21 - Leonid
21
Leonid
—
Monty leads us into the heart of his floating palace, one hand resting casually in his pocket, the other gesturing fluidly as he points out the hot tub on the sun deck, bars on every level stocked with the finest liquors, and sleeping cabins that look more like luxury hotel suites.
Not that I’ve ever seen a hotel suite.
But I get the point he’s making. He’s filthy rich, lives large, and loves to show it off.
I follow with Kody close behind, both of us silently absorbing the opulence around us.
Frankie stayed on the bridge deck to take a call from her boss, which makes me twitchy as fuck. An unreasonable reaction. I’ve never met Dr. Rhett Howell.
That’s a problem that needs to be rectified soon.
We step into the main lounge, and the air immediately changes. The space sprawls with polished wood and fine leather, dripping with wealth and impeccable taste. Soft, ambient lighting illuminates lavish sofas and armchairs. Large windows offer panoramic views of the ocean.
It’s too fancy for my primitive, snow-cabin ass.
“Over here.” Monty strolls to the main bar in the aft of the living room.
It isn’t just a bar. It’s a whole experience.
I run my hand along the smooth, curved teak wood. The shiny metal accents remind me of old-school ships. Plenty of comfy seats. Killer views of the ocean. And the bar top? Man, it’s just one big slab of fancy marble with all these cool veins running through it.
Bottles of every shape and color line the shelves. I can practically taste the aged whiskey and fine champagne.
He pours himself a drink, the amber liquid catching the light, and offers us one, too. Kody declines, more interested in observing the setup.
“I’ll have what you’re having.” I nod at his glass.
He hands it over and makes himself another. “Not your usual dive bar, huh?”
“We wouldn’t know.” Kody lowers onto the stool beside me.
“I worked hard for this.” Monty takes a sip. “Every bit of it.”
I respect that. He didn’t inherit this life. He built it, piece by piece.
“It’s not just about the money, you know.” Monty tosses back another drink, his gaze distant. “It’s about freedom. The ability to do what I want, when I want. To provide for those I care about. That’s what drives me.” Another gulp of whiskey. “It means fuck all if I have no one to share it with.”
I understand that more than he knows. Freedom is something we’ve all fought for in our own ways. While our battles have been different, the end goal is the same.
None of it matters without Frankie.
“With hard work and compromise, you can have this, too.” Monty looks at Kody, then me. “With freedom like this, you can have anything you want. You’re the only one standing in your way.”
“What are you saying?” My brows pull together. “What compromise?”
“Let me help you. If you want a pilot school, a distillery, whatever your dreams are, work with me. I can guide you through the logistics, be a silent partner, and help you make it successful. It’s what I do.”
“What do you get out of it?”
“A new challenge.” His eyes glimmer. “And a percentage of the profits, of course.”
A businessman, through and through.
I glance around, taking in the extravagance and comfort of it all. He has every material possession a man could want, but part of me remains unimpressed by the trappings of wealth.
The pod of whales stirred something in me that no amount of luxury could replicate. Their wild, unassuming nature calls to a deeper part of me, one that yearns for something more primal and authentic.
This yacht, this life, it’s a world away from everything we’ve known.
But we’re not in the hills anymore. We must adapt, evolve, and transcend from the feral, snarling animals raised in the wild into smarter, more refined, successful men.
Men who can properly care for Frankie in this strange, manufactured world.
A world where we can finally find the freedom and peace we’ve been searching for. A life we never imagined.
Kody sits beside me, silent as usual, but there’s a light in his eyes I haven’t seen before. He’s curious, maybe even a little excited, though likely more by the sheer novelty of it all.
I give him a look, letting him take the lead.
“Put together a plan.” He rolls his lips. “Give us an offer, and we’ll consider it.”
Monty smiles, a genuine, warm smile that transforms his stern features.
“Here’s to freedom.” He raises his glass.
For the second time today, I clink my tumbler with his and finish my whiskey.
He makes a third drink, this one with Kentucky bourbon, a splash of Amarena cherry juice, and two black cherries.
For Frankie.
My stomach hardens.
“Let’s eat lunch then start on those driving lessons.” Monty pushes off the bar, carrying her drink.
Kody and I rise, taking a second to find our footing against the gentle rocking of the yacht.
We follow the distant calls of seabirds through the narrow corridor with Monty in the lead.
“One more thing.” He pauses at the doorway of the largest suite, turning to face us. “This one’s mine.”
I peer inside the main bedroom. It’s bigger, more lavish than all the rest, a reflection of his status as the owner.
He steps closer, his expression stony. “No one fucks her in this bed but me.”
“What the fuck did you just say?” Blood rushes past my ears.
“You heard me.” He leans in, his breath fuming with whiskey. “Going forward, you get two versions of me. That’s the only way this works.”
I’m still stuck on the part where no one fucks her but him.
The walls close in. My chest pushes out. An animalistic sound rumbles in my throat, a warning of the bloodshed to come.
“Breathe.” Kody stands behind me in the narrow hall and hooks an arm around my waist, holding me back.
“I know you’re fucking her.” Monty slams his hand against the wall beside my face, a loud cracking echo. “I can’t stop you. I can’t…” He sucks in a breath, his fingers clenching around the glass of bourbon. “But I do not want to see it, hear it, or have it flaunted in my face. Give me that much.”
“Two versions?” Kody pushes me to the side, squeezing past me. “What does that mean?”
“When we’re discussing business and planning your dreams, you get the brother. When we’re working out, dealing with Frankie’s therapist, or taking driving lessons, you get the brother. But right here, right now, I’m the husband. The husband in love with his wife. If I find you fucking her in my goddamn bed—” he stabs a finger at his suite “—you get the husband, not the brother. Understand?”
“Yeah.” Kody pushes back against me, stopping me from slipping around him . “We get you.”
“I need to hear it from Leo.”
He’s not demanding his wife back. He’s asking us not to be cruel.
“Yeah.” I drag a hand down my face and rein in my temper. “I get you.”
“Good.” He straightens, cracks his neck, and continues down the corridor like nothing happened.
I trail behind, my mind swimming. “So Dr. Jekyll is the brother, and Mr. Hyde is the murderous husband?”
He pauses and pivots to face us. “Put yourself in my shoes. How would you deal with it? What would you do?”
If I was married to Frankie and she loved two other men? I would steal her back, force her to be with me, whatever it took. I guess that makes him a better man than me.
“That’s what I thought.” He clicks his tongue.
“Am I talking to the brother or the husband? Because I’m a little confused.”
“The brother. Try to keep up.” He turns away, striding across the deck toward her.
“ Good and evil are so close as to be chained together in the soul. ” I shudder.
Kody grunts. He knows the classic lore of Jekyll and Hyde too well. Denver used to read it to us during the long, monotonous months of darkness.
Monty delivers the bourbon to her and heads in the direction of the galley.
The midday sun hovers, casting a glow over everything, especially Frankie.
I prowl toward her.
She was my only source of light in the hills of shivers and shadows. In the halo of sunlight, she shines even brighter, glistening with warmth and luminescence, her expression serene, a rare and precious kind of peace.
As I press in behind her, she reaches back, her hand slipping into mine. The touch of her skin calms me, centers me. I squeeze her fingers, grateful for her presence.
“What happened?” She glances at Kody, who follows Monty to help him with the food.
“Ask Mr. Hyde.”
“Uh oh. That sounds ominous.”
I tell her about the conversation at the bar and his offer to help us. Then I recount the confrontation outside his suite and his warning about his dual personalities.
She loosens a breath. “Why can’t he just move on?”
“Impossible.” With my arms around her from behind, I drag my nose through her hair, inhaling her cherry scent. “No one can move on from you. You’re the ultimate destination.”
“Were you thinking about my vagina when you said that last part?”
“Always thinking about that pretty pink part of you, love.”
“Knew it.” She sips her drink, eyes on the shimmering horizon.
Monty and Kody return, and the four of us share a quiet meal on the sun deck.
As usual, Oliver went all out, preparing a spread of smoked salmon with capers and some kind of creamy white sauce drizzled over it. The salad looks like art with mixed greens, bright cherry tomatoes, and slivers of something purple, all topped with edible flowers. Yeah, flowers we can eat. Who knew?
Steak is the main course, seared perfectly with a crust that smells like heaven. It’s sliced thin, juices pooling on the plate, and served with tiny roasted potatoes and asparagus.
We eat mostly in silence, the only sounds the clink of cutlery and the occasional call of a gull or puffin.
Throughout the meal, Monty tries to be the brother, commenting on the weather or some idle bullshit. But every time he looks at her, the husband burns in his eyes.
He’s delusional if he thinks he can separate the two.
When we clear the dishes, he and Kody head down to the bridge to turn us back toward Sitka’s harbor.
I follow her to the railing, wrapping around her back and running a hand along the bare skin of her thigh. I fucking love how easy it is to access her body in this dress.
She leans her head back on my chest. “I’m going to stay on the yacht while you guys do your driving lessons. Rhett is meeting me—”
“No.”
“Leo.” She huffs. “If I go with you, you won’t be able to concentrate on driving. Learning involves hard braking, over-steering, near collisions…not the safest conditions for a passenger. But if I wait in the garage while you take turns driving, it’ll only make it harder for you to concentrate. You won’t be able to see me, and you’ll be worrying about someone snatching me, even with the guards nearby.”
“I’ll worry no matter what.”
“I know. But it’s safer for me to stay on the yacht. I won’t be out in public or wandering around in town. I won’t step one foot off the yacht. Rhett is coming to me, and I’ll have a security guard stay behind.”
“Both guards.”
“You need one with you. If you guys run into reporters—”
“You fucking serious? You think I need someone to protect me?”
“Don’t sound so insulted. You obviously think I need two guards to protect me. ”
“Because…” I put my mouth at her ear and breathe, “Spaghetti arms.”
“Fuck off.” She jabs me in the gut with a pointy elbow, making me laugh.
That fires up both her elbows, which I quickly wrestle into submission.
“Shh. I’m just teasing you.” I nuzzle her neck. “Tell me about your boss.”
“He’s the Chief of Surgery. Medical degree from Harvard. Highly intelligent. Early forties. He’s a stand-up guy, Leo. Super nice.”
“Let me guess, he also volunteers at the local orphanage and rescues kittens in his spare time?”
“Nope. That’s his fatal flaw. No spare time. He’s married to his job. Lives alone. No domestic partners or close friends.”
“Yet he’s making time to see you.”
“Only because I’m in town, and the hospital is just over the bridge.”
“Bet he’s hoping for some details about your captivity.”
“He won’t get any. Maybe someday, but not right now.”
The strange tone in her voice has me turning her in my arms.
“What did you talk about with Doyle?” I search her vibrant green eyes.
“The miscarriage.” She looks away. “Monty and his relationship with you guys. I need to work up to the rest of it.”
“He asked me if I was fucking you.”
“What?”
“Not in those words, but the question was direct and accusatory as if I’m a home-wrecker or something.”
“That’s not okay.” She mutters something under her breath, words lost to the breeze but rich with annoyance. “You need to see a different therapist. All of you. This isn’t working out with Doyle.”
“I don’t trust him. None of us do. So we’ll continue to see him until we figure out his angle.”
“I can’t stop you from doing your thing.”
“My thing?”
“You know the thing. Pounding your chest. Peeing on your territory.”
“I don’t do that.”
“Right. So while you’re not doing that with Doyle, you also need to see another therapist for real. That includes all of you.”
If a therapist is going to dig into my personal shit like all those reporters and detectives, I’ll pass on that. But I won’t have that argument with her right now.
“We’re here.” I turn her toward the cluster of buildings emerging on the horizon.
I saw Sitka when we landed last week. Kind of. It was dark when we drove from the airport to Monty’s yacht. Seeing it in the daylight, crowded with people and traffic, will be a different experience.
“There’s a cruise ship in port.” She shields her eyes against the sun. “It’s going to be busy today.”
She already warned us about that. Sitka has around eight thousand residents. A cruise ship can swell the population by another four thousand.
“Ready to see the world? Or at least, a small remote part of it?” Infectious excitement radiates from her.
“Yeah, love.” My heart races. “I wore my best beard for this.”