Chapter Eighteen
“Stop. Stop!” I beg, my voice hitching through fits of breathless laughter.
Tomcat’s fingers show no mercy, burrowing into my ribs as he tickles me into helpless surrender. “Say it, Goldie. Say, 'Sorry, Tomcat. You’re the goat. The king of my orgasms. The absolute best I’ve ever had.'”
“Are you sure?” I gasp, twisting and turning in a desperate bid to escape his reach. “I think Jack the Dripper might give you a serious run for your money!”
He goes utterly still, fingers suspended mid-tickle, and I burst into giggles at the stunned look plastered across his face.
Seizing my chance, I squirm free, tumble off the bed, and spring to my feet before he can blink.
I scoop his abandoned t-shirt from the floor and slip it over my head, breathing in the scent of leather, woodsmoke, and pure Tomcat.
He’s still gaping at me, ego bruised and all, which only makes me grin wider.
I strut to my nightstand, wrap my fingers around as much of Jack the Dripper as I can, and hoist him triumphantly into the light.
“Hiyaaa!” I yell, spinning around and wielding it like a legendary samurai sword.
The neon pink silicone wobbles and sways in my grip as I brandish it at Tomcat like a weapon. My fingers barely fit around its impressive girth, which, honestly, is one of Jack’s most admirable features.
Tomcat’s eyes widen. For a second, I think he might actually turn a sickly shade of white. “Sweet hell,” he breathes, sounding genuinely horrified. “What the fuck is that monster? It’s as long as my damn forearm, Marigold.”
I glance down at Jack, my brows drawing together in thought.
He’s not that enormous, is he? Tomcat must just be feeling a little threatened, since Jack’s been my go-to for the most amazing orgasms for years.
Poor guy probably thinks he’s in competition.
Sure, Jack’s got skills, but Tomcat has nothing to fear.
Jack can’t spoon me or shoot me those looks that make my toes curl. He beats the silicone on merit alone.
His eyes follow Jack as the pink head wiggles in my hold. “That big son of a bitch should be registered as a fucking weapon. I bet you could knock a man out cold with that thing.”
Huh.
I cock my head, suddenly intrigued. I’ve never actually pondered the tactical potential of adult toys before.
I bounce around the room, swinging Jack like a slugger at batting practice, perfecting my follow-through.
In my mind, I’m not just slicing air, I’m aiming straight for Damon’s smug, villainous head. Whack.
I whirl back to Tomcat, grinning like a madwoman, and slap Jack the Dripper against my palm with a meaty thud.
“Great idea. Fantastic, really. Why didn’t I realize he was so versatile?
See, I knew I picked a smart guy.” I toss him a flirty kiss and skip to my ever-ready bag. “Time to holster my new sidearm.”
“Wait,” he says, finally scrambling out of the bed. “Marigold, I didn’t mean that literally. Put the fucking dildo down.”
“But why not? It’s brilliant. Picture their faces when Jack takes them down.
They’ll expect a knife or a gun, and then…
BAM!” I giggle, the whole scene playing out like a Saturday morning cartoon in my mind.
“You’ll be dating a covert weiner ninja.
They’ll never see it coming.” I bust out a few ninja moves I’m pretty sure I stole from a midnight movie.
“How about the Rubber Matriarch? That’s a superhero name with some bite, right? ”
Tomcat groans, scrubbing his hands over his face, but I see the way his lips twitch. “Life is never going to be fucking boring with you, is it?”
“Meh, boring is overrated, lover. Keeping you on your toes is basically a wellness service. You should be thanking me, honestly."
I saunter over, adding a deliberate sway to my hips. If he hadn’t already wriggled into his jeans, I’d be plotting ways to lure him back to bed. My fingers drift over the sculpted lines of his chest, twirling a rogue strand of his hair.
“Want to go again?” I ask, my voice dropping an octave.
Tomcat groans, his hands sliding down to grip my bare ass under the hem of his shirt.
“So fucking tempting, baby. I’d stay buried inside you all day if I could.
” He drops a lingering kiss to my nose, then my lips, before pulling back with a reluctant sigh.
“Unfortunately, Pope needs all hands on deck to finish the complex. He wants the renovations back on track as quickly as possible so we can get some money rolling in.”
My bottom lip pokes out in a practiced pout. “Fine. I guess I’ll go see how Snow is doing and see if she needs any help. I imagine she’s feeling pretty low after last night.”
“Not working today?”
“Nope. I’m going to give Becca the opportunity to run the place in my absence. Everyone should get the chance to be reminded of how grateful they should be that I’m in their life.”
“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” Tomcat says, but he’s laughing, that warm sound vibrating in the air between us.
“Duh, lover. I’m amazing. Why wouldn’t I be?”
The laughter fades, and something serious moves into his face. I feel myself go still, bracing without meaning to. “You’re so fucking strong. Do you know that? The shit you’ve been through would break most people.”
I turn it over for a moment, sorting through the wreckage of my own mind to find something honest to give back.
"It did break me." I tap my temple. “Up here. I’m not the same. I'm self-aware enough to know that. There’s a chemical imbalance that would put most people off. It’s not like I could exactly go to therapy on the run. That would be the easiest way for Damon to find me.”
“You used other identities,” he counters softly.
“Yeah, but it just wasn't worth the risk. I’ve learned to cope in my own ways. Sure, some stuffy professional would say I haven’t moved on from what happened, but I healed in the ways that worked for me.
That’s the whole point of it, right? Finding your way through your own trauma in whatever way actually gets you to the other side. "
He reaches out, his fingers brushing over my cheek with a tenderness that still feels foreign and terrifyingly beautiful. “You’re perfect.”
“I’m not, really.”
“To me, you are.”
The way this man looks at me is so different from how Damon ever did that sometimes it feels like my mind is split between two worlds.
Tomcat is the living, breathing answer to every hope my papa ever whispered for me.
He wanted his only child to find someone who could match her fire.
I remember that wish often. I remember it now.
Most mornings, fear is the first thing I taste. Fear of loving and losing, of letting someone in only to watch that love unravel me. But I am learning not to let fear steer my life, because I know exactly what I would lose if I did. I see it clearly, standing right in front of me.
Knowing that Tomcat sees the real me—the cracked, humming-to-keep-the-darkness-at-bay me—and still calls me perfect, stirs something wild and magical in my soul.
There is only one way to show him what this means to me. Words fall away. I reach up, peel the shirt from my skin, let it fall, then tug his jeans down and press him back onto the bed.
A faint chill lingers in the air today. Summer is finally shuffling off, and with it, the tourist swarm will dwindle to a trickle. Soon, the noisy out-of-towners will vanish, and Coral Cay will slip back into its quiet, off-season rhythm. That’s when I love it most.
When the noise fades, it’s easier to spot the faces that don’t belong.
“Zippity doo da, Zippity day,” I whisper, jumping in a one, two motion, like I’m playing hopscotch on the sidewalk.
My bag thuds against my hip, Jack the Dripper weighing it down more than usual.
Safety first, right? I give the bag a grateful pat and hop along.
I may have also swiped Tomcat’s plushie cat for company.
Stuffing the man himself in my bag would be a logistical nightmare, not to mention a felony, and I doubt he’d appreciate being knocked out for the privilege.
The plushie is a solid stand-in. It even smells like him. That’s good enough.
I’m deep in the mental gymnastics of a Tomcat-kidnapping plan when a cold rush crawls up my spine. Suddenly, a huge hand clamps over my mouth and yanks me into the shadows of the alley.
They're big. Significantly bigger than me, and strong in the way that doesn't leave a lot of room for argument about who might win this fight.
My clawing and kicking registers somewhere in the vicinity of only mildly inconvenient to them.
They drag me deep enough into the alley that the street almost disappears, then drops me and drives a foot into my side before I can find my feet.
Once.
Twice.
"You should have listened," he growls.
His voice is deep, male, warped by pure fury. He kicks me again, hard enough to send me rolling onto my back. I should be screaming or sobbing, but instead, laughter bubbles up through the white-hot pain. I glare at the masked man.
Not sexy at all, by the way. Completely lacking in originality.
“Is that all you got?” I wheeze.
The man grunts in anger and reaches down to grab my hair. I don't wait. I lift my foot and kick him squarely between the legs, watching with a dark sense of satisfaction as he drops to one knee. I scramble to my feet, my knuckles connecting with his face, but for a man his size, he moves fast.
A thud against my outer thigh makes me stumble, my leg going momentarily numb. I dive into my bag, fingers curling around Jack’s familiar, ridged girth. His fist crashes into my face just as I yank Jack into the open.
“Hiyaaa!” I scream, hefting the bright pink silicone and smacking him across the face with it.
His head snaps sideways in that exaggerated slow-motion I’ve only seen in Tomcat’s blaring action movies. I can’t help but giggle. That satisfying thwack deserves an encore.
“What the fuck?” he cries out, his voice cracking as he lifts his arms to shield his face. He actually starts backing away.
I wrap my other hand around the base of Jack, holding him like a Louisville Slugger. “Σιγ?,” I spit, the Greek sliding off my tongue like venom. “Ε?σαι μια μικρ? πουτ?να.”
Please... you’re just a little bitch.
And he really is. Who attacks poor, harmless me? I was just strolling along, minding my own business.
Thwack. Thinking about kidnapping my lover.
Thwack. And this... this... fucker just had to go and ruin the moment.
Thwack. Who even does that?
Again and again, I swing Jack the Dripper, landing blows wherever I can. But my strength is fading. My leg drags like dead weight, making me stumble, and my stomach churns with adrenaline and pain.
Jack lands hits everywhere. I’m pretty sure the silicone even found its way into his mouth once or twice. Occupational hazard, I guess. My useless leg gives out again, and I lose my balance.
The man manages to land a few more hits that I’ll be feeling later, before a voice hollers from the end of the alleyway. “Hey! Hey! What’s going on here?”
The attacker punches me one last time, splitting my lip, and spits at me. “Stay away from him. They won’t warn you again.”
Then he shoves me, hard. My head cracks against the brick, and the world tilts and blurs. He bolts toward the figure at the mouth of the alley. I try to shout, but my body has filed a formal complaint and stopped cooperating.
Jack and I put in a lot of work today.
I slump down the wall, cradling Jack in my lap like a fallen comrade. I pat his pink head. “You did good work, buddy. As always.”
My vision goes hazy, the white at the edges getting bigger.
My phone. Where is it? I need to call Tomcat. He’s going to be furious. Honestly, if I’d just stuffed him in the bag from the start, he’d already be here. Problem solved. I really need to plan better.
I pat my hand over my pants, searching for the familiar rectangle of my phone. Something wet and warm touches my fingers.
“Oh. Gross,” I mutter, lifting my hand to inspect what I’ve touched. The alley’s dim, but… oh, sweet hell. That’s a lot of red.
A beautiful, musical voice calls my name.
I blink, trying to focus on the figure above me.
The princess. I squint at her, attempting to look fierce while sitting in a puddle of blood.
“I swear, Snow, if you tell the guys I went down over a leg scratch, I’ll bite your ear off.
I mean it. I don’t think there’s ever been a fairytale princess with just one ear, but I’ll make you the first. Promise.
” I brandish Jack the Dripper like a royal scepter.
“I’m a baddie secret weiner ninja. Got it?
Oh, and if I pass out, tell those idiots I want a taco.
No, four tacos. I’ve earned the calories.
” I glance down at Jack, my hero. “He deserves a cape or something. Total champion tonight. I’m telling Tomcat he needs a place of honor. ”
“Umm, Marigold? I’ve called them, okay? They're coming. Can I check your leg now?”
I shrug, my head stuffed with cotton candy. “I could’ve sworn that limp-dick wanker just punched me. But he definitely had a knife, right?”
Snow holds up a wicked, serrated thing that looks way too serious for this conversation. “Yeah, he dropped it when you were beating him with your... dildo,” she says, a short, breathless laugh escaping her.
“Ooh,” I say, wiggling my fingers for it. “That’s pretty. So shiny. Can I keep it?”
My vision fuzzes out again. I shake my head, trying to clear the fog, but it only thickens, ignoring my protests.
"Hey." I look at her. "Pretty, pretty Snow. Do you have any water? I'm really thirsty."
“No,” she says softly, her voice trembling as she squeezes my hand. “Not much longer and they’ll be here. Stay with me.”
Huh. When did she grab my hand? Her skin feels so warm compared to mine.
“Come on, Mari. Stay with me. You’re losing a lot of blood.”
My eyes blur, and I let my head fall back against the cold brick. There’s a pulsing pressure on my leg. “I’m not losing it, Snow. It’s right there on the ground. Just misplaced. We’ll need a mop. A big one.”
She says something, but the ringing in my ears drowns her out. The world spins, slow and sickening, like a carousel ride gone wrong. I clutch Jack tighter. He’s the only thing that feels solid right now.
“I want off the merry-go-round now,” I mutter just as everything goes black.