Page 2 of Redemption Island

Suddenly a creature popped upward, startling me despite my concentration on the moving current. A dark head of slicked back hair rocketed upward as the upper body of the most peaceful, beautiful creature I’d ever seen appeared like a sea nymph released from the water. Rivulets of liquid caressed a solid, feminine back, licking sun-kissed skin. She spun and two delicious globes of perfection pointed at me. Each stood at attention, ripe to peaked-perfection and emphasized with the lushness of rosy nipples. Swiping back the sopping hair, delicate fingers caressed over a wet face of chiseled cheeks leaving behind an expression of calm serenity. Then lazy lids lifted and violet beams glared up at me. Startled, she screamed. And I recognized her instantly.

2

Day 7 - Juliet

Paralyzed for a moment in my shock, several things transpired in the wake of sixty seconds. My eyes pierced the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. A testament to glory and ancient gods, he stood on the edge of a rocky cliff, one knee bent upward as if staking his claim on a piece of land discovered solely by him. His hands hung at his sides in solid fists. The bulge to his long arms exuded strength. His hair was dark brown and mussed as if thick fingers recently combed through the strands, the tips kissed with sun-bleach. His eyes trained on my chest, dark and hollow in a face chipped as if by an expert in woodcraft, held me in place in my watery haven.

And then, I screamed.

The expression of his hard face transformed before me. His eyes opened wide. His mouth fell open. Startled. It was the only description of the look on his perfect face. And then it morphed, softening only briefly. His eyes flicked—the subtle motion a statement to something like recognition. Slowly his fists rose and unclenched, palms facing outward toward me. The sheer size of his mitts and the length of his fingers choked another scream from my throat. The second time, words followed.

“Go away.”

With the sound of my voice, his head snapped backward, the slightest knock as if I struck him. Dark orbs within his sockets softened again. Then his cheeks hardened, the impression of wood returning. A tick at his cheek hinted at the clenching of back teeth. His eyes remained focused on my breasts, and my nipples tightened at the heat he exuded. I told myself it was the refreshing water still trickling off me, exposing my skin to the gentle air above the surface. I let him stare for just seconds before slapping my arms over my chest, tucking my hands under my pits. A shiver followed the movement, but it wasn’t excitement that filled me.

It was fear.

And I refused to let it take me.

“Get the fuck out of here,” I yelled as if he was a dog that could be chased away with words. He blinked and that wooden stare roamed my body. It felt lurid and luscious like a long lick, but I refused to acknowledge the tingle of pleasure. I denied it could exist in me.

“Get. The. Fuck. Away from me,” I bellowed again, beginning to wonder if he was hard of hearing. Then wondering what he was doing on this island. The place was abandoned. I’d been told it would only be me. Small creatures, possibly. Millions of bugs, probably. But another human? Absolutely not.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” A hoarse voice, tired and croaking from lack of use broke through the echo of my final demand. A tiny memory pricked at my brain, like a needle attempting to pop a balloon. Not quite through the surface of latex, my memory pressed back in resistance, refusing to allow penetration while it absorbed the sting. The hint drifted.

“I don’t care,” I barked. “Get out of here.” My chest rose and fell, and I trembled uncontrollably. I could only imagine the sight of me—a woman on the edge of unhinging. My hair hung in clumps against my forehead. My throat stung with the weight of my scream. The tips of my fingers dug into the hollow pits under my arms. I felt my heart racing under my skin.

He continued to stare down at me, like a great mystery, a puzzle to be solved. I held my stance, glaring up at him despite the sun rays trickling through the leafy foliage behind him, haloing his head like he was some historical voyager, honored for staking out new land. He looked at me like unclaimed property, but he’d be wrong. I’d already been occupied. I’d been raped and pillaged, plundered and used. Unoccupied by permanence, like an abandoned homestead, I’d been depleted of anything considered a natural resource. He could not live off me. I’d kill him, choke him on the poison that surged through my body, feeding my hatred of all things male.

“Get—” The word seethed from behind my teeth, hissing in a reptilian sound of pure displeasure, yet his abrupt twist cut short the rest of the venomous sound. Without a word, he spun toward the trees, and stepped upward, exuding an effortless stretch of his long legs as he climbed the rocky outcrop, pulling himself to the next level. He didn’t turn back—not even a slight glance over his shoulder to see if I watched his retreat.

If I recognized sadness, I’d think my heart pinched as he ignored me. His broad back rose over the rocks, dragging his muscular legs with him, carrying him away from me. But sadness no longer resided in me. I only wanted peace. I’d passed through the levels of despair. Forgiveness was the only step left to take. Learning another person lived on this island stood in my way. Realizing it was him made it worse.

3

The Island Smells Your Fear

How could she be here? Of all things evil in the universe, her presence was the ultimate in betrayal. He’d been told—no, warned—there would not be another soul in existence on the island. Banished, alone, one year. That was the sentence. He’d accepted the terms in hopes to find inner harmony. His mind wrestled nightly with her face under his. His ears echoed with her silent pleas. His heart ached with what he’d done.

She couldn’t be here. Not her, of all people.

Anger welled inside him to the point of detonation by the time he reached his waterside camp. He’d hacked at the low brush and pounded fists into small trees. He kicked at thick trunks and slapped his thighs as he hiked back to his temporary home. Once there, he swept sand over his fire pit and threw the coffee pot still set within the morning coals. Black liquid flew through the air, raining down in a gentle stream. How prophetic, he laughed. Laughter, deep and rich and bitter, like the campfire coffee. The sky mocked him with black raindrops, he thought, just like the dark liquid in his soul, just like the heavy tears he once shed for all he’d done to her.

And all she’d done to him.

He hated her while his heart once broke for her.

Stripping off his shirt, he raced for the waters’ edge. He stumbled as he pulled up his foot, attempting to remove a hiking boot, tugging at it while he hopped forward. He fell to his knees, the impact hard and jolting. It was then that he noticed how hard he was, the length of him stiff and struggling beyond the zipper of his shorts. Like a child’s tantrum, his legs kicked outward, flinging a boot away from him. His other knee bent and he used the same aggressive effort to remove the second boot before throwing it to his left. He peeled off his socks, leaving them lying haphazardly around him. A flattened palm pressed the length of him, rubbing up and down the hardened rod, both cursing at the excitement and relishing the throbbing heat.

Without a care for his nakedness, he loosened his shorts and stepped out of them as he ran for the ocean bay. He sprinted as far as his feet would take him before he dove deep into the refreshing water. The warmth did nothing to dissipate the heavy feel of his erection and his thick hand wrapped around himself, tugging tightly at the length. His wrist moved in rapid motion, both adrenaline and hatred pumping through his veins.

Her.

His eyes closed and he restored the memory. She was under him, whimpering. Violet eyes, filled with liquid and pleading. Her mouth had been gagged after Rick took his turn. He wanted to do baser things to her, but the initiates were too hungry for their turn.

Her hands had been tied, but he could no longer remember if it was over her head or behind her back. His original plan had been to enter her from behind. He didn’t want to see her face. He didn’t want to commit her to memory. He wanted his turn so he could be a member.

But then he saw her. Really saw her face, horrified, and bruising from where Rick slapped her. Without thought, his hand caressed her cheek, and she whimpered, flinching to get away from his touch, but she had nowhere to go. He remembered cooing at her, shushing her strangled cry.