4. Easton
Easton
ESPIRITU SANTO, VANUATU
I spit blood onto the concrete. It mixes with the stench of piss, sweat, and rust—a cocktail that clings to the damp air.
Jezebel paces around me, the sound of her whip snapping against the floor echoing like gunfire in a tomb.
Another lash cuts through my back, and I bite down hard enough to taste copper. She has no idea how high my pain tolerance is. These torture tactics have nothing on the agony of those days in the hospital waiting for Gwen to wake up.
When the twined rope cracks across my back again, I close my eyes and mentally remove myself from the cabin. I’m decent at tricking my mind into believing reality ain’t all that real.
Unfortunately, I end up in the one place guaranteed to screw with my head even more. At The Sapphire and with Gwen. My brain latches on to memories of her, all the way back to when I was first asked to watch over her.
“Dad didn’t say you need to glare at me twenty-four seven. Sheesh.” She side-eyed me from her desk, and when I reached for her laptop, she gently swatted my hand.
I wanted to swat her ass right back. Gently, of course.
Then she warned, “Touch my rig again, and I’ll code a virus that makes your mobile play Nickelback every hour on the hour.”
Our age difference had been painfully obvious then. I happened to like Nickelback. And don’t get me started on the fact she’d never heard of Savage Garden before me. I still can’t believe I’m the one who introduced her to “Truly Madly Deeply.”
But to say we butted heads from the beginning is an understatement.
We argued about everything. From the correct way to load a dishwasher to how much caffeine is acceptable (she drinks way too much).
Then there was the more serious shit—her safety, her boundaries, and the ones she bulldozed for sport.
Like walking into my bedroom uninvited. Side note, I never gave her a key. She hacked her way in.
“One of these days, you’re going to regret walking in on me, and—”
“And what? Accidentally see you naked?” She flopped down on my bed, acting way too casual while I was in nothing but a towel, especially with her dad in the hotel that day. “It’s not like you ever have a girl over and I’ll catch you having sex.”
I quietly flicked my wrist, telling her to get out. She loved to drive me insane, but I usually gave it back just as good, which she figured out fast. Not that it stopped her from being a daily pain with that smart mouth of hers.
Even now, blood streaking down my back, I can hear her like she’s standing right beside me. And I almost smile—right as another lash tears into my skin.
“I’m starting to think you enjoy this.” Jezebel’s voice slams a roadblock into memory lane, and I force open my eyes.
I’ll save the rest of the Gwen-reel for later. When I’m lying awake, unable to get comfortable because I’m used to sleeping on my damn back.
Jezebel crouches in front of me. I flex against the ropes biting into my wrists, which are bound behind my back. “Are we done? Or are we just getting warmed up?”
This isn’t my first trip to this hellhole. It’s my second time now in the last four weeks. Her version of an employee review. She likes her men loyal and broken.
Two days of waterboarding and sleep deprivation. But my least favorite is the psychological stuff. She has me repeat self-loathing mantras until the words dig trenches in my brain, temporarily turning me into my own worst enemy.
I lean close enough to smell nicotine on her breath. “I’m not dirty.”
She brushes my cheek before fisting my hair to yank my head back until the tendons in my neck holler for mercy.
“A priority package is coming in tonight,” she says flatly. “You’ll deliver it tomorrow.”
She lets me go and cuts the ropes, and my arms fall dead to my sides.
“Where am I going?”
“You know the drill.” She offers her gloved hand like we’re dance partners instead of torturer and victim. “Details once you’re airborne.”
I hesitantly accept her offer to stand. “When do I finally meet the boss? The man pulling my strings?”
“Who says my boss is a he?” She starts for the door, only to pause and spin around. “Clean up. Have a drink. Pull yourself together before zero seven hundred. Maybe fuck your wife while you’re at it.” Her gaze slides down my torso. “You look like you could use the release.”
When she’s gone, I fold forward and take a minute to decompress. Then I drag in a deep breath, find my shirt—and what’s left of my pride—and step outside.
The jungle is thick with wet heat and the ceaseless drone of insects. My cabin sits more than a kilometer away, dark and empty when I get there. I grab some grub to quiet my stomach, then take a hot shower.
The first hit of water stings like fire. I brace a hand against the wall, watching thin ribbons of pink snake down the drain. Dropping my forehead to the tile and closing my eyes, I try to scrub the last two days in that cabin out of my head.
I consider letting my mind drift to Gwen again, but thinking about her while I’m naked is a terrible idea.
I know exactly what’ll happen. I’ll get hard—pain or no pain—because apparently, I’m screwed up in more ways than one.
And then the guilt will hit. I’m not allowed to want Gwen like that for far too many reasons.
After a few more minutes alone with my thoughts, which is a dangerous place to be, I get out and get dressed, minus a shirt. Then I head into the living room and find my “wife” is back from wherever she’s been the last three days.
“Bloody hell.” Her bag thuds to the floor. “What happened while I was gone?”
I show her my bare back. “She had me in the cabin again.”
“Ah shit, I’m sorry. I’m just getting back from a trip Jezebel sent me on, or I would have—”
“What? Stopped her?” I grunt. “Anyway, better me than you.” Thankfully, Jezebel hasn’t laid a hand on Zoey. I’ll be breaking cover if she tries. “You’re on nurse duty.”
“I’m starting to believe Jezebel has a thing for you.”
“Hell of a way to flirt.” I gesture to the medical kit on the coffee table, so she’ll get a move on and help a guy out, but she doesn’t budge. And shit, I know that look.
“Maybe if Jezebel thought we broke up—”
“If she wanted me, do you really think she’d give a damn whether I’m taken? Besides, I’d do a lot for my country, but having sex with that woman for intel isn’t one of them.”
She tosses a dismissive hand in the air. “Relax, I was kidding.”
“Sure you were.”
“Mostly.” At least she’s honest. “Out of curiosity . . .” she starts while finally cleaning my wounds with antiseptic, “why’d you say yes to helping me out in the first place?”
“You’re just now asking me that?”
“It’s not like we’ve ever had any late-night pillow talk and shared our deepest thoughts.”
She has a point. I also think Jezebel suspects Zoey and I aren’t sleeping together, which could become a problem for our cover story.
“Never mind, you don’t have to open up. I’m the most closed book you’ll ever meet.”
And thank God for that. I have no desire to talk about our personal lives. We’ve been doing a bang-up job of acting as if we landed on this island without the shadows of our past.
We remain quiet for the rest of the time, and once she’s done patching me up, I ease into my shirt and collapse onto the couch.
Zoey wordlessly pours two fingers of whiskey—Archie Rose, from Australia—and hands me a glass. We made a liquor store run when we were in Brisbane last week, dropping off a package together. On occasion, Jezebel has Zoey join me on flights.
I down the drink without tasting it, pour another, and watch the liquid swirl.
“You won’t find answers in a bottle.” She sits beside me. “Believe me, I know.”
“Not answers.” I study the glass. “Just anesthesia.” Though I down the next glass like it’s penance. “Got a trip tomorrow. Priority package.”
Her eyes narrow. “What’s the cargo?”
“No clue.” I rub my jaw. “But what if this time it’s a person?”
“Then we’ll save them.”
Easier said than done. The compound always has twenty armed guards, and we’re not allowed to carry. “All I know is it’s been a month, and we’re no closer to answers now than we were on day one.” I glance at her. “Jezebel did hint her boss might be a woman.”
“Well, my source is solid,” she insists as if I’ve challenged them at any point. I haven’t. Might start questioning them soon, though. “We’re close to finding out the truth, I can feel it.”
“Close feels a lot like nowhere.” I swap my glass for my hat and stand. “I’ll check the hangar. Try and see what the package is before I’m airborne tomorrow.”
“Don’t give up,” she says softly, using a tone I rarely hear from her. “Have some faith.”
“Yeah, well, I’m fresh out of that.” I park my hat on backward, swing open the door, and leave, not slowing until I hit the airstrip, the cicadas screaming every step of the way.
Inside the hangar, I pour another whiskey from my stash and wait, pretending to tinker with the plane. I do my best to silence my mind, to not think about Zoey’s question—the real reason I’m here.
To avoid Gwen.
I can’t help but wonder how that op went last month. Has she gone out again? What was her Christmas like? She kiss anyone on New Year’s Eve?
Is she dating that hacker now? Julian’s thirty-five, so he’s closer in age to her.
It sure as hell seemed like he was into her while they chatted online the past few years before meeting in person.
Not to mention how he looked at her on the op we worked together—the mission Julian’s family dragged us into that brought down my bird.
That last thought has me adding more whiskey to the glass.
She was mine to protect, not mine to have. Not allowed to be jealous. So what if she’s dating him. It makes sense. They’re practically cut from the same nobility-rich, cyber-loving cloth.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, and it takes the growl of an engine outside to snap me back to where I am.
A cargo plane descends, kicking up dust and leaves.
Please be a crate. Anything but human.
Jezebel arrives shortly after on an ATV. She’s flanked by her guards, headlights slicing through the dark.
My stomach drops when the plane door opens, and two men drag a woman out.
She has on a prison-orange jumpsuit and a black hood covers her head, but her blonde hair is visible. Wrists and ankles bound. Probably doped up.
When Jezebel yanks off the hood, my world—every sound, breath, including my heart—stops. The glass falls from my hand and hits the concrete, but I don’t hear it break.
Nothing exists past this moment. Not my mission. Not the jungle. Not Jezebel. Just her. The “package” I’ll risk everything to save.
I don’t know what they want with her, but I know one thing. There isn’t a chance in this lifetime or the next I’ll fail Gwen again.