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“Fuck… Yeah…” The grunts are male.
“Harder, babe…” That one is Katura’s, and it makes my insides twist with unease.
I take another slow step down and am about to round the corner when I see Katura’s knees, wide spread, and a white muscular ass and hips thrusting between them.
Gross.
I scramble up the stairs and almost fall out onto the deck.
My heart is pounding, and I feel my face catching on fire. I have no choice but to come back and stand next to the scrawny guy who is chatting to several others.
Five minutes later, Katura strolls out onto the deck, shamelessly fixing her tank top straps, a satisfied half-smile on her face.
“What up, babe?” she throws at me.
A lighter in her hand clicks, and she lights a joint, then exhales tastefully, and the smell of weed laces the salty air.
God, she is beautiful, untamed, and so wild in the worst and best ways possible.
The boat hits a large wave and slams into the water, sending most of us scrambling while Katura remains almost unmoved, her stance wide, a joint between her fingers.
The captain comes out. His eyes, blazing as if he is looking for treasure, find Katura, and he comes over.
That’s the thing about Katura. She can fuck a random dude, and he will cling to her as if she promised the world to him. That’s her invisible power. I feel it too. It’s in the way she talks, acts, and in her no-fucks-given attitude.
The captain reaches around her to take the joint out of her fingers.
“Care to share?” His grin matches Katura’s as he takes a deep drag, not taking his eyes off her, and passes it back to her, his hand possessively on her waist.
I look away, wondering if my gaze has too much envy. I wish I was like her—screwed any boy I wanted, fought anyone who dared look at me the wrong way, completely content on my own.
But I’m not. I feel forever lost after losing my family. Like I don’t belong anywhere.
Katura’s nonchalance is magnetic. She takes everything she wants from this life.
“You never know when the world ends, babe,” she said back in the center and laughed. Her laughter was so liberating that, for a moment, the trip to the island felt like a vacation.
It’s not. I should know better. Considering the circumstances and the person in charge.
Right now, I can’t stop thinking about the captain’s bare ass between Katura’s legs. I don’t even have a boyfriend. Haven’t had one since…
Right.
The Block Party four years ago.
“F-f-fuck.” The captain loudly exhales a cloud of smoke. “The weather is shit. We are riding straight into a storm. But the Chancellor is impatient. So buckle up, Dorothy!”
He slaps Katura on the ass and takes over the helm from his deckhand.
And here is the reminder.
The Chancellor.
Ugh. My heart starts hammering in my chest at the mention.
That’s what they call him on the island.
Archer Crone.
