Prologue
The Island Sees You
Terrence Jackson Corbin IV understood right from wrong. He’d been doing right his whole life, until one day he chose wrongly. He didn’t know why he did it, only that he did. He wanted to be something other than who he was. For one night, he wanted reckless and meaningless and bad. But sometimes bad goes too far, and he had pushed that limit. He’d crossed it actually, and the result faced him.
Tack, the name he took for himself, stared at the island over the bow of the racing boat. Secluded, lush, and bursting with greenery, the sensuous curve of the natural landscape ahead seduced him. He’d spend one year in this place—alone. He longed for the solitude. His world had grown too chaotic, and he’d take this penance. Banishment. Reflection. However, the board wanted to dress this up, it was what it was—punishment. He had to face the consequences of his crime, and an alternative process of justice was provided. Father had friends in high places.
Jail time in the family story wasn’t an option for the opulent Corbin family. No, the token son—the only son, the single, blessed child—could not face such a heinous mark on his resume, despite the cruelty of his crime.
A year off, his mother muttered through the over-Botoxed, pinched smile forcibly plastered on her pristine face. She’d never look at him the same again. She’d never forgive him in the name of womanhood, but her devotion to her husband and the wealth of his income kept her silent to her true feelings.
A year to discover what’s important, his father sternly emphasized, narrowing his green eyes, the same eyes that graced his own face. His father believed a year without modern conveniences and frivolous amenities would remind Tack of the privilege he had. It would also remind him that his father had the power to heartlessly squash him like an annoying insect.
A year of reflection, the softly spoken restoration coach had interjected. Tack thanked the heavens and lucky stars for the intervention of his father’s lawyers and their assistants to find an alternative to prison. Tack could admit he’d never survive becoming the bitch to another man. His pampered life emanated from his pores, and he sensed that a sex-starved inmate could smell his weakness a mile down a dusty road. On the other hand, no one understood the injustice Tack had already endured. He’d learned to fight back, but more often with words than his fists. It wouldn’t help him in an eight-by-six cement room with a metal cage for a door.
The island drew closer as the bow cut through the Caribbean waters. Tack smiled to himself, inhaling the allure of a tropical paradise before him. He’d been warned. There was no resort here. No swimming pool or weight room. No daily spa or five-course meal. No unlimited bar. This would be only Tack and nature. He laughed. He didn’t need those glorified amenities. He needed to be alone. He wanted to get away. A year on an island by himself sounded heavenly. Five-star accommodations or not, this punishment would be a piece of cake.
+ +
Juliet Montmore had nothing left. Everything had been stripped from her on that fateful night. A crime committed against her, so heinous, so vile, nothing remained of who she was or who she wanted to be. The little she had before, the short distance she’d come, all disappeared that night. Innocent, curious, unsuspecting, she’d followed like the lost sheep she once had been. But she was no longer easily tamed. Her inner wolf sprung free. Her crime had been justified for the one done to her.
She stared forward as the bite of ocean spray nipped at her face. She closed her eyes with the sense of freedom. Three months in a detention center had done things to her. It built her strength. It restored her desire. She’d never be taken advantage of again. The thought held her head higher. She refused to wobble with the bounce of the metal craft over reckless water. Her good behavior had paid off.
A one year experiment, her mentor offered her as compensation for her detainment. Time was needed to prove the justification of her release. The social worker for women’s rights wanted to prove Juliet hadn’t displeased any god. A man had done what he’d done to Juliet. Her response was warranted. His life for hers.
A year to repent, her uncle suggested, shaking his greasy-haired head and lowering his eyes. The solicitous gaze under those lids hinted that she’d deserved what happened and expressed his sorrow that he hadn’t been the one to think of it. Or perhaps, he had, only he didn’t act on his fantasy. Tormented her, yes, but acted, never. How sorry he’d have been if he had, as her actions had proved.
A year to restore, the masculine voice of the Native American liaison interjected. Rich in cultural heritage, the concept of circle justice had reached a modern age of restoration for sins. Whatever one does to another has to be rectified to find inner peace. Juliet did want that peace, so the concept of being alone appeased her. Her thoughts haunted her, but the idea of being away from her limited family, people who were no longer willing to be her friend, and the dreams she had lost, sounded appealing. A year on an island—alone—sounded heavenly.
The engine cut, the speed lowered, and the metal skiff drew forward into a small bay surrounded by an alcove of trees hovering over the water’s edge. The sudden fragrance of sweet fruit and salt air was intoxicating. Juliet did not fear the lack of modern amenities. She’d been raised on scraps, provided with little clothing, and discouraged of her dreams. She was a survivor. She could hunt and trap, fish and find berries. A small shelter was provided for her protection from the elements and the concept of having her own place, a space to be free, seemed like a fantasy. Repentant for sin or not, this tropical haven was the religious revival she needed. She’d atone in the sun, bask in freedom, and hold no regret for the evil she’d done.