"Thanks for paying the way here," I tell Isabelle with a side-long glance. "I didn't realize your idea of running was to an island three days away."

"Any time. Maybe next time you take in a ‘criminal’ who's on the run, you should learn to hide your wallet better when you're sleeping with the bait."

I knew she took the cash from my wallet. I let her take it, hoping she’d find a way out. It was becoming clear that there wouldn't be a good ending to either of our stories and if money got her a little farther than it got me, I wanted her to have it. It was all dirty money, anyway. "I guess you have a thing or two to teach me then," I tell her.

"I guess so," she says, walking toward the entrance of whatever hotel this is.

"Your rule one—no stealing—needs to apply to you too," I tell her. "Oh, and you'll need to share the rest of these rules with me while you're controlling your klepto ways."

"I wasn't planning on stealing anything else from you," she says with a smirk. Before walking through the front door to the hotel we were dropped off at, Isabelle turns around and presses her hand against my chest. "Kulao—this island we're on—it’s not a vacation spot. We're officially off the grid. This place is for people who have run away from something. No one is who you think they are, though I suspect we have a better chance of figuring them out than they have at figuring us out."

Throughout our four flights, two ferry rides, and a prop plane island hopper, not once was the name of the island mentioned. I thought it would be harder to let go of the control I've maintained for most of my adult life, but I decided not to ask her questions. I followed instead of leading the way. She evidently had this little backup plan because she knew exactly where she was going. Giving up control, even after just a few days, has felt like the world has been lifted from my shoulders.

"How long have you known about this place?" I ask her. "I had no clue a location like this existed."

Her lips turn into a sinuous grin. "Somewhere between a short while and a long while," she responds with a sigh.

She opens the glass doors to the hotel's entrance, and I follow her inside, then up to the front desk where an older woman cloaked in Polynesian attire waits for us. "Welcome," she says with a raised brow as she examines both of us with curiosity.

"Checking in. Not checking out," Isabelle says, handing over her ID, cash, and my credit cards. "You need to empty your pockets." Isabelle puts her hand out in front of me, waiting for my wallet.

For some reason, I couldn't feel less concerned about handing over everything that identifies me, so I reach into my back pocket and place my wallet on the counter.

In return, the woman hands us two sealed envelopes. "Everything you need is in there."

Isabelle takes the envelopes from the woman's hands and heads toward the set of doors opposite the ones we walked in through. They lead out to what looks like endless miles of white sand and clear blue water. Huts line the shore, and if that's where we're living right now, it'll be fine by me. Simple is all I want, and this is more like paradise.

"People live here?" I ask her.

She leads us to a hut, unlocks the door with a key she slipped out from one of the envelopes and opens the door into a hotel-style studio. "This is temporary," she says while closing the door behind me. "We'll be assigned jobs, earn an income, and find permanent housing. It won't be far away from here, though, because this island is only three miles from one side to the other.

"Okay," I tell her, unsure of what else there is to say.

She pulls out paperwork from both envelopes and compiles them. "Okay, so from here on out, if anyone asks your name, you are Andrew Fisher from Sandy, Utah. You were a freelance software engineer who developed some unique technology that Amazon purchased for millions. However, here, you will be lifeguarding at the second guard post, Monday through Friday, eight to four, earning fifteen U.S. dollars an hour." I close my eyes to wrap my head around what she's saying, and it takes me a minute to understand she's reading me my new identity. "You don't have to remember anything but your name and job because no one will ask you what you did. They all know it would be a lie."

"Wow. Okay, then. It's a good thing I know how to swim, I guess." I can't help but laugh at how ridiculous this is. Then again, we're alive. So, there's that. "Why bother labeling us if everyone knows it's a lie?"

She shrugs. "I didn't make the rules. All I know is, we have new identities, and jobs to make a living here. Oh yeah, and no one wants to kill us and stuff."

"Then, who are you?" I'm intrigued to hear who she is and was, according to these records.

She flips through a couple of the papers until she finds the one she's looking for. She smiles before reading it. "I'm Tracy Ales from Taos, New Mexico. I was an exotic dancer who got rich off a frequent client who tipped in the thousands. I will be bartending at the Tiki Lounge for a job three nights a week, earning two dollars an hour, plus tips. How nice."

Laughter pours out of me, nearly knocking me off my feet as I drop down into a straw-woven chair. After a long couple minutes of belting out therapeutic laughter at the hilarity of this situation, I grip my stomach, feeling a strain. "Sorry, I haven't laughed that hard in … possibly ever. Wait, wait, will you be naked while you bartend?"

"Ha ha," she says, completely unamused.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, you're welcome to dance for me whenever you'd like. I mean, I'd tip you and all, but you stole all my money."

Isabelle steps in toward me, hovering, staring me down, then playfully punches me in the chest. "That's the first time I've seen you smile like that," she says.

"It's the first time I've had a reason to."

"Even though your reason makes you a dirtbag, it's nice to hear you laugh and to see that charming smile of yours," she says.

"Are we safe here?" I ask her. I've never felt the need to ask anyone that question. I'm always the one in charge of that answer, but I need to hear it from her this time.

"These people here have formed a society here. Their past doesn't follow them as long as they follow the rules,” she explains.

"You've still only shared the first rule, you know, probably because you broke it and all," I remind her.

She hands me a piece of paper. "Here are the rules," she says before reciting them.

1. You will not steal.
2. You will not murder.
3. You will respect your neighbors.
4. You will respect your girlfriend.
5. You will not cheat.
6. You will not reveal your previous identity or history.
7. You will not contact anyone outside of this island.
8. You will not utilize technology that connects you to anyone overseas.
9. You will not ask anyone about their past.
10. You will have hot romp sessions as often as possible with your girlfriend.

"Okay, so your number ten is not on my list, neither is your number four for that matter," I tell her. "As a matter of fact, there are only eight rules on my list.”

"Oh?" she questions.

"And I don't have a girlfriend, so those rules don't quite apply—”

Isabelle drops down onto my lap and wraps her arms around my neck. I can't bear the thought of making her lean into me and not showing her just how okay I am with those two rules, so I cup my hand around the back of her head, forcing her lips to mine. I kiss her with purpose, release, freedom, and hope for a future without stipulations. I was naturally attracted to her years ago for pure reasons, and while life brought us back together to fight each other, I’m still just as attracted to, and enamored by her as I was then.

I lift Isabelle up and walk over to the bed as her legs tangle around my waist. "You know, I knew you way back when you were an innocent college girl, but I knew you had a dark side, and I thought it was hot. I wanted to see it.”

"You didn't know that," she argues. "Plus, you just broke rule nine."

"I didn't ask about your past, Isabelle. I know your past. I know your pleasure in dissecting human minds."

"That's in the past, so focus on us now," she says, lying beneath my embracing frame with her dark hair fanned out over the white comforter.

"Yeah, now look at us," I repeat, pulling off her white t-shirt that she snagged from the airport along with a pair of tiny, navy blue shorts that looked like they were handmade for her ass.

I didn't argue when she picked out the beach boy, breezy button-down shirt and contrasting board shorts for me because a change felt good, but getting out of these clothes while on top of her, feels even better.

"What made you so wild, Isabelle?" Her slowly revealed history makes me crave every part of her, while I eagerly try to peel away each layer of what holds her together.

"I don't think you want to know," she tells me.

"Now, I think I need to know. Within these walls, rules don't apply, and that's my rule."

"Hmm. Well,” she sighs. "My dad was a prisoner of war, and my mother was one of the enemies who found him … then saved him—they committed a war crime that should have had them locked up or worse.”

"I—I had no idea. I'm sorry.” I didn't realize I was asking for this answer, and I immediately see a changed look in her eyes as she explains.

"It's fine. Let's just say, they weren't meant to be together, but they managed to make it work."

Everything in my body tenses and I freeze, staring down at this woman who just unraveled life's most diabolical meaning of what creates a person's path in life. "That's how you knew about this place?”

"It was our backup plan if anything ever happened to one of us. They’ll find me here someday.”

She looks at me with an empty stare, and I try to change the subject in fear of pushing her too far. "That’s incredible. They’ll find you here, I know it," I tell her. "Your strength—it honestly just makes me want you more.”

She swallows hard and blinks for a long second, visibly pushing her thoughts to the side. "Prove it," she says, pulling me down on top of her.

Her fingertips scrape against my cheeks, then down the center of my chest. "Everything I have inside of me is yours. I want to be free from knowledge, from secrets, from everything before now," she says with her hand around my cock as she presses me inside of her.

"Let the thoughts go," I tell her.

I close my eyes and thrust into her, listening to her pleas and moans escalate as the minutes pass. When I open my eyes and look down at her, I study her parted lips, her long dark lashes fluttering over her cheekbones, pleasure in the form of pink streaks across her cheeks. With elegant movements, she reaches behind her, holding onto slats within the headboard as her head tilts back into the pillow and her body arches into mine. "Take it all from me," she cries out.

I pound into her harder than I did the last few times we were together like this. It’s different now, though. I feel her body pull me in deeper, letting me in as much as possible. "I will take everything bad away from you," I grunt through a breathless groan.

I release inside of her, feeling beads of sweat drip down the back of my neck as I collapse on top of her bare body.

With my face smothered against her messy hair, I wrap my arms around her waist, noticing how soft her breasts feel against my chest and how perfect her legs weave and tangle around mine.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"For what?"

"Saving me."

A soft laugh is an uncontrollable response to her comment. I wanted to save her, but couldn't. "You saved me by never giving in to anyone."

"I didn’t have a choice,” she says. "Some secrets are worth going to the grave for.”

"You know how to access the files, don’t you?” I ask her.

"I do. Plus, the code is on the one unlocked file that’s stored on the SD card,” she says simply, and I’m confused as to why she wouldn’t lock down the passcode to prevent anyone from breaking into the files.

"Why would you make it easy for the person who obtained the SD card?”

"In case I ever forgot the code. However, the unlocked file is made of inaudible decibels, so anyone looking at the file would think it was broken or corrupt. Only an infrasonic device could calculate the silent tones and translate them into numbers. They would also need to know which five-seconds out of the sixty minutes contained the correct set.”

I roll onto my back, still trying to catch my breath. "Who the hell came up with that?"

"Me," she says. "I didn’t tell anyone, though. Not even Mason.”

"Holy shit, Isabelle. That's the craziest way to conceal a code and the most brilliant thing I've ever heard!”

"It doesn't matter. We have to get rid of it."

"Okay," I tell her. "I don't want it. I never did."

"Good," she says.

"I tried not to think about what the mechanics of that music was ultimately capable of, but why was it so wanted?" I ask her. She may not know, since I don't, but if she does, it's been my undying question for years.

She looks at me with confusion, as if I should have known the reason. "Like Everett was saying—it was to hide the secrets the government didn’t want the public to know the truth about. That, and other countries were after it for use in terrorism?"

"No one told me. I didn’t think Everett knew,” I tell her. "I figured he was just running his mouth. Maybe I was just hoping he was running his mouth.”

"The reality is, the public can’t handle the truth. If they did, the U.S. would collapse.”

"Isabelle ... "

"That's all I'm going to say, Axel. It's for your own good, but I have a favor to ask you?” she says with hesitance.

I roll off her and lean onto my side. "What is it?” I ask her.

"Use Perception’s Ensemble on me,” she says, swallowing hard as if she isn’t sure about her request.

"What? Why?”

She twists her head to look at me. "Make me forget about it, then destroy it,” she says. "I’ll give you the code and tell you how to use it. It won’t cause damage if used properly and the right timeframe is played at a certain volume.” She pulls herself up against the headboard, curling her hair behind her ears. She's lost in thought, considering the possibility of this fucked-up type of hypnosis removing the horrid memories she's forced to live with.

"No, if I screw something up, it could cause you brain damage or something worse. That’s what Phillips did to forty people while he was using them as test subjects.”

"Please,” she begs. "It’ll allow me to live without nightmares.”

I huff and stand up. How the hell can I let her do this, or help her for that matter? I feel like we got away with murder and now she wants to tempt fate just a little more. "I—I don’t know about this. Are you absolutely sure you know how to make it work just enough to help you forget?”

"Yes, it was originally developed to help PTSD sufferers, but then—”

"I have a bad feeling about this,” I tell her.

"We can both do it if that would make you feel better,” she says.

"No. Definitely not. I need to live with what I did to you."

"I don’t agree, but all I know is I can’t live like this. So please, do it, Axel. Grab the headphones I bought at the airport."

"Isabelle, let’s just think about this. Okay? Plus, there's nowhere I can plug it in."

"The TV," she says, clambering out of bed. She twists the TV around, looking at the back. "There's a place for the SD card and a headphone jack. Let me have it."

"Isabelle, I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you because of this.”

"I’m sorry, but this is my decision. I helped develop this fucking thing, Axel, so please, let me have it."