Once a Myth

Sitting on the deck of the central villa that housed all the conveniences of a five-star resort, including three restaurants, a gin bar, small movie theatre, gym, spa, and a few retail shops that specialised in the most expensive, exclusive diamonds anyone could buy, I studied them closely.

At least one of the gentlemen had purchased a diamond—it glinted on a tie pin, stabbed into his floral shirt. I couldn’t blame him wearing the flawless stone even without a suit and tie or a boardroom to notice.

No one else in the world had the right to sell Hawk diamonds, but I personally knew Jethro Hawk who ruled over his own estate and inheritance of priceless gemstones.

We’d met under strange circumstances. He had a condition that required behavioural drugs. I had a talent at taking natural ingredients and blending with science to create newer, better drugs. Far more potent drugs.

We’d met when he’d reached his wit’s end and needed something new—to continue existing in his painful personal world. I’d given him something. We’d stayed in touch. He no longer used my drug, and instead, he’d found that love conquered his condition without the use of chemicals.

However, a business deal had struck up from our acquaintance, and it’d been mutually benefiting. He had power in his own right, just like the guests below me. Drinking a noonday cocktail, they relaxed on the sprawling deck that meandered around koi carp ponds, palm trees, and were home to a few very fat white herons, who were used to being hand-fed.

One man was a politician, hiding from the nasty world of bullshit and over-promises, spending the next three days with us while indulging in some very intriguing fantasies. Another was the heir of a supermarket chain. I’d personally gifted one night on top of the five he’d paid for because he was the first to eradicate all pesticides on the produce his chain sold and had vowed to only provide plant-based meat to his consumers. And the third was a B-grade actor who’d spent a very enlightening time with a goddess called Jupiter.

He’d treated her with respect.

They’d had a mutually satisfying time together.

Today was his last afternoon on my shores.

I oversaw everyone’s departure as well as their arrival to ensure their needs had been met, any outstanding bills were paid, and their feedback on any pillow talk a goddess might’ve divulged was delivered straight to me.

A few had tried to escape by asking their patron to help smuggle them off the island. Another few had agreed to be bought by the guest, if I agreed to sell.

Neither of those things would ever happen.

“Sir?”

I looked up through piercing sunshine to raise an eyebrow at Calvin. “What is it?”

He stood with a smirk that he hadn’t eradicated from his face ever since Eleanor Grace had been unceremoniously dragged out of my office…naked.

It pissed me off.

It made me aware I’d stepped over lines I’d promised I’d never cross. She’d gotten under my skin, and that was yet another thing that should never have fucking happened.

Cal squinted his gaze against the bright tropics. “She’s left her room. She’s being escorted to the Divinity Dining Room.”

I instantly lost all interest in the men beneath me on the lower deck. “Bring her here.”

He nodded. “Right away.” With another annoying little smile, he left to bring a disgraced and fallen angel to worship at my feet.

Chapter Thirteen

I HADN’T SAID A word when the personal minion for Sully Sinclair appeared from nowhere, blocking the sandy laneway and waving my silent guard away. His shiny brown hair showed style and attention, yet his green eyes held mirth at my expense.

I didn’t like him.

Just as I didn’t like his master.

My throat still stung from retched-up acid. My stomach still roiled against the snare I’d been caught in. And my hunger and dehydration set my teeth on edge, which meant my temper was so, so close to snapping.

I had no patience.

No tolerance.

If I opened my mouth and graced him with a word, it would be filled with profanity and probably get me in a hell of a lot of trouble.

So…instead, I chose wisdom and zipped up my lips with fiery control and merely glowered at him as he said, “Your company has been requested at the main villa. Follow me please.” With a sweeping gesture, he turned and strolled up the pathway, expecting me to fall in step with him.

And I did.

I didn’t really have much choice. I wanted to know this island. The sooner I knew where each path led, which villas were safe, which were not, and just how big this place was, the sooner I could formulate a plan to leave.

We didn’t meet anyone else as he led me in polished shoes over white-golden sand until the shadowy tunnels caused by palm fronds gave way to a large oasis of sunshine. No natural shade granted the large area that’d been cleared for a huge open-aired, beautifully styled cabana.

Black umbrellas towered over private dining tables on the bottom deck, sparkling ponds with pink and white lilies broke up the large expanse of teak flooring, graceful herons picked their way daintily between two tables which held three men drinking cocktails.

Within the shade of the large villa, a restaurant gleamed with cream napkins and fine dining. It made me feel woefully underdressed in the white tennis-style dress I’d found hanging in the wardrobe. Barefoot, hair washed and brushed but wavy with humidity, and no energy to move after the catastrophe I’d been put through yesterday, I was terribly insignificant and left hating the sensation of being small, meek, and totally at the owner of this establishment’s mercy.

I sighed, feeling more drained and lonely than ever as I followed the architecture to the second tier. Another wraparound deck with a carved banister that kept the natural contours of branches, bound together with vines, creating a treehouse persona. Something not quite manmade but of a Mother Nature creation.

Big black sails strapped from the centre point of the structure fanned out to attach to links on the deck, drenching the second level with much-needed shadow from the cooking midday sun.

I froze as I locked gazes with my nemesis.

Him.

Sully Sinclair sat like a royal dictator, a coffee cup in one hand and a pair of sunglasses in the other which he put slowly, regally on his nose.

My temper cut through my aches and bruises. My fury curdled any tiredness and hunger.

Digging my bare feet into the sand, I went to spin and leave.

I couldn’t see him.

I didn’t have the control not to say something that would assuredly get me into a heap of trouble.

But fingers latched around my elbow, keeping me in place. “Running away isn’t polite.”

“Kidnapping isn’t either,” I snapped, ripping my arm from the man’s hold and breathing hard.

I hadn’t meant to say that.

I vibrated with the urge to say more.

To scream at him. Scratch him. To give him a slur-slandered message to hand deliver to his diabolical master.

He smirked, his gaze flashing between me and the man he served. “It’ll be interesting to see how long he permits your disobedience.”

I bit my tongue so hard, it bled.

He waited as if he wanted me to retaliate. When I didn’t, he seemed disappointed but not entirely surprised. “You’re not the first to rebel, you know. And I’m sure you won’t be the last.” The man stepped toward me, conspiratorially, threateningly. “They all give in, in the end. They all realise how good they’ve got it here.” He smiled as he studied me. “You’ll learn too, I promise.”