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“Oh yeah, this looks real sexy…if you want to seduce Ronald McDonald! Or Pennywise. What kind of name is that for a clown anyway? Why is this shit not coming off?”
Who cares about clowns, Zee! Tell me who this fucking guy is so I can kill him!
“Now the only thing Coop’s going to notice is that you’re a freak.”
Me? I was the guy she wanted to seduce? Talk about a battering ram right in the feels. Certainly as shocking.
Did Zee really think I hadn’t noticed her? The woman had had my full attention, complicated as it was, from day one.
Months later and about to drown from stupidity, I still didn’t understand what an intelligent woman in her prime wanted with a beat-up old man like me anyway. Hell, my shredded body had been stuffed back together so many times the seams barely stayed sewn anymore.
But if this body could somehow be put back together just one more time…then maybe I could find a way to be worthy of her.
First I had to get out of this river alive.
Aziza
A chill crawled up my spine as I approached the war room’s vault doors. When I’d first come to the island as a child, the underground bunker had been a crude, cruel prison. A fact I had a hard time forgetting, considering it could’ve easily become my own.
There was a good chance I would still find myself locked up or worse if anyone got close to the truth. And getting too close was exactly what had me waking up top Intelligence & Activity personnel for a virtual situation meeting with OZ.
I entered through the class-five security vault doors and flipped the heavy circuit breaker switch to bring the cavern to life. The other three sides of the war room were walled with coarsely chiseled volcanic stone, which kept it as cold and hard as the empire’s king.
A thick marble slab conference table inlaid with emerald chips from Zaki’s prized Brazilian mine filled the center. Surrounding the table were six high-backed chairs, the contours of which were more suited for luxury racecars. They were crafted in exquisitely supple, cream-colored Chanel leather and quilted in the brand’s famed diamond pattern. Replacing the legendary linked double-C logo on each of the headrests were Omar Zaki’s ever present initials in the requisite deep emerald green color. The pervasiveness of the OZ logo made for an efficient moniker as well as a constant reminder.
Whether one was on Marakata Cay or in any of the global office complexes, forgetting whose empire you lived and quite possibly died for was damn near impossible. The reclusive billionaire’s presence filled every room, even the ones he’d never set foot in. The so-called war room was certainly no exception.
Wolfe stopped in the entry, appearing to debate which chair to take. Typically confident and decisive, he gave his ear an awkward scratch. Admittedly, I’d dropped the ball getting him fully integrated into his new role. The sucker punch of Coop’s rejection had kept me from investing any energy into his substitute. I couldn’t. Wolfe was a walking, talking reminder of what I wanted so badly, but would never have.
The memory of the night I’d asked Coop to move here returned—as it did nearly every day. I’d been begging for him to give me one definitive clue to how he really felt about me. Just one.
“What is it you want? Tell me.”
“I want it all on the table.” His voice was clear and certain, but his words were cryptic and coy. It was just like him to be ambiguous whenever I needed a straight answer.
“What do you want on the table, Coop?”
“Everything.” He seemed to study my reaction through the computer screen for a beat. Then he flashed his dimples as those sapphire blue eyes of his sparked. “Especially you, Presh.”
“Sharky!” I exclaimed with a shocked laugh. I could never tell if his innuendoes were serious or not.
His deep voice sanded down to a gritty whisper. “Yes, Princess?”
Princess? My momentary happiness tripped over the unusual nickname.
Presh or Precious were his go-to endearments for me and it was just like him to distract me by playing mind games. Going in circles was wrecking me. He wanted everything on the table? Well, there was only one way to do that.
“Come to the island.”
I could still feel how my heart had wedged in my throat when I’d waited for Coop’s response, how I’d choked on the poor, dead thing when Coop had finally told me Wolfe would be a better fit for me.
‘Better fit’?
What did that even mean? What had anything he’d ever said to me meant?
