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I want to stay longer, but they won’t invite me. I am the enemy, the guy with a whip and an army of guards.
“About Katura,” Droga says when I pull up to the dock but don’t kill the motor. “You might wanna tone down on the dick attitude. I don’t think it will work with her. If you want to figure out what’s up.”
The mention of her makes me tense up, and surprisingly, I am looking forward to going back to Ayana and messing with her. But I also need to keep my distance.
Since Kat started working in the office, I’ve been lifting weights in the gym, throwing myself into work, and spending more time with the scientists in the lab just to keep my mind off her. She is not even around, but the memory of her drags me toward her.
Droga jumps onto the pier.
“Stay in touch in the next couple of days, yeah?” he says, walking backward. “I’ll talk to Maddy. Say hi to Katura.”
He smiles like he knows what I’m thinking. And now that we are parting, my thoughts are all about the long legs, braided hair, and scorching eyes.
The Outcasts on the beach are still gaping at me. They need to chill it the fuck down.
I start idling away when I hear, “Hey, Crone!”
Droga stands with his hands on his waist, smiling at me, looking like a bad-ass motherfucker with his tattoos. “Keep your surveillance off that shower stall, will you?” he shouts as I throttle the boat away.
I shake my head and turn away so he doesn’t see me grin.
33
KAT
I can dig livingon a tropical island, yeah.
Swimming in the mornings is my favorite part of the day.
Well, besides talking to Archer when he has a minute—which is rare in the last week.
And besides the nights out with Marlow when he introduces me to the spring-breakers one by one. Though most of them seem to be too hostile toward me.
And besides chilling in the evenings on the small deck of my bungalow that is too big for one person. They call it a “hut.” To me, it’s a mansion. The buzzing of the insects, the exotic birds, the faint smell of blooming flowers mixed with the humid salty air—it’s paradise.
Turns out, there’s quite a bit I like about this island.
I don’t use a scooter or electric hoverboard. Who needs a gym when you can walk thousands of footsteps a day just by taking all these steep paths and staircases that etch the resort?
It’s only a twenty-minute walk to the Center, up the road through the cooler jungle.
But today is another day with no Archer in sight.
The entire week I saw him three or four times, briefly, no talking, usually escorted by one of his assistants or the Pink Medusa.
It’s frustrating because I miss the prick. But this also helps to keep my mind out of the gutter.
I’ve finished all the files of the Eastern-European guards. Some of them had to go to my dad, who accepted Archer’s proposal to do a thorough background check on the employees that no one on this island has access to.
The fact that my dad now sort of works for Archer is bewildering. But in this way, I talk to him almost every day.
That’s the first thing I do at the Center after spending some time in the break room. I turn on the work laptop on my desk, plug in the headphones, and dial Dad.
“Kat,” he tells me again like I’m failing. “Aleksei Tsariuk is not stupid. If he sent someone, he probably outsourced them to avoid suspicion. You need to look at the files differently. Anyone from outside Eastern Europe who has ties to it. Anyone who’s been on the island longer than Gen-Alpha has been in play. Those who were hired just recently. Anyone with a bad record. Anyone with an immaculate record. Anyone with a lapse of employment. Withunusualemployment—”
“So, everyone.”
“Yes. You have to go througheveryfile and comb through it like it’s the main suspect. It takes time. If anything raises suspicion, I’m right here to help you dig deeper.”
