Once a Myth

Tears pricked but not from grief. They were made up of pure liquid rage. I’d hoped I might avoid being this bastard’s plaything. I’d hoped that whatever strange and undeniable hum existed between us would die before he touched me again.

But…sitting there, with the pretence of lunch between us and the lapping ocean creeping higher up his shores, I couldn’t be naïve any longer.

This was an island of sex.

The chances of escaping before I had to provide such a service were slim to non-existent, but it didn’t mean I’d ever stop trying. Man after man, night after night, I would submit to this asshole’s commands because I had no choice, but I would never stop trying to reclaim my freedom.

But how could I vanish when he never stopped watching me?

How could I slip away undetected if Sully Sinclair gave in to the burning, sickening violence between us?

The truth was, I wouldn’t be able to.

If he kept taunting me like a panther with giant claws, batting me from paw to paw, constantly trying to decide if he should use me or dispatch me, I didn’t stand a chance.

One or the other had to happen.

Sex or murder.

And sooner rather than later.

He reclined in his chair, smoothing his grey tie. “An outburst like that is normally severely reprimanded.”

“How? By fucking the poor girl into submission?”

“No, by reminding her that all the luxuries and pleasantries she enjoys can be taken away, just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Her villa, her food, her clothing, her very value. They can vanish in one argument, leaving her naked and alone on some forgotten part of my archipelago, dying of sun exposure and dehydration.”

“And that’s why you think you’re god, I suppose. Because you can snuff out anyone’s life so easily.”

“Precisely.” He buffed his fingernails on his blazer. His eyes flashed as if he didn’t want to admit something but was going to anyway. “I could send you out there for a day or two for a much-needed lesson. Your skin would crack from sunburn. You’d drink saltwater for a reprieve. You’d become delusional and be only too happy to fuck me when you realised how your existence is a mere speck within my hand, but…where is the revenue in that? Sunburn takes a while to heal. There are long-lasting effects of chronic dehydration. The only path for you, my wicked-tongued Jinx, is fucking me or fucking a guest. One I don’t get paid for and the other I do. I still haven’t decided which is more valuable to me yet.”

I swallowed hard.

I’d stood up to this prick. I’d talked to him without a wobble in my voice or tears in my eyes, but whatever energy the smoothie had given me was suddenly evaporated all over again. I quaked with hunger and horror. I no longer had an appetite, but I was starving.

More starving than I’d ever been in my life.

For help, for hope, for kindness.

My back remained straight as a sword, but my shoulders deflated in defeat. He’d won. He’d always win. All I had left was his generosity and continued restraint. Without another argument, I reached for a dish of bean sprouts and tempeh all stir-fried with baby mushrooms.

I stopped with a forkful of juicy mushroom on its way to being eaten. I peered at the table. At every dish and delicacy. And my hatred threaded with a tiny cord of confusion.

No meat.

Anywhere.

No roast duck or barbecued pig.

No fish or crustacean or condemned creature with a heartbeat.

I looked up and caught his blazing stare. And instead of responding to his own internal debate. Instead of giving reasons why he should continue to hold my value higher for another to use rather than himself, I asked an insanely important question. “All these dishes are vegetarian.” I gulped. “How…how did you know?”

I hadn’t told the traffickers my dietary preferences.

I hadn’t told him.

Had he researched my name and tracked me down? Had he stalked my profiles and social media? But if he had…how did he know? I wasn’t vocal about my lifestyle. Even Scott remained quiet on his vegetarianism because most of his friends were jocks and mocked him for choosing plants over beasts.

This man who put such little worth on a human life had served me a lunch where nothing had to die.

Why?

Sully continued to sit silently. His body seethed with temper all while thoughts and secrets battled in his eyes. Finally, slowly, he stood.

He moved toward me until he towered over my chair. He didn’t speak a word as he bent and cupped my chin, holding me firm. “You’re a vegetarian?” he asked in a clipped, cold voice, but beneath that was the brittleness of agitation.

I nodded, or as much as I could in his control.

His eyes snapped shut. His nostrils flared. He visibly shook before he shoved away whatever anger surged in his veins and dug his fingers painfully into my cheeks. “Nothing alive will end up on your plate while you serve me. Everything you eat on this island is grown by my own cultivators. My gardens and greenhouses are located one island over. My eggs are laid by free-range hens. My cheese is made from hand-milked cows and goats. Every morsel I feed you has come from the land that I rule.”

My eyes bugged.

That was…that was enlightened. That was the habit and choice of someone who either cared about his footprint on this earth or had too much empathy to slaughter or cause suffering.

That didn’t fit with the bastard who took great pleasure from my suffering. It didn’t compute with what I knew about him.

What do you know about him?

Nothing.

I flinched as he bowed closer and pulled me nearer at the same time. Our noses brushed, our eyes locked, and for a terrifying second, I thought he’d kiss me.

But then the moment passed, and he tossed me away as if he couldn’t tolerate touching me any longer. Rebuttoning his blazer and smoothing down his dishevelled edges, he backed away, ready to leave.

And once again, I did something I’d never in a million years thought I’d do. I held up a hand, asking him to stay, needing to ask a question.

A question he’d asked me.

A question I wasn’t entirely sure I’d like the answer to.

“Who are you?” I squinted in the bright afternoon sun. “What man can be so empathic toward animals yet be so callous toward humans?”

He mulled over my query as if it were an astringent wine. His lips thinned, his eyebrows tugged to shadow vibrant blue eyes, and he finally murmured, “I’m empathetic to those creatures born into horror and mutilation. I am not empathetic to the creatures who caused it. I’m using the rules to my own advantage. We slaughter and maim others. Therefore, we are not above slaughter and torture ourselves.”

“So…I’m a chicken to you. A cow destined to—”

“You’re human. But humans are disposable. Men, women…we’re all the same. We think cages are beneath us. We think forced rape is beyond us. We think death is unthinkable because we’re special.” He swiped a hand through his dark, bronze-tipped hair. “We’re not special.” His lips curved into an icy, heartless smile. “We’re just monsters with the ability to speak. Monsters who pay any price to be free.”

Turning around, he stalked toward the villa. I sank deep into depressed realisation as he left me on the deck, surrounded by delicious, untouched food that had grown in his soils and blossomed under his care.