Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Before the engine whine fades, Alistair’s on his feet, in front of the bar to assume his cherished place as the center of gravity.
He’s changed into the most casual version of wealth: linen shirt, tailored shorts, and loafers without socks.
Though I’m sure his watch could pay off my student loans twice, only the plane, the island, and his insatiable hunger for attention mark him as a billionaire.
That, and the sudden hush from the nine men less than half his age he’s pulled taut.
“Welcome to my little retreat,” Alistair says, cheeks rosy. “Our little sanctuary for the next few days. There’s no connectivity, no strangers, and, best of all… no rules but the ones we set for ourselves.”
Someone snorts.
I check my phone, confirming there’s no signal, and the pit in my stomach sinks deeper.
“We have one virgin with us today.” Alistair’s hand floats toward me, presenting me like a new toy still in its packaging.
Marcus Philips wants to disappear. Marcus Wilder stands, smiles, and lifts his fingers in a small, amused wave.
“Would someone please show Marcus around?”
Jake’s hand shoots up, and the tension in my shoulders loosens.
“Thank you, Jake.” Alistair’s mouth curves, slow and knowing. He saw the kiss. He saw where my eyes went when Jake rose into the sun through that open roof. “You two seem to be getting along.”
“Assign me to him,” Jake says, reaching for my hand.
Heat rises into my cheeks, and I lace my fingers through his to help sell the crush. I know what I look like. Letting Alistair think he’s rattling me by calling out this fake crush on the one guy who might actually help me works in my favor.
“Good.” Alistair’s gaze lingers. “He can take Nico’s bungalow. Some of you brought bags, which isn’t necessary, but fine. Dinner’s at seven sharp, and don’t forget: hold your fire, boys. There will be plenty of playtime after dinner.”
Nobody blinks. They’ve heard this before.
“Anything you need, ask. The staff is here for you, but otherwise invisible.”
Creepy billionaire island speech finished, everyone moves at once. Linus stretches. Dae tosses Brad his bag. Everyone detours to the airplane bar on the way out, raiding it with what I read to be the urgency of men who know what comes next and want to feel less when it arrives.
Jake lifts a cold beer in my direction.
“I owe you,” I say, taking it.
“Put it on my tab.” His eyes flick to my lips. “We’ll discuss how you can pay me back later.”
My face warms before I can stop it, and he bumps my shoulder with his. It’s an act, I remind myself, his behavior and mine. We’re still being watched, and with how smoothly he’s playing everything, it’s hard to believe his first time on the island couldn’t have been that long ago.
“They’re all acting like this is normal,” I whisper. “But like, it’s insane we’re even here, right?”
“Breathe, Marky. You don’t have to whisper. Alistair didn’t buy something this breathtaking so people would pretend not to notice.”
Right. Marcus Wilder’s impressed, not wary, because he’s not up to anything. “How many times have you been here?”
“Five.”
“In two months?”
“Alistair loves his island. Can you blame him?”
We step onto the top landing of the exit stairs and into the warm island breeze. Salt and flowers ride in on it, along with the sour trace of seaweed baking somewhere down the shore. Waves lap at the sand in postcard rhythm.
Jake drapes an arm around my shoulder, grounding me again.
“Welcome to paradise.”
He’s more than my tour guide or witness. He’s become my anchor through this crazy storm, and Marcus Wilder grabs his hand again to hold on tighter.
I scan the palms swaying against the ocean, thatched-roof huts tucked between trees, and trace the winding stone path that disappears into a lush grove. It’s dazzling and disarming, and I almost forget myself.
Remembering that Alistair’s evil and all this is horrible doesn’t feel right either.
Maybe this situation isn’t black and white.
This place is beautiful—it is. That can be true.
Just like it’s true that being here proves more than progress against my undercover assignment. It’s progress against my life.
I’m chasing a huge story as far away from the ghost of my father’s authority as humanly possible with a group of people who know absolutely nothing about my stifling past.
Paradise in more ways than one.
“All right, Marky?”
I nod, still taking it in, but remember to let go of his wrist. “Sorry. I just, uh, never thought I’d see something like this.”
Jake keeps his arm around my shoulder. Out here, his eyes aren’t just blue, they’re the same shade as the ocean—vibrant, almost turquoise.
“It’s something, huh?”
“Incredible. How long has he—”
“Five years,” Alistair calls, appearing at the bottom of the stairs to wave us down. “Took two to bring it back to life, so I really only ever feel like three count.”
He’s eager to take my hand as I step from stairs to sand and gives me a pair of designer sunglasses, probably more expensive than the laptop in my bag.
“Unfortunately, I have some work to do or I’d join you.”
“I’ve got him,” Jake assures, and the urge to step between him and that role comes fast and hot.
Alistair turns to me. “Have something to tell me?”
My blood goes cold, and I glance at Jake for another save. What would I have to tell him?
The kink list in my pocket crinkles under my fist. Teacher’s come to collect my homework.
“Here you go,” I say, folding it in half. “Hope it’s okay.”
“You decide what’s okay. Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.” Alistair unfolds the list, humming as if he’s tasting notes. “Oh, yes. Mm. Mm-hmm.” He’s fucking with me, reading something fake-but-personal right in front of me. “First Amendment?”
My swallow stalls halfway down. Of all the safe words, I picked the one that’s practically breadcrumbs straight back to The Spy’s Mask.
“The right to think is the beginning of freedom,” I say. “Kennedy’s free speech case.”
Alistair’s mouth puckers.
“Marcus Wilder quotes Justice Kennedy?” He glances at Jake. “Strange painter.”
“I like strange,” Jake says.
“Kennedy also wrote Obergefell,” I add, and let the implication hang where Alistair can see it. “Felt appropriate.”
Alistair’s gaze stays on me. Then he folds the paper with careful hands. “See you at dinner.” He walks down the winding stone path.
When he’s gone, my shoulders drop. Jake’s do too, though quicker and more controlled. He allows himself one measured exhale. I’ve let the whole act deflate.
“He gives me the creeps,” I whisper, testing the water.
Jake’s eyes flick past me to the staff drifting at the edges of the beach in linen and bare feet. He waits until one of them turns away before he answers.
“Girl. Truth.” Jake rolls his eyes. “But it’s time for your first lesson: don’t say anything like that where he can hear it.”
“Can he?”
Jake lifts his beer and tips the bottle, casual, toward a server gliding past with a tray of champagne flutes. The guy’s smile never changes, but his eyes are scanning.
“He doesn’t have to be in the room to hear things. He has people for that.”
I imitate Alistair’s posh tone under my breath. “‘Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.’”
Jake answers with air through his lips in a soft, controlled fart noise. I choke on a laugh, and when he does too, something in me comes fully awake. I slip into the ease of two guys laughing at a monster.
“Now, it’s time for your tour,” Jake says, killing the comfort before it can spread. He hooks his fingers with mine, not for show or any camera I can see.
I hold on. If he wants me, he’ll trust me. If he trusts me, he’ll talk. There’s no lie in that need.
“Okay,” I say. “But can I ask questions?”
“You can ask.” Jake starts us down a different branch of the stone path than Alistair took, toward the surf and wind that can swallow our conversation. “I’ve heard it’s traditional on tours.”
“That depends. Is this a regular tour or the kind where the guide throws me into traffic if I say the wrong thing?”
Jake glances over, smile still in place, but softer. “Seems like you’re more afraid of saying something real than something wrong.” His thumb brushes mine. “Which means you’re paying attention.”
He sees me so clearly it’s disarming when it should be alarming.
The path leads to a white curve of beach, palms leaning into the sun on one side and pristine water glittering on the other. Behind us, the other men split off toward the bungalows as if they’ve arrived at summer camp.
Jake keeps us moving, shoulder brushing mine, guiding me with his hip when the path narrows. He’s good, always watching without looking like he is.
“If you get lost,” he says, “walk the beach. With the ocean on your left, you’ll always loop back to the bungalows. Alistair’s beach house is that way.” He points back down the path into the grove. “The trails aren’t exactly confusing, but the drinks are strong.”
From there, he takes us back into the trees to Alistair’s so-called beach house, set in a clearing with a sprawling lawn, massive pool, and wraparound deck.
I stare long enough to sell wonder to anyone looking before angling back to Jake. “So what is this, really?”
“Three tests,” he says. “Pass them, and Alistair gives you your heart’s desire.”
“But there have to be limits. I mean, Alistair can’t give us all a billion dollars.”
“Uh, bad example.” He laughs. “But you’re right. There’s two rules. It has to be uniquely possible for Alistair to give, and it has to be reasonable.”
“What’s not reasonable for a billionaire?”
“Exactly. Rumor is, someone got elected mayor. Another guy became an MMA champ. Would have loved to be here with that guy. I like muscles.”
Jake shamelessly squeezes my bicep, and it’s Marcus Wilder who flexes on instinct. It’s him who likes it.
“Alistair’s giving Brad’s mom access to some crazy-expensive experimental cancer treatment.”
“So Brad finished his tests already?” I ask.
“I’d bet so. Must be waiting until she’s better to leave. Or maybe he doesn’t want to.”