get it open.” I slide in beside her, shutting the door.
I take off, kicking gravel behind me as we go. Tires need air. Probably due for oil as well. I’ll have to talk to Crank about getting a once-over on the truck this week.
I glance over at the girl. She’s got her arms crossed over her chest, hugging herself tightly. She’s mumbling something softly to herself again. “Never should have taken that walk.”
“Aye. Pretty little girls shouldn’t be alone at night. Bad things happen to them. Bad men do bad things to girls who go out after dark.”
“Wrong. Any type of girl should be able to walk alone at night. Bad men shouldn’t be out at night doing bad things.” She sniffs. “I can smell the patriarchy coming off you.”
“If by patriarchy you mean our men look after our women, then yes. I’m guilty. We protect the weaker sex,” I say.
She side-eyes me. “Weaker?”
“You can’t deny a man is physically stronger than a woman.” I think of what I’ve heard on the television about LA. About America’s problems with crime and guns. Surely she’s not prancing around that city alone in the middle of the night. “Isn’t it the same where you’re from?”
“Sadly, yes. A girl wears a short skirt and she’s to blame. But things are changing. Quickly.” Disgust covers her face as she gives me a look up and down. “It’ll be a few more centuries before men like you catch up.”
“Men like me?” I ask.
“Men who commit crimes then make the witness out to be the villain,” she snaps.
“I don’t see you as a villain. I see you as a kid who got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.” I don’t fault her for being out. Can’t remember a night I was home before morning at her age. “You were warned. And you chose to disobey me. Not to mention the fact that you lied. You told me you could keep quiet, but then you go and call the police.”
“I said I would keep quiet when I thought it was a few firebombs. Then you told me it was a murder.” Her voice goes distant. “Why did you all kill him, anyway?”
“Same reason I was sent to get rid of you. He was warned. And he didn’t heed the warning.”
“Oh.” She tries to hide the way fear instantly clutches at her heart, changing her posture, her spine going ramrod straight. She reaches up, plucking the rose from where I’ve laid it behind her ear. She holds the stem between her fingers, twirling it. Contemplating. “So.”
“What?”
“What… are you going to do with me. If you’re not going to...” She pauses a moment to swallow hard. “Get rid of me. Then what are you planning on doing with me?”
“Great question.” I heave a sigh. “I haven’t gotten that far yet.”
She gives a brave nod, slipping the stem of the rose into the open breast pocket of her coat, like a buttonhole at a wedding.
Or a funeral.
It’s only been minutes since I let Eamon get into my head, let those pretty brown eyes get a hold of me, and decided to make the rose a gift instead of a grave marker.
“Well?” I glance over to see her peering at me. Her face is startlingly white in the Simmer Dim.
Eyes on the road, I shake my head, ignoring her question. This kidnapping is starting to feel more like an investigation, her gaining control.
“No more talking.” I grip the wheel. “Just—be quiet now. Will you?”
“Sure. I’ll just be quiet and not ask any more questions about my life, even though?—”
The heel of my hand hits the wheel. “Enough.”
I give her the look.
She snaps her mouth shut, directing her attention out the window.
We’re close now.
I don’t need to be alone with her in this truck another moment. She’s too distracting. Talks too much.
I slow as we prepare to pass by King’s Castle. Front doors are closed. All the green shutters are latched tight save for the kitchen. There’s a light on over the sink, Crank washing a dish. Outside, I make out the figure of Eamon standing below the side stoop steps where we keep the rubbish bins, smoking a cigarette. Hearing the truck, he looks up.
Seeing either Crank at the sink, or Eamon at the bins, the girl bangs on the window. “Hey! Hey!” Grabbing the old knob, she tries cranking down the window as fast as she can, but it barely moves. Giving up on the crank, she leans up, shouting out the half open window. “Hey! Help me! Call the police! I’ve been taken hostage.”
I drive on.
We’re a few meters away when she finally stops. Her face drops in despair. She looks over her shoulder, watching him from the truck’s back window over the bench seat. I glance in the smudged rearview, confirming he’s still by the bins. He finishes his smoke, his back to the truck, stepping on the cigarette butt before heading up the side steps.
Her voice is filled with bewilderment. “He had to have heard me. He didn’t even move an inch.”
“Nope. Nay a centimeter, to be fair.”
She gives me an exasperated look. “Did you know him? The man inside?—”
“I know everyone. And that was Crank. Town mechanic. Has a chip on his shoulder and a scar over his brow. Bar fight when he was sixteen, down at his old man’s pub, the Hobgoblin.”
“Thanks for the history lesson. Well, Crank, town mechanic and bar fighter extraordinaire, might not have heard me, but the one outside had to have. I couldn’t see his face, but I was banging pretty loud. He had to hear. He didn’t even look…” She slowly side-eyes me. “He must know you. Is this whole island in on my kidnapping?”
“Baynes have been here since the dawn of time. We work together. We know every person on this island.” I glance over at her. “And now I’ve had the displeasure of meeting the island’s newest resident.”
“If I don’t please you, take me back.”
“Can’t do. I’m keeping you.”
Her pale face goes alabaster. “Yes, but for how long?”
“Till I decide what to do with ye.”
She goes quiet then, thank God, and we ride in silence the rest of the way to the cottage.
It’s a wee stone building in the middle of nowhere, which on this island is really saying something. It’s outfitted to be a safehouse if someone needs to lay low, or in this case, a perfect place to keep a pretty captive like the blooming rose next to me.
I pull up the drive, parking round the back where the truck will be out of sight from the road. Once I get her secure, I’ll come back out and hide the truck in the old garage bay.
“Feel free to scream as loud as ye want, but I’d prefer if ye’d not scare the animals. Just get yer arse inside as quickly as possible. There’s nothing but sheep and ponies out here, and as lovely as you American kind find the ponies, they aren’t going to do a lick to save ye.”
She eyes me, all fear and decision making. Will she scream? Am I lying? Could there be someone out here to save her?
Or will her screams anger me? Making me treat her more harshly than I’m already planning on.
Reading my mind, she goes with the second thought and keeps her mouth shut as I guide her through the back door of the cottage.
She’s mine. To do with as I please.
It’s been a long time since I had a lass under my control.
I’m going to enjoy every moment punishing her.