Page 12 of Rockland

I avert my eyes.

Focus on the task at hand.

We reach her bedroom. It’s already been cleared of all of Brett’s things. The faint scent of her perfume lingers in the air.

She stops when she reaches the carpet in the center of the room. She crosses her arms over her chest. Juts one of those sassy hips out at me. Locks eyes with me. She says, “I’ve done the numbers. Even with the billions Brett has donated in his passing, I’m a millionaire now. I think you know that as well as I do. So, what’s it going to take to get rid of you?” she sneers.

For a moment I don’t understand her meaning. I scratch at my beard. As much as I want to punish her, I’m ready to be done with this chaos and get back to Greece where my life makes sense. Before I can speak, she’s stomping over to her closet. She says, “Tell me, Rockland. What will it take? What’s your number? Half a million? A million?”

Now she’s on her hands and knees, tossing shoeboxes, scarves, purses to her right and left. They fall to the floor in discarded piles. Many items still have tags hanging from them. She’s pulling something from the back of the closet. She holds several rectangular packages in her hands. She’s walking toward me, holding them out to me. “Take them. Then get the hell out of here.”

It’s cash. Hundreds of thousands of bills wrapped in plastic and formed into compact bricks. She’s never been to my island and has made enough snide remarks about ‘uncivilized tribal life’ that I assume she thinks this is more cash than I’ve ever seen.

She throws one of them at me. It hits me squarely in the chest, then falls to the floor at my feet.

She thinks I’m here for her money. That she can buy me off. Bribe me to leave her alone. Literally throw it at me and I’ll retrieve it like a dog.

Fury rises from my gut.

Tess—always buying her way out of trouble. Throw a few Benjamins at the problem and it will disappear.

Not this time, sweetheart.

I’ve got all the money I need. Yes, I’m located remotely, caretaker of a society who prefers a simpler way of life, but I’m still a Bachman man. And my offshore accounts in the parish—of which she has no access to—add up in the billions.

But even if I was penniless, I wouldn’t touch her money.

My patience is gone. I’ve given her an appropriate amount of grace.

It’s time to give her what she needs. What Bronson has brought me here for.

Daggers shoot from her eyes. She’s got another block of cash in her other hand. Aimed right at my forehead.

“Throw that and you’ll not sit down for a week,” I say.

She pulls her arm back and her face narrows with determination. She flings it.

My arm shoots up, my hand opening. The brick hits my palm with a loud thwack.

Maybe I will keep this one.

So I can burn it.

I toss it to the floor with the other one.

Out of ammunition, she’s eyeing me leerily. I can tell by the blush rising in her face, she’s considering the repercussions of her actions. Her hands go to her already striped bottom, as if there’s anything she can do to protect it from me.

I take a step toward her.

She backs away, cornering herself in the room.

She’s pressed between the two walls. Her hands raise before her, guarding herself from me.

I loom over her. I must be a full foot taller than her. Her hands go to my chest. Attempting to push me away.

A dark chuckle erupts from my chest.

I grab her shoulders. I give her a shake. I demand, “Look at me.”