Page 50 of Return to the Island

“You’re very brave,” she whispered before pulling back. Her eyes flicked from her son to me. A touch of sympathy and fear mixed with her statement.

“Thank you,” I answered, uncertain what she meant or how to respond. Tack’s hand had slipped to my lower back and he patted it in a patronizing manner. I didn’t care for the touch.

Next, my attention was drawn to a man who was clearly Tack’s father. The touch of gray at his temples only enhanced the striking appearance of a man who reflected what Tack would look like as he grew older. Confident. Cocky. Composed. Unfortunately, Terror was the appropriate nickname for Terrence Jackson Corbin III. His glacial blue eyes turned my blood cold. While I shivered under his gaze, sweat pooled under my arms.

“So this is the girl,” he said, sizing me up with those frozen eyes. I smiled slightly in response, but there was no approval in his glare.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I offered my hand, but his father didn’t take it, lifting his drink for a sip in obvious disgust at my presence. His glare said everything. You gave up your freedom for this. You went into banishment because of that. You split from my company for her.

“This is her,” Tack replied, again too loud, almost too cheerful. Falseness surrounded us. A drink suddenly appeared in his other hand, and he took a hearty sip.

“Tack, where are your manners? Perhaps you should get your date a drink,” his mother suggested, sipping her wine.

“Fiancée,” Tack announced, correcting her and holding up my hand for his parents to see. The announcement was apparently the official statement. His father’s eyes narrowed, taking in the size of my ring. His mother’s eyes widened. This was our engagement party, and they had no idea.

“What?” shrieked a female voice across the room, and I spun to see Abby Goodwin standing near an elegant-looking couple who could only be her parents. Abby sauntered toward us in a green dress that matched the front doors of the club. Her eyes remained on Tack. “What is this?” Through clenched teeth she spoke, and I realized no one in the room knew who I was, or rather who I was in relation to Tack. In that moment, I no longer knew who I was either. Had I been set up for another night of humiliation?

“Abby, you remember meeting Juliet.” Tack’s hold on my hand tightened.

“Yes,” Abby sneered looking at me. “What’s that cute name you have for her? Oh, right, your little rat.”

“Mouse,” I clarified, my voice choking on the word. I internally kicked myself for speaking and wondered why Abby and her family were even present.

“Holy shit,” a masculine voice behind me hissed and I spun to be met by a face I recognized. Rory Fontaine’s brown eyes ensnared mine. He was the spitting image of his older brother. I hadn’t seen him in more than two years, but I remembered him, and I was propelled backward in time. While his face had been hidden behind a camera, those eyes had been on me, hungry for his turn, which thankfully never came.

I spun to Tack.

“You said you’d lost touch,” I growled low, looking up at him for some explanation of this humiliation.

“Guess he came to see I got the girl.”

I squeaked in response, feeling like I fit the nickname Mouse, surrounded by so many devious cats. Tack’s expression fell as realization slowly bloomed.

“Juliet, I didn’t mean—“

“If you’ll excuse me a moment,” I said, holding up a hand and offering a false smile to his mother, whose dead eyes sparked in recognition of my pain. Numbly, I spun and headed for the hall, hoping to find a bathroom. I needed a moment to collect my thoughts. As I walked out of the room, holding my head up as best I could, I heard Tack’s voice behind me. “Baby, don’t be like this.”

Every muscle in my body twitched. The anger surpassed my hurt. While I wanted to spin back to him and tell him, “No, you don’t be like this,” I just needed a minute. Finding a bathroom, I locked the door behind me and pressed against the wood, which was reminiscent of something made in a jungle. In fact, the door looked vaguely like the door of my tree house. I stared at the wood panels, a replication but too polished, too over-varnished and garish. How appropriate, I thought. Tack was the same—polished up and on display. I felt the same way, and I couldn’t stay here.

We’re going to play this my way.

My emotions warred within me. I didn’t want to play. I loved Tack, and I thought he loved me, but this was not him. I did not recognize who he was, other than someone I knew once upon a time on an island. This Tack reminded me of that night, and I would never be with that man.

A soft rap came to the door and hope traitorously leapt in my heart that he’d come to me to explain. As I turned the lock, the door came toward me in a rush, and I was forced back into the small confines of the washroom. My heart raced as I looked up to find Rory with his back to the door, blocking my exit.

“Hello, little…what is it he calls you? Mouse?” He bit his lower lip. His eyes narrowed, the leer reminding me of his brother, a man who watched me work, propositioned me, and when I refused, decided he would use my body to teach me a lesson. Maybe he noticed how often I stared at Tack Corbin. Maybe he saw I was interested in the mystery of Tack versus the evil of Rick. My curiosity was misplaced and misunderstood, and Rick decided I would be the sacrificial lamb for slaughter. The initiation into his exclusive rooms by his most immediate friends. They would each have a turn after Rick staked his claim. He forced Tack to follow him, in what I now knew was a tactic to prove that Tack would always be second to Rick. Rory and Smack were each going to have a turn, and while all the men feigned indifference, they watched the performance, as Rick called it.

She will submit to all of us. And then she’ll ask for it again.

I’d been in over my head, but that was no excuse for what they’d done. And even when Tack recognized I wasn’t as willing as he was initially promised, he still did nothing. I’d come to terms with that, but it all rushed back to me. The night. The sounds. The look in his eyes.

We’re going to play this my way. Blink if you understand me.

Blink.

I didn’t feel safe, and I refused to play. Whatever his way was this evening, this wasn’t my way. I didn’t need to meet his parents. In fact, I despised them for trying to prove their son’s innocence. His mother I faulted twice, for being a woman and not coming to my defense, despite Tack being her son. It was inexcusable, and her eyes on mine proved she knew the truth of her guilt. She was warning me to walk away, fearing her son was a monster after all, a terror like her husband.

I glared back at Rory. “Let me pass,” I spat, clenching my hands at my side.