Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Jade
It’s only a short walk back to the village, the well-lit road lined either side with deep jungle.
I don’t feel afraid, though. Something about this place feels as though violence has no place here.
I’m not naive, of course. But there are far more monsters lurking among so-called civilisation than here beneath the rustling green leaves.
When I reach the village, the bar is open, thank God.
I head inside, through the opening in the hedge.
The empty space I saw yesterday is now full of people, some dancing, others sitting at tables or the bar.
Fairy lights hang from the vaulted timber ceiling, candles glimmering on tables and along the bar.
On the stage a three-piece band is launching into a cover of “Dangerous Woman.” It’s not too bad, to be honest, the lead singer hitting all the high notes.
I grin, weaving through the crowd, finding a stool at one end of the bar where I can sit and people-watch. This feels more like it. The bartender, a woman with dark hair shaved at the sides and long on top, a sleeve of tattoos along one arm, comes over.
“What’ll you have?”
I wonder whether to have a shot. But that might be a bit too hard, especially as I’ve just taken painkillers. I notice a specials board. “Uh, the frozen coconut daiquiri?” Hopefully it will dilute the alcohol enough.
I haven’t eaten enough today, I realise.
So maybe I’ll just have the one drink and go.
But it’s nice being here. Nice being anonymous, not being hustled into a VIP area or pushed out of the way by girls trying to get to Zach, not realising I’m part of the deal as well.
Nice just to sit and watch people, without them watching me.
My drink arrives and I pay, tipping generously.
It looks amazing, icy and pale in a large bowl-shaped glass, a chunk of coconut balanced on the frosted rim.
It tastes like tropical heaven. I polish it off quickly, and order another.
Relaxation pours through me. I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of the ice sliding down my throat.
Someone bangs into my shoulder.
“Well, if it isn’t the fucking tourist. Figure you’d order a tourist drink as well. How’s your leg?” The voice is raw, female.
I open my eyes. A young dark-haired woman stands next to me, her lip curled. She’s wearing a turquoise T-shirt stretched over her full bust, her slender hips clad in denim shorts. She’s actually gorgeous, but it’s hard to notice when she’s glaring at me.
“My leg is none of your business.” I take another sip of my drink, deliberately sucking on the straw while keeping eye contact with her. “And the fucking tourist drink is delicious.”
“You’re on my stool.”
“Am I?” I look around, then return to her. “Don’t see your name on it. But I do know you have a habit of dropping in on people.” I narrow my eyes. Screw this girl. I can’t surf and Dora’s board is damaged, just because she’s got some problem with visitors.
“You’re. On. My. Stool.” She comes closer, her fists clenched. Seriously, what the hell is her problem?
“Find. Another. One.” I push my face closer to hers, then return to my drink, signalling the bartender to get me another.
She obliges, shooting the girl who’s harassing me a sharp glance.
Good. Hopefully she gets the hint. I finish my current drink, taking a sip of the new one.
I have a bit of a buzz now, and fuck this girl if she thinks she’s going to bring me down.
I don’t care if this stool has her name engraved on it.
I got here first. Then something hits my injured leg, hard.
Pain lances through me and I cry out, unable to help it.
A few people around me gasp. I hear someone say, “Leave it, Mish.” My leg is throbbing like fire, and I’m not sure I can stand on it. I realise she’s kicked me.
And I lose it.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I scream. Then I throw my full daiquiri over her.
There are exclamations. People draw back all around us. I think the band might have stopped playing. The girl who kicked me stands there, her mouth open, daiquiri dripping all down her front and on her face, caught in her dark hair. Shit. This might have been a mistake.
I step down from the barstool, holding out a towel the bartender has helpfully dropped on the bar. My leg is still agony, but I can bear my weight, just. I hope that bitch hasn’t popped the stitches. You know what? Fuck her. I drop the towel on the floor.
“There’s your fucking stool.” I sweep past her, intending to make a swift exit. As swift as I can, anyway, on my injured leg.
But she grabs my arm, pulling me back around.
I gasp as my leg twinges again, dampness on the dressing.
Shit. I’m definitely bleeding. But what this bitch doesn’t know is that I’ve been training in martial arts for a while now, and I’m pretty damn good, even with a buzz and an injured leg.
It’s one of the positive things that came out of my relationship with Zach, as he was the one who encouraged me to try it.
I dodge her punch, easily, using her own force to disable her, putting her in a joint lock to hold her in place. I twist her arm, leaning in close. “That’s for my fucking leg.” She groans. I twist her arm again. “And that’s for my board.”
Then someone grabs my hair, pulling me back. Shit. Of course she has friends. I bring both my hands up to the one in my hair, squeezing it as I turn, kicking out with my uninjured leg. The hand in my hair loosens, releasing me.
“Enough!” This is the bartender. She’s come around the bar and is frowning, dragon-fierce. “Get out, all of you. Mish, you know better than this. No brawling in my bar.”
“I’m injured.” I indicate my leg, blood spotting the dressing.
“Thanks to her.” I do not want to be turned out onto the street with these two.
Mish is being held back by another woman, stocky and strongly built, shooting me daggers from her ice-blue eyes.
I guess she’s the one who grabbed my hair.
I’m a good fighter, but I won’t stand a chance against two while I’m half-drunk and bleeding.
“Too bad. Get out.”
I guess I have no choice. I hope they don’t hurt me too badly.
Bad luck does come in threes, and I guess this is my number three.
Perhaps this damn island will leave me be after that.
Or maybe this island isn’t magic at all and I should just pack up my stuff and go back to Bali.
Check into a hotel on the water, lie by the pool and have spa treatments every day for the next two weeks, hoping my leg, and my heart, might recover.
But the thought of doing that makes me even more angry. I came here for a reason. To heal. Not to be damaged further. There’s a decent doctor here, a well-stocked grocery store. There must be police. I’ll report them for assault. There are more than enough witnesses.
Then an arm comes around my shoulders. “I’ll take her home,” a voice says. “And you might want to have a word with Mish, Indah. We all saw she started this. She got what she deserved.”
“Yeah. Fair call, Axel.”
Axel? Oh no.
I look up into stormy grey eyes. A strong muscular body supports mine.
Axel Black. My host. And now some sort of goddamn saviour as well.
Axel
I’m sitting in the bar, enjoying a drink after a hard day’s work, when Jade comes in.
Dressed in black, some sort of shorts jumpsuit, fitted at the waist with a deep V-neck and billowy sleeves.
Flat gold sandals with ties that wrap around her slender ankles, and that damn tantalising frangipani scent.
She goes past my table without even noticing me. I guess I look different when I’m not covered with dust. Or having a go at her.
I still feel bad for how hard I was on her when she came into the shop. But I’ve worked too hard to build my life here for it to be destroyed by careless words. I was just defending myself.
I could have been nicer about it, though.
I get how she was feeling. I’ve seen that reaction, many times, whenever a surfer would come into my old workshop and see the rack of boards.
The magic of possibility, of endless blue waves to be surfed.
And someone like Jade, who literally surfs for a living, of course she’s going to react like that.
I sip my drink, wondering whether to go over to her.
But she seems to want to be alone, taking a seat at the end of the bar, ordering some sort of frosty cocktail.
I don’t know if she’d want to talk to me, anyway.
I could use her damaged board as a pretext, I guess.
Or the fact she’s literally staying at my place.
But then a friend comes over and I fall into conversation with him, putting the Jade issue to one side.
Until it becomes everyone’s issue.
There’s a commotion, and someone cries out.
My senses switch to high alert immediately.
I look up to see Jade, sitting on her stool, her hand to her leg.
And next to her, is a figure I recognise.
“Fuck.” All at once the broken board, the injury to Jade’s leg, all of it falls into place.
Mish is a pain in the ass. Her American father left long ago, heading back out on the hippie trail, and she grew up on the island basically being left to run wild by her mother.
Who happens to own this bar, and is working tonight.
I’ve known Mish since she was a kid. I taught her to surf, way back when, but she’s a menace in the water, dropping in on people she doesn’t like, causing aggro.
And she hates any visitors to the island.
I guess there’s a whole lot of stuff to unpack around that, probably linked to her father being a tourist and then leaving, and how every person who comes here isn’t him.
But it doesn’t mean she gets to act out whenever she fucking feels like it.
I get to my feet, hoping to defuse things before they get worse. Then Jade throws her drink over Mish.
Well, shit. Here we go.
I push through the gathered crowd, just in time to see Mish grab Jade. And Jade, to my absolute surprise, takes her down. Only for Mish’s friend to get involved, then Indah steps in.
“I’ll take her home,” I tell the irate bartender, putting my arm around Jade’s shoulders and drawing her away before things get worse. She’s limping. I shoot Mish a glare across the room, a warning to stay away. She tries anything else and I won’t hold back.
I help Jade outside. Where she proceeds to shake off my arm.
“I can get back by myself.”
“We’re going the same way. And your leg is bleeding.” I nod at her dressing, which is liberally spotted with red.
“Thanks to your fucking friend!”
“She’s not my friend. Well, I know her. Anyway. You think you’re going to get far once Indah lets those two out?”
She glances back into the bar. Indah is tearing a strip off Mish and her friend, her arm pointed towards the exit. The band has resumed playing, people returning to their drinks and conversations.
“Ugh, fine.” She turns and starts down the street. “Walk with me or not. I don’t care.”
I follow along behind her, trying not to laugh. She’s infuriatingly stubborn, but I admire her spirit. Then she stumbles on a loose rock, almost falling as her injured leg gives way.
I lunge forward, my laughter gone, and scoop her into my arms. She’s warm, smelling of flowers and coconut, her golden hair soft.
“Put me down!” She pushes at my arms, wriggling. “Where are you taking me?”
“The medical centre.” I stride across the road. “They have 24-hour service. And your leg needs looking at.”