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Oh, shit.
The bushes rustle, then shake, in all directions, and four guys step out with rifles in their hands on all sides of us.
I whistle, turning around, studying them.
Cargo pants tucked into military boots. Tank tops. Sunglasses. Young, maybe five-six years older than me. Buff and by the sight of them, arrogant as fuck.
Who are they? Peter Pan’s boys?
The youngest-looking one tilts the sunglasses to his nose and studies me with a wolf whistle. He is the only one wearing black jean shorts that go below his knees. A loose tank over a muscled body. His dark hair is tied in a bun at the back of his head. Leather bracelets around his wrists. Beaded necklace around his neck. Tatted arm. A Cali surfer-boy turned Legion fighter.
Jesus.
He is hot.
This island is a fairyland for horny girls.
His rifle slowly points downward as he approaches, too lazily for someone with a dangerous job.
Yeah, babe, lower your gun, and you’ll lose that and your balls.
If any of them touch me, I swear…
Slowly, he rolls a toothpick in the corner of his lips, and his eyes shift to Ty. The surfer boy straightens, and his face turns vicious.
“Down on the ground!” he barks so suddenly spit sprays out of his mouth, and I almost jump. “Fifty pushups! Now! Move your ass!”
My heart bangs against my ribcage.
His glare is murderous.
His mouth is curled into a snarl.
But in seconds, his lips start spreading in a smile, and Ty slams into him in a bear hug.
“Mother! Fucker! You!”
They sway in a big hug like fucking flowers in the wind, then push off each other and study each other up and down.
“What up, douche?” Ty asks, grinning.
“You can chill,” Kai says behind me.
Only then do I lower my hands and notice that the other three guys stand to the side, guns lowered, studying me more than the boys.
The one talking to Ty turns to me again and pushes his sunglasses onto his forehead. “And who is this lovely creature?”
He cocks his head and steps toward me and around me like I am a doll.
I turn as he walks around me, not letting him get behind me, staring onto his smiling eyes. He has a several-day stubble, sharp features, a chiseled body, and a tattoo that snakes around his bicep. Are all rich guys so muscled and perfect? Or just on this island?
“You done staring, sweetheart?” I ask, giving him a backward nod.
He grins at me, baring his perfect white teeth. “Areyou? Let me guess”—he turns to Ty—“new arrival? Lost and found?”—then nods to Kai—“What up, bro?”
Ty grins at me. “This is Nick Marlow.” He nods at the guy.
So, this is Marlow, one of Archer’s close buddies.
