Chapter 9
Kayla
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I am happy, but for some reason I have been trying to convince myself I don’t deserve it. While I still don’t know if I can fully trust these men, they are nothing like Aaron or Kyle.
Even though Kyle was only a blip on my radar, I realized after we broke up that he was a convenience, a way to feel secure, and a safe place to live.
Aaron messed me up that badly. I try not to think about him, refusing to give him any power over me.
It’s why I decided I will do what I want on my own terms, and that I want to be around Vero, to give him a second chance.
At least these men wear their reg flags on the outside.
Well, except Ares, but he isn’t as smooth as he thinks he is.
I’m in control, and I won’t let my parents or any man look down on me for how I choose to live my life.
Rolling over, I find the bed empty. I wasn’t planning on staying the night, but here I am, sunlight streaming through the curtains and coffee wafting through the cracked door.
I clamber out of the softest bed known to mankind and pick up Vero’s shirt from the floor.
Every time I’m here my clothes seem to vanish, and I know it’s Ares who washes them.
He is sweet, even though he likes to compartmentalize every action.
I know it well; I lived with the best manipulator once, so I can see that behavior from a mile away.
Looking like a hot mess is something they will have to get used to, as I am not the type to rush to put on makeup or worry about my appearance.
An oversized shirt, a messy bun, and that is as good as it gets.
I stop at the bathroom on my way downstairs to pee, then finger-brush my teeth to try to avoid death breath.
Downstairs, Vero is sitting on the counter—it seems to be his usual spot—while Brawley is cooking again, and Clay is at the table with his coffee, reading something on his phone. Ares is standing at the kitchen island, eating some toast.
“Why are you ready to leave so early?” Clay asks him, looking up from his phone.
“Have to cover the breakfast shift at the bar. Two of my staff have called in sick.”
“I can help,” I say, making my presence known. All four men look my way as I walk into the room and pour myself a coffee.
“I can’t ask you to do that—you have your own shift tonight.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered. Working keeps me busy, and I like to be busy.”
Vero jumps down from the counter. “If you need to be kept busy, I can think of a few things you could do.” He wiggles his brows at me, and I place my coffee down on the counter as he wraps his arms around me and smiles.
“As tempting as that sounds, I’m sure you have work to do too.”
Vero loosens a hand and looks at his wrist, as if to mimic checking the time. “Not for another few hours yet.”
“I would actually really appreciate the help,” Ares says.
Vero sighs and looks at Ares. “Cockblocker much?” Ares rolls his eyes, and I try not to laugh. “You know he is going to make you relearn everything, because he is a control freak and likes things done his way.”
“I’m sure I will manage.”
Vero unwraps himself from me, and I take my coffee and sit at the table opposite Clay. I meet his eyes, and he looks at my coffee, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Touch my coffee today and you die.”
Brawley slides a plate in front of me. “Eat first,” he tells me. “You can’t murder anyone on an empty stomach.”
We all eat while Vero tells us he swore he saw Jess go into the cornfield yesterday. Clay isn’t impressed, but Brawley says it’s impossible because she knows better than to go in there.
Ares leaves before I finish eating, telling me to shower and that he left my clothes in the dryer.
Clay acts as my personal bodyguard after we finish eating so I can get clean without Vero getting any ideas.
As much as showering with him sounds amazing, I am honestly excited to get to know Ares a little better.
The idea of figuring the man out had me rushing to get ready.
Once I’m done, Vero and Brawley are nowhere to be seen, and Clay is waiting for me. Ares asked me to be there by eight, and I am pushing it to be there on time without having the complication of Clay and his whole caveman possessiveness issue.
“I don’t need an escort,” I tell him, pulling on my jacket.
“I know that,” he says, falling into step with me as we leave the house.
Why do irrational things about him piss me off? Like why does he have to smell so nice? If he wasn’t a dick eighty percent of the time, I would consider jumping him right here.
“I’m walking to the bar, and I promise not to shortcut through the cornfield.”
Clay shakes his head. “It might be hard for you to believe, but I am going that way too. I have a job to do.”
“Isn’t your job to check the perimeter?”
“Would you believe that I have these things called eyes? It’s amazing that I can see there is nothing going on here. The only person wandering around in a restricted area is you, and you need to be with someone who works here.”
“Well then, I’m glad to be of service. I’m giving you something to actually do instead of having to pretend to look busy.”
He glares at me, and I give him a fake smile. “If you keep running your pretty little mouth, neither of us will make it very far.”
“Is that your way of asking if you can fuck me? Pretty presumptuous of you to think we would go there again,” I sass.
“You know you want my cock again, so let’s not pretend you don’t. I just happen to like you running from me.”
“Good to know,” I say as we round the corner into the alley. Vesper is coming from the opposite direction and runs her gaze over us. She does not give away anything, her face void of emotion.
“Good to see you make terrible decisions,” she says, and Clay chuckles, so I elbow him in the gut.
“What?” he wheezes.
“Whatever decisions I make are mine,” I snap. “Good to see you again, Vesper.”
She nods, and I push the bar door open and step inside, leaving them out there.
Ares is behind the bar and looks up as I come in. “Seven fifty-eight, not bad.”
“Bite me. I’m here to help, remember? Where do you need me?”
He runs me through his morning routine, which I appreciate. He says that it won’t be busy, just consistent, as the staff come in to eat before their shifts.
The first staff member walks in, a tall man in a black shirt I recognize from the gate crew.
He nods at me and orders a coffee and eggs.
Once I get it sorted, he takes it to a table near the window and eats while reading something on his phone.
The second person comes in almost immediately after—one of Karo’s circus crew, a woman with chalk still on her hands who looks like she has not slept. She gets a coffee and nothing else.
We fall into a rhythm. People come and go, the orders are small and straightforward, and the kitchen passes food through without drama. Ares moves between tables, chatting with everyone and making sure their food is okay.
I watch him from behind the bar. He knows what most people want before they speak, and I can tell that he has built a place he can control, making everyone feel looked after. I think he needs this as much as they do. He loves to be in control of how people react to him; Ares needs to be needed.
“You’re watching me,” he says as he stands on the other side of the bar.
“Maybe I just find you attractive and can’t take my eyes off you.”
“What can I say? I’m a stud.”
I shake my head and get back to work. By nine, the rush is over, and it seems like almost everyone on the island has ordered food in that time.
Ares pours us both a coffee and tells me to sit for a second.
“How did you end up here?” I ask. He isn’t like everyone else I have met here, at least not at face value.
He is quiet for a moment, and I see him thinking of how to answer without giving too much away. The same way I would if I were asked the same question.
“I am good with people, and I needed somewhere I was valued instead of people finding me uncomfortable.”
“Why would anyone find you uncomfortable?”
“Most people don’t like being understood. They might think they do, but not past what they portray on the outside.”
That is the most honest thing I have gotten from him.
“I guess so. And you also thought up the wristband system and protocols.”
“I helped.”
“Seems like a lot of work for a bar job.”
He glances at me and smirks. “It’s not just a bar job—I also own the bar.”
“You also watch everyone who comes in from the moment they cross the bridge.”
“I do.”
“Did you watch me when I first came?”
He nods. “I did. You took in the exits before you looked at your surroundings. Most people look at what we offer—the bar, gift shop—but not you. No, you knew the way out before you even knew there was a gift store.”
“And what did you make of that?” I ask out of curiosity.
“People who find the exits usually fall into two categories. Someone with security training or someone with experience needing them, and you don’t strike me as someone with security training.”
Picking up my coffee, I take a slow sip. Some things don’t need to be confirmed. He already knows.
“I notice other things too,” I finally reply.
“I know. Your careful observance is one of the first things I noticed about you.”
After we finish our coffee, Ares runs me through what to expect when the island opens to the public, and we both get to work in the kitchen. After a long period of silence, Ares loosens up a little and doesn’t seem as stiff.
“Nixie hired someone new,” he says randomly. “A mentalist.”
I stop dead in my tracks. What the heck would they need someone like that for? “What would a mentalist do on the island?”
“Nixie says a psychology act would be good. He starts next weekend.”
I pick up a cloth and wipe down the counter I am using. “You don’t sound happy about it.”
“I’m not unhappy,” he says, dumping a basket of clean rags on the counter to fold them. “I met him this week.”
“Is he a douche? Does Clay have competition?”
“Not sure about that, but he is good. The guests will love him.”
“But . . .”
Ares looks up at me. “I didn’t say there was another but.”
“You didn’t have to—I can hear it in your voice. What’s his name?”
Ares sighs. “Luca. He came with great references and passed his background check.”
“But you don’t like him.”
Ares looks at the monitors, at the people who have already started lining up outside.
“There is a type of person who is very good at making you feel like the most important thing in the world. They are good because they have practiced, and it works, but they use it for the wrong reasons. Luca is that type.”
“Maybe he is just charming.”
Ares hands me a pile of cloths, grabs his own, and I follow him.
“Charming is a personality trait. What I’m describing is a tactic.
He sat in the bar for forty minutes while Nixie ran through the protocols, and I watched him work on every person in the room.
They all gave out information they didn’t realize, and he never even had to ask. ”
“And you didn’t warn Nixie?”
“I did, but she thinks I dislike him because he is a lot like me. Maybe he is. Plus, his act is impressive, and he will be good for business. But I don’t think he is here for the same reasons as everyone else.”
He just shared something real with me, that this mentalist is a lot like him. But I am almost certain he doesn’t realize that he has done it.
Around lunchtime, the replacement staff arrive, and I catch Ares watching me.
“What are you observing?” I ask him as I fold my cloth over the rail, because that’s what he is doing. When it comes to him, it’s not people watching, it’s observing and taking in everything they do.
“You’re more than I expected, which is inconvenient.”
I laugh unintentionally. “Inconvenient?” I repeat.
“Yes. Come with me,” he says, not elaborating.
He picks his keys up off the bar, and I pull my jacket on as we walk out into the alley together.
“I meant what I said,” he eventually admits, keeping pace beside me. “About the door being open on your terms.”
I’m surprised by the turn of the conversation and peer at him cautiously.
“I handled what happened between us badly,” he continues.
“Yeah, you did.”
We reach the end of the alley. “Thank you for your help.”
“You’re welcome. I had fun working with you,” I say honestly.
“You’re not half bad either. Need a ride home?”
“Please. I would rather walk than ask Clay for a lift. He is a little smug about helping me out.”
He heads for the side of the building, where a motorbike is parked close to the wall, and I stop. This isn’t what I expected.
“That’s yours?”
He glances back at me. “Is there a problem?”
“No.” I look at the bike and back to him, trying to work him out. This is a man who Vero says color-codes his wardrobe and arranges his bottles in the bar so all the labels face forward. “I just didn’t pick you as the type, that’s all.”
“Most people don’t. But it’s the one place my mind goes quiet and everything falls away. I only focus on what’s in front of me.”
He grabs a helmet and holds it out to me, so I take it and he helps me secure it.
When I get on the bike behind him, I place my hands carefully around him and feel him laugh.
Ares pulls my arms tighter around him and tells me to hold on.
Maybe it will be easier than I expected to get to know him; when he lets his guard down, he lets things slip.
That is unlike Aaron, who never let his act slip.
It was a well-crafted control, one that was extremely hard to break free of, and one I swore I would never allow myself to experience again.