46. Chapter 46
Chapter 46
Twenty-one months later
The sun dips lower towards the horizon, casting long, amber shadows across the pristine sand. Each grain glistens as if kissed by gold, creating a shimmering blanket that stretches as far as I can see. The Pacific Ocean, vast and majestic, rolls in gentle waves that caress the shore with a rhythmic, soothing sound. The water's surface reflects the kaleidoscope of colors painted across the sky—vivid oranges, deep purples, and hints of pink that blend seamlessly into the azure blue.
Palm trees line the perimeter of the beach, their fronds swaying lightly in the early evening breeze. The leaves rustle, adding a soft whisper to the symphony of nature. Seagulls soar overhead, their calls echoing through the salty air, occasionally diving into the water in search of an evening meal.
Beyond this bar, clusters of smooth, worn rocks jut out into the water, creating natural tidal pools that team with life. Tiny crabs scuttle across the stones while colorful fish dart in and out of the clear, shallow waters. The setting sun casts a warm glow on these rocky outcrops, making them appear almost magical.
Our bar, with its weathered wood and vibrant decorations, feels like a natural extension of the beach. The tiki torches, which we’ll light soon, stand ready to add their flickering light to the ambiance, enhancing the tropical vibe. Solar lanterns hang from the trees and along the bar's edges, waiting to illuminate the night with their soft, inviting glow.
I take a moment to breathe in the beauty around me. The fine sand beneath my feet is warm and comforting, grounding me to this perfect slice of paradise. The scent of the ocean, fresh and invigorating, fills my lungs, mingling with the faint aroma of coconut and lime from the bar.
Looking out at the horizon, where the sky meets the sea in a seamless blend of colors, I feel a deep sense of peace. The world seems to pause in this tranquil moment, leaving only the sound of the waves and the soft murmur of the bar staff behind me. This beachside bar is more than just a place to work; it’s my haven, a spot where the beauty of nature and the joy of shared moments come together.
Byron, carrying the last case of beer, joins me at the edge of the bar. He follows my gaze out to the horizon, and for a moment, we stand together in silent appreciation of the breathtaking view.
"Never gets old, does it?" he murmurs, his voice filled with awe as his hand finds mine.
"Never," I agree, squeezing his hand. "This place... it’s magic."
The delivery truck that’s just parked out front catches our attention.
“I’ll handle it,” Byron says, already moving toward the entrance.
I step back onto the wooden platform, slipping into my sandals before ducking behind the bar to deal with the plastic cups. Last summer taught us the hard way—these clear cups are far better than glasses.
Byron grunts as he hoists a heavy beer keg over his shoulder, his muscles straining against the weight. He makes his way across the bar's backroom, his shirt sticking slightly to his back from the exertion. I stand by the open door of the lower fridge, my eyes following his every move with a mixture of appreciation and amusement.
"When you finish setting up the keg, you can load up the lower fridge with the beer bottles, babe," I instruct, my tone playful. "We’re gonna need everything stocked for tonight."
"Got it," Byron replies and pushes his glasses up his nose. He bends down to place the bottles inside. As he does, I can't help but admire his ass. I bite my lip, a sly smile playing on my lips as I watch him work.
"Nice view down there," I tease, my voice a low purr.
Byron chuckles, turning his head slightly to catch my eye. "Enjoying the scenery, are we? "
"Very much," I admit, giving him a wink.
Just as Byron finishes loading the last case, a staff member bursts into the backroom. It’s Sam, our eager and somewhat frantic bartender.
"Hey, guys, sorry to interrupt, but we need you at the bar. The cash register jammed again," Sam says, his eyes darting between us.
Byron stands up, brushing his hands on his shorts. "Alright, Sam, we’ll be right there. Just give us a minute."
I nod, closing the fridge door and straightening up to face Sam. "We’re stepping out for a couple of hours and will be back before the big crowds show up. The guys will be helping out too. Don’t worry if it gets a little busy; we’ve got the extra hands."
As Sam nods and hurries back to the front, Byron pulls me close for a quick kiss, his hand lingering on my waist. "Shall I meet you by the motorbike?”
I giggle, “Motorcycle, babe. Motorbike sounds like one of those bikes you cycle to start the engine.”
“Firebug, the correct term for what you’re referring to is moped.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Go, nerd!” I nudge him away playfully. “I’ll see you outside!”
He chuckles, and I steal a lingering glance at his ass in those faded khaki cargo shorts. But it's his sculpted, ripped-back muscles and powerful, rounded shoulders that truly make my pulse race, my breath catch, and my panties wet.
I grab the keys from the counter, walk outside where the motorcycle is parked, and take my phone out of my back pocket.
Me: Is the house set with all the lights and stuff?
Astro: Is the pope a man?
I huff a laugh.
Me: We’ll be there in twenty.
Astro: See your sexy tits in a bit. The other two should be here any minute.
I smile, looking forward to Byron’s 21 st birthday. We've planned a small surprise bash for him before we head to work at the bar this evening.
This year marks a significant birthday for Byron—he's officially stepping out from under his father's shadow. Not that he ever actually was, but as the illegitimate son of England’s most prominent royal figure, who has been kept hidden his whole life, he harbors deep resentment for it. And yet, he holds considerable leverage over the monarchy's reputation.
Years ago, Byron agreed with his father to officially forfeit his claim to the throne. Technically, as second in line to it, he could have secured his position as England’s future king. However, Byron, true to himself, never desired any of that. In exchange for a substantial lump sum in the form of a trust fund, he agreed to sever all legal and biological ties with his father.
Today, Byron is a wealthy man. I don’t know the exact amount, but we're probably talking about tens of millions of dollars.
But none of us really care about that.
That day, we were rescued by the fishing boat, and I decided it was my one chance to do something I’d always dreamed of doing but never had the guts to do.
Not until I met five men, survived a plane crash, was stranded with them on an island where natives had an occasional taste for human flesh, discovered a Cold War-era Soviet bunker conducting sinister experiments, and endured a harrowing journey on a dinghy from Africa to Sri Lanka did I realize my own strength.
After surviving these trials, I shed my old identity as Evelyn Winters, who was lost in a mysterious plane crash at sea. In her place emerged Olivia Summers—a girl who, by chance, met a man at a party in Goa offering party boat trips. Together with the five men I met there, we pooled our resources to secure tickets on his party boat to sail around the southern tip of India.
Navigating the legal complexities was daunting, but when Astro confidently introduced himself as Leo Davies and the others followed suit with false names, we knew we were united in this daring escape I initiated.
Byron then took the fisherman’s satellite mobile and dialed his father’s direct, confidential phone number, known only to a select few in the royal court. He explained our predicament and struck a deal. In exchange for resolving our situation with customs officials upon arrival at the port, he agreed that we would disappear without a trace but needed his help in doing so.
Fortunately, we ended up in a Commonwealth state where Byron's father held some friendly sway with the governing authorities. Upon our arrival at the port, we were swiftly escorted into a private car and taken to a secluded residence, where we were given new identities .
I'm not privy to the exact leverage Byron used over his father, and to this day, he hasn't divulged those details. However, the resources mobilized on our behalf were nothing short of extraordinary. We were provided with a yacht and instructed to remain at sea for a year, docking only to refuel and gather supplies.
But we forged our own path. Keeping the yacht, we sailed to Shanghai, where Astro tapped into his felonious network of contacts to procure new passports under the names we chose, not the identities assigned to us back in Sri Lanka.
If we were going to start new, we would be doing it our way on our own terms.
Since then, we've been taking on odd jobs to make ends meet, and as long as we stay together, the six of us are happy. Sailing has become second nature to all of us now that we've kept the yacht.
We lived in Malaysia and in Seychelles, and last summer, we ended up here in the Marshall Islands. We like it here; it's remote, and people mind their own business. We rent a small three-room hut on the beach with a jetty that gives us direct access to the yacht. We also have a speedboat that takes us from island to island.
We manage our own beach bar, which remains open throughout the peak tourist season. Byron and I run it during the day while the guys help out in the evenings. Astro and Jack have started their own tattooing business on the side, a skill they honed on our stranded island; they've adorned themselves with a dozen more designs since and look more striking than ever.
Foster and Zane have found their own niche, teaching martial arts to local kids. Often, families can't afford to pay them, so they receive compensation in whatever forms they can offer—food, eggs, or supplies. It's island life where resourcefulness is key.
When the tourist season winds down, we'll close everything up, hop onto the yacht, and sail around until the next season begins. For the past two years, we've treated the world as our oyster, enjoying the freedom to sail wherever we please.
“Ready to go home, Firebug?”
My thoughts scatter as I gaze up at Byron, the pretty geeky boy who survived a plane crash and, in a matter of weeks, transformed into a spectacular man. Despite his perpetually brooding expression, when he looks at me, his face softens, setting off a whirlwind of butterflies in my stomach and my heart fluttering like it’s on steroids.
I hand him the keys and his helmet, feeling a flutter of anticipation as he leans in, his lips brushing softly against mine. The warmth of his kiss sends a shiver down my spine.
With gentle precision, he places another helmet on my head, his fingers lingering as he adjusts the strap beneath my chin. I meet his gaze, a silent exchange of excitement and affection before he turns to get on and start the motorcycle.
As he starts the engine, the vibrations beneath us hum with eagerness. I slide onto the seat behind him, savoring the closeness as I wrap my arms securely around his waist. His back feels strong and steady against me, and the scent of his cologne mingles with his natural scent.
I press closer to him, feeling the warmth of his body and the thrilling rush of wind against my face. The engine's purr becomes a rhythm we move to together, our bodies perfectly attuned as we navigate the winding lanes.
Leaning my cheek against his back, I relish the feeling of freedom and connection that riding with him brings. In this moment, nothing else matters but the exhilarating ride and the comforting presence of the man I love.
“Surprise!” The word escapes everyone's lips in unison as Byron steps onto the back porch, his eyes widening in astonishment. My heart swells with delight as I watch his expression morph from confusion to sheer joy.
The porch, adorned with a dazzling array of colorful lights and streamers, feels like a whimsical wonderland by the water's edge. Lanterns sway gently above us, casting a soft, warm glow over the scene. It's a sight to behold, orchestrated by the guys with their usual creativity and flair.
Byron's laughter fills the air as he takes in the decorations, his smile radiant and infectious.
I slide my arm around Byron's waist as the guys greet him with a cold beer on the back porch of our cozy house. I glance over at the fabulous birthday cake, meticulously crafted by the mother of one of Foster and Zane’s students who bakes professionally. The cake is a work of art adorned with intricate details that reflect the care and creativity poured into it.
On the table, a large pan of sticky rice with turmeric chicken awaits us for dinner, most likely prepared by the parents of one of their martial arts students. Here in our island home, cooking is a rare occurrence for us. We've discovered that people here express their gratitude through food, creating delicious dishes that bring the community closer together.
“I thought we celebrated this morning,” Byron, who doesn’t like attention drawn to himself, will, of course, argue that one celebration is enough.
“Mate, you celebrated this morning with the princess’s mouth on your knob. We weren’t part of that little shindig,” Astro quips, prompting a round of laughter.
“Lucky him,” Foster mutters and takes a swig of his beer with a wry smile.
“How about we get Princess naked and in the water.”
“Astro, for once, just keep it in your pants, for fucks sake!” Zane jokes, earning another round of chuckles from the group.
"He has perv tendencies, leave the poor fella alone," Foster interjects, playing his role as the peacekeeper in our little family. He hands Byron the knife to cut his cake and then leans over to claim me with a kiss.
I relish every second of our embrace, savoring the taste of Foster’s tongue against mine. The world around us fades into the background as the warmth of his lips electrifies me.
“You’re delicious, darling,” he says, wrapping his hand around my back and squeezing my ass. “Watermelon?”
I've developed quite an addiction to the island's exclusive fruit soda. I practically drink it by the gallon while the guys stick to coconut water or beer—some habits they've never managed to break from their old lives.
"Good guess," I reply, licking my lips and loving the taste of Foster. "I'll go grab the gifts; keep him occupied."
His eyes narrow as he smiles, a familiar emotion gleaming within them—the same look he gives me every morning when I wake up and every evening before I drift off to sleep.
"Will do," Foster says, giving my ass one last playful squeeze before releasing me.
As I go to head inside, Zane’s massive frame blocks the entrance to our hut. He’s got a ball cap pulled low over his face and wears a short-sleeved shirt that compliments the power in his arms. His left forearm shows some seriously detailed ink designed by Jack and Astro. Among the detailed artwork, somewhere amidst flames and sparkles, is the nickname he has for me, etched in bold black ink.
His tall, muscular frame is accentuated by the play of light and shadow, highlighting the contours of his chiseled physique. The rich mahogany hue of his skin seems to absorb and reflect the ambient light, giving him an almost ethereal glow. His eyes, a mesmerizing amber color, are framed by thick lashes, their warmth and intensity resembling molten gold. As he leans casually against the doorframe, a charming, mischievous smile plays on his lips, revealing perfect teeth that contrast strikingly against his dark complexion.
Zane is pure sin, and I stop right in front of him and bite my top lip. He runs his hand up my arm and cups my neck.
“Busy day, Firecracker?” he asks, his eyes falling to my mouth.
“It’s the start of the season, pretty good considering.”
Gently, he pulls me into him, pressing his lips to mine, and the sound of pleasure he makes vibrates from his chest and weakens my knees. I lean into him and feel my stomach tighten as his lips move over mine. He kisses me gently, patiently, until I dig my fingers into his shoulders and make a whimper of desperate need as I quickly come unwound.
Suddenly, he pulls away with an amused grin.
“That’s just a taster for later,” he says and slaps my ass.
“You’re a fucker,” I tease.
He laughs, “I’m head over heels for you too. But it’s Byron’s birthday. He’ll probably want you all to himself later.”
“I’ll convince him an orgy is more fun,” I wink at Zane and he huffs a laugh.
Sliding past him inside, I gather plates and cutlery, load them onto a tray, and head into the bedroom to grab the bag inside the closet where I’ve been storing all of Byron’s gifts. They’re only some small stuff, mostly personal luxuries we can never find on the island. His biggest gift tonight will be the boys inking him.
Everyone except me and Byron has a tattoo. I’m not sure I want one, but Byron’s been talking about it for a while, so the guys created a few ideas for him based on what he wants.
As soon as I stand up from the closet floor, I feel two arms wrap around me from behind, enveloping me in that familiar, intoxicating scent that always sends shivers to my core, doing unspeakable things to me.
His scent is fucking phenomenal.
I've never quite figured out what it is about Jack that makes him smell so fucking good all the time. Frankly, I don't care either; I enjoy it, and that's what matters.
I can feel his warm breath tickling the back of my neck. His lips barely graze my skin, sending delightful tingles coursing through my entire body.
"I'm willing to share you with four other men, but you should know better than to be absent for a full day and greet them all while ghosting me; it won't end well," his voice rumbles deep and lethal as he breathes his words against my neck.
He nuzzles his nose against my skin before trailing the metal stud on his tongue from the base of my neck to my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. With a deft motion, he removes the elastic band from my hair, causing it to cascade down my back.
“I did say hi ,” I say, knowing my answer is as weak as my knees are right now.
He emits a deep, disapproving growl from his chest.
“In case you have missed all the really obvious signals, I’m eager to eat you out at every opportunity. Your pussy is ambrosia to my senses. So when you see me, you give me that honor, and let me show you how happy I am to see you.”
I’m so gone. When goth boy says shit like that, I can’t recover so quickly. If I thought my panties were wet before, dammit, they’re soaked now.
Suddenly, I’m backed up against the closet door, my arms pushed up above my head. Jack’s thumb strokes my cheekbones, his eyes darting across my face, his deep blue eyes suddenly darken as they lock with mine. He slowly closes the distance between us, his lips gently against mine, our breath mingling.
He samples my top lip before pulling it between his and giving it a gentle tug. His tongue stud grazes against my skin. He pushes up against me, holding my face in his inked hand, and tastes me like I’m something he’s been craving for a long time.
Jack goes from slow and languid to hot and hungry. I melt into him as he completely takes over and controls this kiss. He’s demanding, and I’m more than happy to let him lead. His tongue tangles with mine, the round metal hitting every one of my nerve endings in the most erotic way. He slides his hand to the nape of my neck, his fingers grip my hair.
Jack pulls me off the wall and holds me in the middle of the room without removing his mouth from me.
I’m so drawn into what Jack’s doing to me that I almost jolt when I feel a second pair of hands around my waist, unfastening my denim cutoffs.
“Bloody hell, mate, you got our girl soaked,” Astro says as he slides his hand down my panties, pushing them down together with my shorts.
“You feeling a little horny, baby?” Astro whispers hotly into my ear. He’s not waiting for my reply as his hand dips in and takes what I crave to give.
“Yes,” I breathe into Jack’s mouth and groan when I feel Astro curling his hand around to my front and pushing through my folds.
Jack frees my lips and kisses my neck before he drops to his knees to nudge my legs open and kisses my inner thigh and then the other.
I feel Astro free my pussy and take hold of my chin, pushing my head to turn over my shoulder where my lips meet his. Our tongues find one another, and the kiss carries so much passion, so much intensity, that I feel as though I might melt on the spot.
It doesn’t help that gothic boy is eating me out like I might be his last meal. He’s licking, sucking, and nibbling, and when he inserts his finger inside me, my nerves light up like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
Jack pulls out, then slides his finger back in, and Astro counters with his tongue as if they choreographed this. And just like that, the rocket launches and flies me to the stars as I scream out my orgasm.
“Fuck. No more,” I breathe as my knees give out, and Astro catches me, holding me tight.
“Got you, Princess,” he murmurs.
Jack gets up, and Astro hands me to him, pulling my clothes back up and giving my ass a playful slap.
“That is how you greet me when you come home,” Jack says, holding me tight against him and lifting my chin to face him. “Got it?”
I nod, still panting. My brain turned to mush .
Astro kisses my shoulder and grabs the gifts left forgotten on the floor next to the closet. The three of us head back out, and I remember the tray in the kitchen.
“Let me sort it out, Wildcat,” Jack says, seeing my eyes wander to it. “You go and enjoy the night with birthday boy. He’s probably panting like a green monster after hearing you scream like you did.”
“Maybe, but he gets his fair share when we’re alone at the bar.”
Astro and Jack exchange glances with a sudden realization.
“No wonder the knobhead was so eager to open this bar business with you.”
“So are you saying this happens on a regular basis?”
I think both men have developed a case of the green-eyed monster themselves. Rather than reply, I give them each an amused smirk and walk out, giving my hips an extra swing, feeling the burn of their desire bore on my back.
As I step onto the patio, the warm night air wraps around me like a comforting embrace. The soft glow of string lights casts a golden hue over the scene, and the murmur of conversations blends with the occasional burst of laughter. Byron, deep in discussion with Zane and Foster, opens his arm for me without missing a beat. I slide into the space beside him like I was always meant to be there.
Astro and Jack join us at the table, their faces lit up with genuine smiles. Plates are passed around, and the aroma of our meal mingles with the scent of blooming night flowers and fresh ocean. The clinking of glasses and the hum of cheerful chatter create a symphony of contentment. I take a moment to absorb it all, feeling the deep satisfaction of having built this life, this family.
Astro catches my eye and winks, lifting his glass in a silent toast. Jack leans over to whisper something to him, and they both chuckle, a private joke just for them. Byron's hand rests around my waist, his touch grounding me in this perfect moment. Zane and Foster, animated in their debate, gesture with their forks, passion evident in their expressions.
Foster catches my eye and smiles, a playful sparkle in his gaze that sends a warm thrill through me. Zane, sitting on my other side, lets his leg slide against mine under the table. His hand rests on my inner thigh, a natural possessive gesture that makes my heart race. The way he touches me as if it's the most normal thing in the world, fills me with a deep sense of being loved and wanted .
I look around the table, my heart swelling with gratitude. This eclectic group, each person unique and irreplaceable, has become my family. We've carved out a little haven of love and laughter, a sanctuary from the outside world.
As the evening progresses, stories are shared, and memories are made. I find myself laughing more than I have in years, my cheeks aching from the constant smile. The void that once seemed insurmountable is now filled with warmth, joy, and a sense of purpose.
Dinner winds down, and we linger at the table, unwilling to let the night end. I lean back in my chair, looking up at the star-speckled sky, feeling an overwhelming sense of peace. This is my home, my family, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. The life I left behind pales in comparison to the richness of what I have now.
Here, at this moment, I am truly happy.
I think back to the massive hollow life I left behind—a place where I was surrounded by people yet felt so utterly alone. The stark contrast between then and now is almost surreal. Here, I am not just accepted but cherished. Each person around this table is a testament to the journey we've taken together, the struggles we've overcome, and the bonds we've forged.
One might say I had a home before the plane crash, but it was merely a vast space devoid of love. I don’t miss my parents or the life I left behind in Manhattan.
Neither do the guys with theirs.
Although all of us, except Astro and Foster, informed our parents that we were alive and well, we also made it clear that we were never returning and not to expect us back. Perhaps if our lives had been different, we might have considered it. But we knew there wouldn't be the warm welcome we craved.
We'd be crazy to give up what we have with each other.
Being stranded on the island for five weeks taught us that it’s not always the family you were born with that defines your sense of belonging but rather the connections and bonds you form in the most unexpected and challenging circumstances. These relationships, forged through shared adversity and unwavering support, create a true sense of home and family.
My mind sometimes drifts back to the little native girl who wandered to our side of the island, and I can’t help but question what became of her. I struggle to believe that she was put back where she was always meant to be. That doubt intensifies when I reflect on my own situation.
Despite all my challenges, I found love with five men. They found love with one woman and a brotherhood with each other. Our relationship might be deemed taboo to some, even barbaric to an extent. But that island forced us to dive deep into who we were—the raw, unfiltered parts of ourselves. We not only shed our clothes but also the chains that bound us.
We never went back to the island, and I think if we searched for it, we might find it. But it’s not something we want.
Forever on that remote sandy beach, on that bizarre unexplored hidden island, there will be the ghosts of those six individuals we left behind, the shells of our former selves.
The princess, the athlete, the basket case, the criminal, the brain, and the teacher. And they’ll likely still be running around in the nude, adorned only with the tribal designs they painted on each other.
The real savages on that island were those who inhabited the blue lagoon.