Chapter Three
The Island (Cuba)
Marinah
I kicked the door closed with my boot, the satisfying thump barely scratching the surface of my displeasure.It would’ve felt even better if I’d had a blockhead’s skull to kick along with it, preferably my irritating mate’s.
The island women were revolting.For some reason, they seemed to think that with me in charge, they suddenly had a voice.Because I was female, and they were female, we were sisters now?The thought made me snort as I crossed the room and kicked the wall for good measure.My Doc Marten boot slammed into the plaster, leaving a boot-sized hole.I ignored it.At least it accomplished something.I felt marginally better.
The women had always had a voice on the island, but judging by their current grumblings, they’d been too afraid of King to use it.And now they had me.I’d just spent six hours locked in a room with a delegation of them.What did I have to show for it?A list of demands and threats of a possible strike.This should’ve been King’s problem.
Could you even strike when you weren’t being paid?
We didn’t live in a society where money had value anymore.Food, clothing, safety, those were the new currency.The Shadow Warriors provided the safety, trained the island men and any woman who wanted to learn to defend herself too.Other women and men of the island worked on food and clothing, with plenty of help from the Warriors.It didn’t take a genius to figure out who needed whom more.I’d lived off Federation mush for years.The thought turned my stomach, but I’d survive if I had to do it again.Probably.
I longed for the comfort of our home on the northern part of the island or even a quick escape to Jardines del Rey, christened Love Island, or just Del Rey by the Warriors.King had appropriated it as a place for me to decompress.But no, I was stuck here at the citadel, playing queen bee to a swarm of harpies.
I glanced around our chamber, taking in the details with simmering frustration.The entire citadel was stone from floor to vaulted, columned ceilings, with miles of tiled floors that echoed satisfyingly beneath my boots when I was in moods like this.Of course, the tile didn’t give when I kicked it, so the walls, with their sturdy brick and mortar, were better for venting my anger.
The citadel was a sprawling, castle-like structure with hundreds of rooms, more a self-contained city than a single building.Its towering walls loomed high above the surrounding structures, offering an impenetrable defense.Inside, there was everything from offices for military intelligence, our arsenal, and our sleeping chambers.The high windows, located only on the top two floors, gave us an excellent vantage point in the event of an attack.
We had prepared for nearly everything.If the entire island sought refuge at the citadel, our food stores could withstand a siege of up to six months.The kitchens alone were a marvel.A home unto itself, with multiple ovens in each unit, a staff of over a hundred, and attached quarters for anyone who preferred to live where they worked.When King ran things, the citadel had operated like a finely tuned machine.Now, under my reluctant rule, it felt like I was mucking it up on a daily basis.
The door creaked open behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder, instantly regretting it.The last person I wanted to see stood there, and no matter how determined I was to stay angry, his presence made it difficult.
No, I wouldn’t let my eyes linger on his enormous, muscled chest that seemed to pull all the oxygen from the room.I wouldn’t acknowledge the way my breath hitched at the sight of his unorthodox face, somehow put together in a way that made it impossible to ignore.I clenched my teeth to keep from groaning out loud as my thoughts betrayed me.My brain flashed to his long, golden braids brushing over my skin when we last made love.
Nope.None of that.Not today.I didn’t like him right now.Not his chest, not his braids, not even those piercing blue eyes that told me he loved me.
I wasn’t in the mood.
King studied me, his damned eyes scanning me like he could read my thoughts.His gaze flicked to the new hole in the wall, and one brow arched in silent acknowledgment.He didn’t say a word, smart man.Instead, he strolled over to his chair in the corner, eased into it, and splayed his legs like he owned the room.
Callie, my traitorous cat, wasted no time leaping onto his lap.Her loud, contented purr filled the air as King casually ran his fingers through her sleek fur, his eyes shifting to meet mine, a smug glint in their depths.
This.Would.Not.Do.
The heavy thuds of my Doc Martens announced my approach as I crossed the room.Reaching down, I snatched Callie from his lap and ignored her indignant meow.“You’re supposed to be on my side,” I muttered, plopping down on the bed with her.She squirmed for a moment, then settled on my lap, her claws lightly digging into my pants.Her purrs returned, louder this time, and filled the room with their comforting rumble.
I shot King a smug smile, stroking Callie as if to say, See?I win.Her soft vibrations eased some of the tension from my shoulders, and for a moment, the disastrous day seemed a little less awful.I inhaled deeply, letting my nerves settle, teetering on the edge of relaxation until a knock at the door shattered the fragile peace.
“I’ll get that,” King said smoothly, rising from his chair.
He opened the door, stepping aside to let Beck in.Beck entered with the caution of someone walking onto a minefield, his steel-blue eyes sweeping the room like he was scoping the escape routes.His appearance was all sharp lines and discipline, the kind of lifetime military presence I’d seen countless times growing up around my father’s colleagues.
Like King, Beck’s hair was braided back, but the similarities ended there.He was slightly shorter, his muscles marginally less defined.Not that it mattered, his face held the weight of a man who’d seen too much.There was a tired edge to his expression today, though he carried himself with the same sharp authority as my mate.
Beck hesitated, clearly gauging the tension in the room.I swore he was about to turn around and retreat, but King cut off his escape.
“We haven’t had dinner yet,” King said, his tone dry.“And some of us are rather cranky.So, if I were you, I’d spit it out and be quick about it.”
Beck’s mouth twitched in something that might’ve been a grin, or a grimace, but he stayed put and lifted his head just enough to meet my eyes, then quickly looked away.Smart move.The last thing he wanted was for Ms.Beast to misinterpret it as a challenge.
“We’ve got a problem in the motor pool,” he said.“You might want to check on it.”
I couldn’t resist.“Are the women revolting there too?”
His eyes darted briefly to King before he lowered his head again.“Not that I’m aware of,” he muttered.
