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Persephone
After all the excitement of last night, this morning was anticlimactic. Hades drives the boat straight across the water through the dark, rough seas until I can see land. Wild, overgrown, and sandy, this beach is shockingly similar to the one we just escaped.
In the early hours of pre-dawn, we disembark. As I open my mouth to ask where we are supposed to go, I see a bunch of palm fronds piled high right next to the dock. Hades doesn’t say anything to me.
He just jerks the duffel bags off of the boat and heads down the dock. In less than a minute, he has pulled the palm fronds away to reveal a battered old Jeep. When he starts to pile the bags in it, I slide in with only a moment’s hesitation.
My brow is furrowed, though.
“How did you know that this Jeep was here?”
The wind suddenly picks up, ruffling his hair as he takes the driver’s seat. He spares me a glance as he pulls out. “In my line of work, it’s important to have contingencies. This was our first option if we were driven away from the island by force.”
I squint at him. I’m even more confused than ever. “You didn’t think we were safe back on the island?”
“No. On the contrary, I wasn’t particularly worried about anyone finding us.” Hades exhales and looks straight forward. It’s hard to read his expression just now. The Jeep climbs up a little path cut into the woods and he splays his arm across the back of my seat as he navigates. “But knowing that I had four backup plans in place made me sleep more peacefully. And I’m sure that yer glad that we have somewhere to go now, too.”
I turn and aim my frown out the open passenger door. A million questions bubble up inside me. But Hades seems to be fixated on driving. So I guess they will have to wait.
We pull onto a paved road. The Jeep follows it around as it cuts a wide arc through the brush. At last, we head down a little flattened track.
The beach blooms before us, the sun just beginning to brush long fingers across the horizon. There is a tiny, gray-slatted cottage that we drive down to and park nearby.
He gets out of the vehicle and starts grabbing the duffel bags. I shiver and hug myself as he opens the front door of the little house. Inside is spartan and not lit at all. A little kitchenette, a cheap faded white plastic patio table, a mismatched set of dingy wood chairs. He jerks his chin toward the door.
“There’s a cot in there.”
With that, he vanishes back outside. I hear the Jeep start up again and start to reverse up the beach.
I go into the bedroom and find the cot, the only piece of furniture in the entire room. It’s musty and so I sit down on it, putting my back against the wall. I glance out the window at the beach, my thoughts whirling.
I keep thinking that I thought I had Hades fixed in my mind. And yet, when he was threatened…
He changed before my eyes, completely and irrevocably.
He’s a lot more dangerous than I thought.
A shiver races up my spine as I close my eyes and remember how unbelievably deadly he looked on the beach, squaring off against all those men.
He was protecting me, after a fashion.
Do I find that attractive? Yes, I do. I’m ashamed of it, but the fact is that dangerous men justdoit for me, every time.
I feel my body beginning to relax. It seems like I’ve only been sitting here for a few minutes when I flutter my eyelashes open again. But the sun pouring through the window is bright and my body is stiff.
God, time has not been my friend ever since I was kidnapped. Standing up gingerly, I stretch and think about what I will do now. The memory of the amazing shower at the last place I was held comes to me, unbidden. The amazing closet full of fresh clothes in just my size, too. I might not have been there by choice, but at least I wascomfortable.
I wince at the crick in my neck. I need to get out of this house.
Preferably away from Hades, too.
When I head out into the main room, he’s there, sipping a coffee mug. He looks handsome, his dark tousled hair grown out to chin length and pushed back, his eyes the same eerie green that pierces straight through me. His normal few days facial hair has settled into the beginnings of a beard.
As usual, he wears a dark button up and dark slacks but the suit jacket I’m used to seeing is nowhere to be found. His sleeves have been casually rolled and pushed up to expose his muscular forearms. He looks up as I come out of the bedroom, his eyes narrowing on my face.
He sets down his cup and he starts rolling down his sleeves. I tilt my head just a little, watching him do it. I wonder what the impulse inside his head is that makes him do it.
Does he not want me to see him like that for some reason? Is his suit more like a metaphorical suit of armor?
