Page 24 of Redemption Island

In a moment of weakness, after my self-soothing toss in the dirt, I allowed myself to remember him from that night. I’d been asked to wait on a room on the third floor, and I took the assignment out of curiosity, but also because of him. I didn’t know much about him, but I marveled at the cut of his jaw, the gleam of his eyes, and the crooked smile on his lips. I was attracted to him beyond anything I’d felt before but recognized the giddiness of infatuation with a man out of my league. Still, I went when asked. I’d been told it was a special request.

The moment I entered the room, I sensed the tension. The subtle glances in my direction. The appraisal of my body in the skimpy uniform—little black, skin-tight dress. The air was charged with a nervous energy, and I looked up at him, his eyes glassy with drink. I thought he saw me, but he looked through me. Distracted, that’s when I was captured.

“Cooperate, and your promotion will bring you wealth.”

I had wanted a raise, but not like this. I struggled without results as I was quickly bound at the wrists and gagged after I screamed. I couldn’t imagine the other men would stand around and watch, but as I noticed their movement, as if in slow motion or a dream, jackets removed, and shirt sleeves rolled up, it was if the men prepared to relax and watch a performance. My body jackknifed, and I was thrown on the leather couch. Roughly, my dress was removed, and I lay exposed in my demi-bra and thong.

There I stopped. I didn’t need to remember the rest.

Look at me, I had willed with my eyes, keeping my concentration on Tack while I was taken by Rick. He paid no attention to me. My guard had been down for only a moment, my distraction was him, and a sharp slap to my face was the result. A mouse trapped by the lure of the cat, they had caught me.

Never again, I told myself, walking with my head higher as I explored the jungle around me. And yet, his body rutting over mine had released a nervous energy, one I couldn’t deny on that morning as he offered his apology and then rejected me. My toss in the dirt had been a baptism, freeing me sexually, liberating my voice as I screamed, drying my tears as I cried. I would take and not be taken again.

+ +

The call of my name was a whisper, but it caught my attention as I sat in my chair at the square table. I’d been working on writing my self-reflective discoveries every moment I wasn’t sleeping or walking. My body had toned with the extensive exercise, and my eating improved. I didn’t anticipate Lillian and Franco for four days, and the rugged voice wasn’t either of theirs. I paused in my writing, listening intently.

“I’m dreaming him again,” I said aloud, telling myself it was only the wind.

“Juliet,” I heard louder, distinctly present beneath my tree house. I lowered my head to the desk, rolling it back and forth on the notebook.

“I have to stop doing this,” I muttered into the pages.

“Let me up, Juliet, or I’m coming in without your permission,” he snapped. My head shot up, and I realized he could have entered anytime he wanted, but he hadn’t. He’d only been uninvited once and that was when he saved me from the snake. I walked to the latch for the ladder, my legs heavy with dread. Kicking at the rope structure, it slipped through the hole in the platform and tumbled to his reach. I stepped back as he climbed, my heart racing with each creak of the rope, straining with the weight of him. As his head crested the opening, I turned for my room. I didn’t think my heart could stand the first look of him, so ready to burst with anticipation and trepidation.

I sat in my chair at the table, trying to appear casual while my body quaked. I fisted my hands in the hem of my shorts. Sweat instantly slicked my palms.

He passed through the doorway, swiping back the jagged cut of his hair, grown out slightly in a week. His jaw was covered in light stubble, and my breath caught at the appearance of him. His eyes gleamed brighter than I’d ever seen, matching the leaves outside my tree house window. He was breathtaking, and I hated him at the same time my chest clenched with relief at seeing him.

He scanned the room, taking in the layers of books and open notebooks across the table. There were two chairs set on either side of the table where I sat but he selected the trunk at the end of the bed. His long legs bent and he balanced his elbows on his thighs. I remained silent, willing him to speak first.

“You left,” he whispered.

“You didn’t really want me to stay,” I offered, my voice harsher than I expected. He instantly looked up.

“I want so many things, Juliet. Some of them I can’t even articulate because I don’t have a name for them.” His comment startled me and I blinked.

“I—”

“I have things I want to say.” His tone was sharp, and I was taken aback again. I shifted in my seat, sliding my sweaty palms down the sides of my shorts and then nervously curling loose hairs behind my ear. He watched the movement, following the stroke of my fingers before swallowing and beginning.

“Rick Fontaine was my best friend—”

“I don’t want to hear this,” I cut him off, looking away from him, Rick’s name on his lips was a sharp sting to my cheeks, the bite of a snake, and I trembled. My jaw clenched. I was letting this go. Him go. Them go. I didn’t want to think about that night again.

“You’re going to hear me out, and then you can kick me out. But I’m speaking first.” His voice remained short.

We’re going to play this my way trickled through my head, but I could only blink in response, the reply he wanted from me.

“Rick Fontaine was my best friend, and he was an asshole. He should have been killed twenty times over by drug dealers and disgruntled women, but I loved him, in a strange way because he was my friend. I didn’t agree with all of his practices. It was always a competition between us—never set by me, but by him. It was just the way we were. He worked for what he had, while I had it handed to me. He didn’t openly begrudge me, but it was apparent with every risk, every dare, every suggestion for trouble, that he envied me and how easily things happened for me.”

He paused and I stared at him, sweat trickling down my neck. The idea of sympathy for Rick Fontaine made my stomach toss, and the pressure of vomit rose inside me. I swallowed the bile-taste in my mouth.

“He had taken on a lifestyle that suited his need to be in control. He wanted to prove he was better than others, and his club was one way to do this. The Front Door was going to be an investment for me. He needed money, but he’d never take a gift, and I was intrigued, as I am too often with anything that would piss off my father. To prove myself, Rick suggested this initiation, but he wanted first dibs.”

“First dibs,” I mouthed.

“It was so fucked up. We would each get a turn. Rick, myself, Rory and Smack.”