Third a Kiss

The cloak of black oil dripped off me, smearing on the floor, vanishing into the cracks of my basalt tiles. With each rivulet that fell, I grabbed hold of restraint.

I didn’t know how Drake had pieced together such a tale. I had no idea what he planned to do with such a flimsy hypothesis, but this call could be recorded, and I would not allow him to entrap me.

“They died in a freak accident. The police reports still don’t know what caused them to sink. I understand you want justice for their passing, but blame Mother Nature or the malicious moods of fate. They died but not because of me, Drake.”

“Bullshit.”

I sighed heavily, making sure the puff of frustration found its way down the phone line. “I’m very busy and don’t have time for this shit. Stay away from my company. Step foot in my building again and you won’t have a visit from a lapdog anymore, you’ll have one from me.”

“You’re saying you’ll kill me like you killed our parents?”

“I’m saying we’ll have a brotherly chat and discuss important boundaries that should never be crossed. From one sane brother to a psychotic pet-killer, we’ll discuss your tendencies toward violence when you don’t get your way.” My voice traded decorum for snow and daggers. “Or are you forgetting all those broken bones you gave me, all those smashed toys, all those painful accidents I put up with? The hospital has enough records of my abuse that they called CPS, thinking it was our father maiming me. He protected you then…or at least until you went to that psychologist. Those files of your predilections are still there. If anyone killed our parents…it’s you, you fucking waste of life.”

Drake breathed hard, his anger pouring through the phone. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, baby brother. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I’m no longer interested in indulging your sadistic nature. You can’t touch me anymore. So stay the fuck away from me and mine.”

I doubted this was how he expected this call to go. Accuse me of murder, blackmail for money, have me bow to him like I did when I was a kid.

The only problem was, I wasn’t a kid and he wasn’t the worst brother anymore.

I am.

“You’re not untouchable on your islands, Sullivan. You’ll see.”

“Thanks for the call, bro. See ya ’round.”

I hung up before Drake could explode with more threats.

He couldn’t do shit to me out here. He’d be dead the moment he appeared on the horizon.

I dropped the phone as a rush of shaky adrenaline filled me. Part jittery from history and the agony he’d inflicted, and partly volatile from not being able to plow my fist into his motherfucking jaw.

The urge to strike something, to destroy something fired through my blood.

I needed violence.

I needed war—

“So…that was fun.”

My head wrenched up, finding Cal lounging against the driftwood sliders, hidden in the breeze-dancing curtains. “How long have you been standing there?”

He crossed his arms, his gaze serious and shrewd. “Long enough.”

I rolled out the tension in my shoulders, needing to shed my suit and wash away the disgusting sweat beneath. “It’s been handled.”

“What does he want?”

“The usual. Money. Power. Me kneeling at his feet.”

“He can’t do shit to you.”

“I know.”

“But he figured it out? After all these years?” Cal stalked toward me, narrowing his eyes. “Does he have proof?”

I bristled. “Proof of what?”

“That you killed dear ‘ole Mum and Dad?”

My temper turned stealthy and silent, switching my voice into a snake. “No.”

“But could he?”

One second.

One moment to lie or confess.

My hands balled and I hissed, “Only you know how I did it. How I used the same drugs they tested on my strays. How I slipped a sedative into their drinks when they dined on food bought with wealth paid for by animal suffering. How I watched them drown in the very same ocean I now rule.” I closed the distance between us, begging him to pick a fight. Wanting bloodshed, needing it.

But Cal just smiled. “Good job I’m not one for telling secrets, sir.”

“Then he knows nothing and can prove nothing.”

“But he can follow through on his threat.”

I ripped off my blazer and yanked at my tie. “He can try.” Clawing at my cufflinks, I pulled up the sleeves of my shirt until muggy air caressed my forearms. “But I’ll be waiting for him, and the Java Sea can have another Sinclair to feast on.”

Chapter Nine

PERHAPS I DESERVED MY recent capture, trafficking, and messy existence. Maybe I was naïve and stupid, after all.

How else could I explain why I attracted pain these days? How did I not see the repercussions for sleeping with Sully that came in the form of disgruntled goddesses and curse-dripping envy?

After Jealousy left me last night, I’d spent a sleepless evening going over every conversation Sully and I had shared. I permitted myself to be brave enough to admit that some confessions had seemed heartfelt and real, despite his almost immediate denial of such a thing.

But one question didn’t add up.

If Sully was the caveman and it was his diamond resting in my bedside table, then who was Roy Slater? Had it truly been him I slept with or was that Sully too? And if it wasn’t him…that was even worse than him not being the caveman because how could he experience that with me and then pass me over to someone else?

Those questions ensured I had no appetite when breakfast arrived and added to the uncomfortable obsession to confront him by afternoon. I was a shaky, jumpy mess, but I didn’t want to live in my nonsensical thoughts anymore.

This second-guesser wasn’t me.

This pining, whiny girl would not be tolerated anymore.

So that was how I found myself prowling the orchid-lined pathways, squinting in hot sunlight, wearing a white dress with silver pinstripes glittering in the material. I didn’t bother with shoes, and the sand did its best to burn my soles, even with hopscotching on the shadows.

I’d planned on heading to Sully’s office, to confront him, to demand to know if he was going to sell me or keep me. Either way, I needed to know so I could somehow find a way to accept my future.

But as I’d neared the fork leading to his workspace, he suddenly appeared, stalking with balled hands and rumpled shirt in the opposite direction. His hair was wild, his eyes blue fury, his blazer missing to reveal a white shirt slightly translucent with sweat.

Apart from yesterday with elixir running in his veins, I’d never seen him so unkempt, so volatile.

Pika shot after him a second later, a little tornado on grass-coloured wings.

Something commanded I stay silent and not call out. Instead, I followed him quietly, chasing his quick storm, hearing the faint rumble of his anger in the cloudless sky, until we reached the main beach.

Skittles appeared from wherever she’d been, flitting beside me like a moth searching for moonlight. I smiled at her, hanging back and choosing to voyeur from my protective bush as Sully continued his stalk to the podium overlooking the helipad. The same throne where he’d stood and welcomed me that first day.