Chapter 22
Juniper
I haul my arm back and let the pink ball fly in an arc toward the other end of the small beach, standing there grinning as Lucy ruffs then takes off like a small speed demon after that evil round thing. We’ve done this ten or fifty times already but she’s still determined to catch it.
The men, in casual shorts and T-shirts, are strolling along the edge of the water, getting their feet wet. I’m in another of the bikinis and a pair of shorts. Hopefully, their chat is nothing I would like to or need to hear. Probably not.
I eye them for a moment or two longer as Lucy trundles back, tongue lolling, with happiness in every rollicking element of her chubby body. I’m sure she would benefit from a diet or more exercise. Maybe I can arrange that?
Happiness is good, no matter what.
Happiness is a happy, bonkers dog by your side.
I’m beginning to see how this odd relationship of ours could blossom.
I’m beginning to really trust them to do what they promised.
What I asked for was not this, but it seems perfect.
Impossibly so. Are they really as happy as the dog?
Cause if they aren’t, if any of this becomes less interesting to them, this will fall apart.
Or if this dark conspiracy Mr. Loxland mused over is real? What then?
I must stop questioning everything. Live life, day by day.
Lucy looks up at me and barks.
“I know. You’re right. I’m a sad fool who wants it all. My enemies’ heads on a pike and love.” Love…girl you are hopeless indeed.
I go to one knee to get the ball where she’s dropped it then throw it again, sending her running. Sand spurts into the air as her paws dig in. Seconds later, she’s a distant dog, a splotch that’s snatched up the ball and is curving back to me.
“Go, Lucy!”
The men sprint up the beach toward me, and I’m grinning until the last few yards when they haven’t slowed. They sweep me up squealing as Lucy also arrives and jumps about barking. There’s nothing I can do except accept my fate as I’m carried to the water, then a few yards out, and dumped.
The sea water surges up around me, and I sink, flounder about then leap up, spitting water.
“You!” Where are the men? Both are at the water’s edge, having retreated a little. They throw the ball in after me, and the dog joins me.
With her bouncing about looking for the ball as the waves wash it to and fro, I give in and frolic about with her.
“Come on in!” I yell to the men.
“Coming?” Mr. Loxland asks Tomás.
“First in gets a kiss?” he yells back at me.
“Absolutely!”
Seconds later, they’ve stripped off their T-shirts and joined me.
I’m not sure I don’t kiss the dog at least once in the mayhem of being thrown back into the water and kissed by both men.
I’ve sand in and on every part of me, and I’m dripping wet, hair soaked, and laughing, by the time we leave the water. The dog is worse.
We shower under the nearest public showers then set off back to the hotel, where Lucy must be given back to Margaret. The poor dog has been fed leftover ice creams as well as dog snacks. I hope she behaves on the ferry home.
Home…
From the hotel balcony, I watch Margaret leading her across to the jetty as the ferry revs its engines and positions itself for anchoring and taking on passengers.
Should we have given in and done the same? Fuck. I’m putting my men in danger by asking them to help me. Why has it taken me this long to see that?
Because they weren’t important to me before.
Someone has arrived at the hotel-room door. I’ve heard voices, and the tinkle of glass.
Mr. Loxland is leaning on the balcony rail beside me, also watching Lucy leaving us. He looks as contemplative as I feel. At a sound, I turn to see Tomás standing in the wide, double doorway that leads back into the room.
“Drinks have arrived. Just beers, snacks, and a cocktail for Juniper.”
“Guys, can we talk about stuff?”
“Stuff?” He cocks his head. “That was the plan. In here though. It’s more private.”
We sit in the small living area and sip cocktails and beer while the birds outside flutter and swoop in to the trees to roost for the night. I could wait for someone else to start the conversation, but I don’t.
“I have been having second thoughts about what we are doing. I’m endangering you both and…
” I clink the cold edge of my glass of pina colada against my teeth.
“Maybe we should stop looking for bad men. Maybe I should accept what happened to Riley, pray no one works out what I did to Nathan. Actually, I should go sit this out in my own apartment for a year even.” I frown at that thought.
It would be for the best. I’d hate it, be lonely after all this, be bereft really without my men. After all—
“Hell, no.” Loxland interrupts my thoughts. “You’re ours, remember. We get to keep you. We get to say what is best for you.”
“I don’t want to see you hu—”
“Tomás? Your thoughts. Should we let her wander off by herself, or should we keep her and sew her pussy and her mouth shut so she can’t be annoying?”
I’m sure he’s joking, so I merely hiss my disapproval and stay where I am.
For once, Tomás looks wrong-footed and minus a good reply.
His mouth hangs open for a full second before he shakes his head.
“We’re back to pussy sewing? Look, we promised to help you in return for ownership.
” He stops there, leans back into the brown leather sofa.
“I do see your problem.” Then he raises his beer to Loxland, as if ready to hear his version of this.
“You know, when I first found out what you did, Miss Psycho, and you deserved that name on that day, I was both in awe of you managing to kill a man with a shovel and of you wanting to track down the others. I was also thinking with my cock.” He assesses me.
“But you’ve figured that out by now. I’ve been more than a little obsessed with you.
This, though… The danger is not exactly evident, is it?
One incident with Morosov, who we suspect but are not sure of.
And a vague statement from a guard. No scarred dicks. And Karsten hasn’t really overstepped.”
“I guess.” I can see this too. “It’s just this feeling, this revelation hit me. You know?”
“We can stop everything tomorrow, if you want, but first let’s look at something new. Also tomorrow is the masked cosplay ball, a big event. I think we’d all enjoy it.”
“Do that, then we go home. Your home, Aaron? If we have nothing new from that travel info hacker?” Tomás dips a cracker into the cheese dip then grabs a handful of chips.
This is so not healthy, but I copy him. The dip is… I open my eyes at the taste as I munch on the dipped cracker. “Mmmm. Yum.”
“See. We have some pluses doing this investigating. Like the cheese dip.” Mr. Loxland tries it, too, then feeds me another cracker when I try to speak. “Still me. I have the lectern. The speaker’s gavel? My other thought was to do with that message Riley sent you.”
“The day she died.” The food has lost its taste, but I listen carefully. “Yes.”
“Gremlin was your WoW username?”
“Yes, it was. We hadn’t played for years though.”
“Did you ever think to check for messages through it? Because we should look.”
“Oh fuck,” I whisper. “I’m not sure I know my password. How did you? Did I even tell you all this?”
He looks smug. “I have my ways. I already figured out your password, and all we have to do is log in and look.” He reaches down and grabs the laptop—the one that’s not air-gapped, obviously, and starts it up.
I wait anxiously as he types then swivels the laptop so I can see the screen. It’s logged into WoW.
“It’s still there. Would messages be there?”
“Try it.”
I tap the icon, and there it is, a two-year-old message from Riley.
“Fuck me,” I whisper. I’m dreading this, of course. This is a message from a dead friend, and it could wreck me. My hand is shaking as I prepare to click on it.
A moment later, I have two Doms sitting either side of me, one has his arm about me, and the other is squeezing my thigh.
“You don’t have to,” Mr. Loxland says quietly. “You don’t.”
Except I do. She sent me this, went to the effort on the day she killed herself. It would be disrespectful to ignore this.
I click and it opens:
I’m so so sorry Juniper. I was afraid to say this in a straight text or email. I knew you’d figure it out. You are and always will be my bestest ever friend. I’ll see you in the afterlife with wings on, black or white, hey? Or red just to be different.
That’s so her. The idiot. Making fun of whatever comes after death. We always thought it was a void, hopefully one with clowns and rollercoasters.
I close my eyes, smile weakly, and stop reading, because I didn’t figure this out. I bump my head into Mr. Loxland’s shoulder.
“Fiyun?” Tomás says. “Does that make sense?”
I peek and read the rest. A final note.
Might mean nothing but I remembered this from THAT DAY – someone called someone Fiyun. I don’t know the name but if you see a man called that, run.
Goodbye juniper, live long and prosper, girl. Teardrops, remember that?
Teardrops is a song we loved on Eurovision, way back when. Only Teardrops by Emmelie Forest. Good times. She doesn’t say why she suicided, and tears are indeed running down my face. I rake in a shuddery breath.
“Are you okay, little psycho?” Mr. Loxland kisses my forehead.
I pat his shoulder and sniffle, then succumb to temptation and lean into him. “I’m okay. Just memories.”
“We’re here for hugs, remember that. As well as sex.”
“You sure about that?”
He chuckles.
“Do we know of a Fionn?” Tomás asks.
“I don’t, and there’s no one of that name on our fraternity membership list, Tomás.”
“Huh. Thought so.”
“Also, that travel info on all the members and Nathan will take at least a week to sort out, according to the hacker I have doing it. So that’s it. We will sleep on this and decide tomorrow…all three of us.”
I lift my head off his shoulder. I get voting rights on this. It’s a sign of how this relationship will work out. I like it. Being dominated is fun, but sometimes I need a vote.
Or a shoulder to cry on.
I wipe away tears and go to shower before we have dinner downstairs.
It’s when we return, me in the little black-and-gold dress from the shop, them in casual pants and shirts for this semi-tropical weather, that we find an envelope on the bed, with a note inside it.
It’s me. S. They let me in to drop this on the bed. No one else saw it. I have important information. You may be in danger tomorrow. I’m told you know Little Corella Beach? Meet you there at 11PM. If you’re not there, I cannot be sure I can say anything tomorrow.
Little Corella Beach is where we took Lucy, where they chased and ran me down.
“Oh, fuck.” Tomás drops onto the bed, holds his head. “Is this a trap? I hate late-night meetings.”
“I don’t think so?” I look to them both for answers. “I kinda liked Shawn, but I’ve no idea, really.”
“We have no weapons. I’m no John Wick, anyway. Do you know him at all?”
Tomás shrugs. “Not really.”
“But he has said something that tees up with what we are angling toward. That there may be something odd and dangerous going on. We need to know more. We go? Yes or no?”
After a few seconds, both I and Tomás nod. “We go,” he says.