Chapter 6 Ariana
Ariana
“Fuck!”
Villain looks exactly how I feel—dejected. Like the world just ended. Again.
None of us has a signal out here.
“Fuck!” he yells again, his voice echoing across the trees and wreckage, sharp enough to make Ms. Kiara flinch.
I set my phone face down, not surprised at all that it would play out this way.
Of course there’s no signal here; there are no cell towers.
But for a brief second, the three of us had hope, and maybe that’s more important than being right.
“Nah. This shit here…nah,” he says, shaking his head, a petulant child having a meltdown. It’s like he thinks the world owes him a few bars of cell service just because he’s rich and famous.
“Where the fuck even are we?” he demands, waving his useless phone in the air to emphasize his frustration.
I glance past the burned out husk toward the jagged line of green and gold that stretches beyond. “An island, maybe,” I say quietly. “I don’t know how far the shore is.”
Villain blows out a sigh. “I could go check. Walk around a little bit, and—“
“No!” Ms. K and I say at the same time. Mine comes out sharper than I meant it to, while Kiara’s is soft but firm. We both shake our heads at the same time, too. The shadows are already growing around us. The thought of me and her being left alone here makes me extremely uneasy.
“I’m sayin’, I heard the waves when I first stepped outside,” he explains. “It’s probably no more than five minutes. Maybe ten.”
We stare at him.
“Alright. Fine.” He throws his phone down in the dirt. “Somebody’ll be here soon anyway.”
I keep my mouth closed, but a quiet, nagging thought won’t release me from its clutches: What if they won’t? What if nobody’s coming? The idea is so terrifying I can barely stand it, but also plausible enough that I feel like I need to be prepared for the possibility.
I bury it as deep as I can for now.
Villain takes this moment to light up another blunt.
The sharp scent floats over the acrid smell of fuel, which means it must be the good stuff.
I wrinkle my nose, annoyance prickling under my skin.
“Really?” I mutter, but he just leans back, exhaling smoke toward the turquoise sky like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
In any other context…in the back of the club, in the VIP, in the bedroom…I’d find him sexy right now. But all I see when I look at him is a little boy. A stupid one.
Time passes indeterminately. The sun dips lower, staining everything with a hazy glow. Kiara stirs beside me, managing to sit up on her own. Relief eases through me—if she can do that, she must not be hurt too badly.
“We should move,” I say suddenly, my gaze drawn back to the wreckage and the flames, which are mostly glowing embers now. Still, unease sits heavy in my stomach. “Further away just in case it sparks back up. Or explodes.”
Kiara’s eyes widen. Villain stands up, grumbling as he grabs the edge of the board she’s on and drags it down a narrow path.
Just when they leave my view, he reappears, stopping at our pile to transport the supplies to the new spot.
I watch, guilt simmering in my chest until the pain in my leg forces me to admit it.
“I’d help you, but…my leg is killing me.”
He drops two suitcases with a thud and looks over at me. “Want me to get the first aid kit?”
“Yes. Please.”
He brings it over, kneels in front of me, and, without waiting for instructions, starts carefully tearing open the packets.
The swipe of the antiseptic wipe burns like fire, making me suck in a sharp breath.
My face twists, bearing the pain of it all.
When I glance up, I catch him watching me.
His eyes hold mine for a beat, steady and intense, before he looks away like it never happened.
Except it did, and I know because my heart skipped a beat.
After he’s cleaned my wound to his satisfaction, he wraps gauze snugly around it, then secures a bandage on top, his hands surprisingly gentle. “There. You gon’ wanna take it easy for a few days.”
A small chuckle escapes me, strange given the dire situation we’re in. “It almost sounds like you know what you’re doing.”
“I figured you had a smart ass remark ready for me,” he says. “Can’t resist being condescending, huh?”
I don’t know why I’m surprised he even knows that word, but for the second time, I keep my mouth closed and watch him put the kit back together.
I’m staring at him, at his soft, smooth skin, the shape of his jaw, his strong, broad shoulders.
Somehow, in the middle of this disaster, I find myself wanting to look at him.
“We need fire,” I say suddenly.
He gestures toward the fading glow of the wreckage. “There you go.”
“In the new spot,” I counter. “We need fire there.”
His pinched face tells me he’s irritated, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he stands, kicks at the dirt, and angles his head to tell me to follow. I raise a hand and wait for him to help me up, which he does. Reluctantly.
He deposits me next to Ms. Kiara, then crouches low, gathering branches and palm fronds, muttering about some survival show he saw.
He snaps sticks over his knee, arranging them in a lopsided teepee shape.
He pulls his lighter out of his picket, flicking it a few times until a stubborn flame finally sparks.
He touches it to the wood, trying to coax the fire into life. It fizzles instantly.
“Come on,” he grunts, striking it again. Another spark. Another puff of smoke that dies before it can catch.
I bite my lip, trying not to laugh. It’s really not funny, but I feel like my body needs an outlet for the trauma of today, and Villain is providing it.
Watching him hunched there, squinting through the smoke, fanning it with his hand like he knows what he’s doing, is both ridiculous and oddly endearing.
“Are the sticks wet?” I tease.
His head snaps up. “You wanna try?”
“Nope. Too busy enjoying the show.”
“How ‘bout you enjoy that shit with your mouth closed,” he snaps, and since he looks like he means it, I shut up and watch as he gets back to it.
Crouching lower this time, he leans forward, brows furrowed in concentration.
His gold chains lean with him, moving him to tuck them inside his t-shirt.
He lights up again and shields the flame with his hand, feeding the spark with dry leaves, blowing gently until his cheeks hollow.
For a second, it almost works. The flame flares bright, licking up the edges, before sputtering out again.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. He scrubs a hand down his face, then crouches lower.
Something finally clicks. The smallest ember glows steady, orange and alive, catching on the kindling. He leans closer, coaxing it, and this time the fire blooms up toward the sky in a sudden, triumphant flare.
“Hell, yeah!” he yells, grinning wide, eyes shining in the light. He points at me like a little kid showing off. “Talk that shit now!”
I roll my eyes, but deep down, I’m proud of him. “Fine,” I mumble. “Good job.”
He smirks, feeding the flames until they’re steady, and for the first time since the crash, I feel a tiny flicker of hope.