by Bea Paige
“His name’s Malakai. An old friend of the family,” I say, skirting the fact he and I got very close last summer, not to mention this morning. Physically, at least. “I’m going to see what’s up. Sorry, we’ll have to rearrange that swim. I’ll see you later?”
Not giving him a chance to respond I walk towards Grandma and Malakai steeling myself for the fallout. As I step closer, their voices grow clearer. It’s glaringly obvious they’re arguing over me.
“Why are you here? You shouldn’t have returned, Malakai. Think of Connie,” Grandma Silva says with another prod of her finger. She’s oblivious to me, her hearing not as good these days. But Malakai notices. His gaze flicks up and meets mine.
“I am,” he says.
The honesty of his response, and the feeling behind it has me swallowing hard. Is he? Because he certainly wasn’t thinking of me this morning when he finger fucked me in the ocean or yesterday when he laughed in the face of my anger.
“Grandma, I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” I say, loud enough for her to hear. She turns to face me, her cheeks flushed and her dark blue eyes mad. I see a fierce protectiveness in them. Grandma is the kindest person you’ll ever meet but she won’t take any nonsense from anyone no matter how big or burly they might be, especially when it comes to me.
“Perhaps not, Connie, but I love you enough to tell this young man some home truths,” she retorts, turning back around to face Malakai who’s looking mildly amused by the whole encounter. Arsehole. “I refuse to watch you play with Connie’s emotions like this. You are not a child anymore and Connie is not now and never will be your toy. She deserves better than that. She has Peter now, leave her be.”
My cheeks flush at the memory of how Malakai had played with me this morning. I am his toy. Willingly. Despite the anger I still feel. He knows it, and so do I. Peter hasn’t got me.
“Peter? You approve of that little prick?”
“He has done nothing to hurt her. You, however, have. I want you to leave.”
“Grandma!” I protest. She has no right to interfere like this. None.
“You’ve said what you needed to say, Ma. I’ve heard you loud and clear. Now it’s my turn.” Malakai looks directly at me, his scowl deepening. “I’m not here for Connie.”
My insides curdle, but instead of letting his words hurt me, I grit my teeth and refuse to look away from his burning stare.
“Is that so?” Grandma Silva retorts, unconvinced given the tone of her voice.
“I’m here for personal matters. Matters pertaining to the King. Your godson.”
“What are you talking about?” she replies.
He shakes his head, glancing at me and the fishermen that are unloading their catch and the ferry from the mainland that’s making its way towards the harbour. Lola and Rob will be on it. As soon as she sees his boat, they’ll be hell to pay, or maybe indifference. I’m not entirely sure how she’s going to react, actually.
“Not something I’m willing to discuss here.”
Grandma Silva sighs heavily, looking at me then back at Malakai. “Fine. My house, this evening. You can tell me what the hell you’re talking about then, that’s if you survive Lola’s wrath,” she remarks, looking at the ferry drawing in.
Malakai briefly flicks his gaze to me. “Only if Connie’s out.”
I grit my teeth harder, pretty sure the sound of them grinding over one another can be heard halfway across the island. “That won’t be a problem. Peter and I are going on a date.”
Malakai’s eyes practically bug out of his face and his jaw goes slack.
Serves him fucking right.
Two can play this game.
Twenty-Six
Malakai
You’re a fucking arsehole. I don’t want to speak to you or see you. Got it?!
“Yeah, I’ve got it,” I mutter, chucking my mobile phone onto my bed. Lola’s latest message stings, but not as much as the fact that Connie is going on a date tonight with that little prick-arsehole-cunt-bastard Peter. My body is filled with anxiety at the thought and I’m not an anxious man. Connie has gotten under my skin and it’s making me weak.
I’m not goddamn weak.
Only when it comes to Little Siren, a voice inside my head taunts me.
“Fuck!” I drop down on my bed and grasp my hair. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
After hours of failed attempts at finding out who the little creep really is, and about two dozen text messages from a very angry Lola, I’m losing the fucking will to live. I’m getting nowhere fast, and I’m going to have to admit defeat and call in some favours. Over the years I’ve met quite a few interesting characters, some of whom I’ve kept in contact with. I happen to know a very talented hacker and whilst I’ve never met him in person, he has always come through for me. It’s been a while since I’ve reached out to him for help but needs must.
My gut tells me that little prick Peter is trouble and he’s taking Connie out on a damn date.
Striding over to my laptop, I fire off a quick message to JMSBOND. Yeah, the irony isn’t lost on me. The guys clearly a James Bond geek given his hacker codename.
After a minute or two I get a short response.
Get me a photo and I’ll get you what you need.
Fantastic.
Sighing heavily, I switch off my laptop and stow it away in its hiding place then grab my mobile phone and shove on my shoes, heading out of the boat.
It doesn’t take me long to find Connie and Peter. He’s nothing if not predictable. The little arsehole is wooing her at their workplace. Stands to reason, given there really is fuck all else for a couple of young kids to do on this island. Actually, that’s not strictly true. There’s a great deal to do on this island, you just have to be a little less dense and a little more creative.
Now, if I were to take Connie on a date it certainly wouldn’t be to Lola’s Shack. As much as I’m impressed by my friend’s ability to capitalise on a gap in the market, it’s not exactly my idea of a great first date…
What the fuck am I thinking? I don’t do dates. I don’t do relationships full stop. I need to get my head out of my arse and back into the game. Connie’s safety is my priority, not my pathetic excuse of a heart. Still, I can’t help but feel a little smug knowing that Connie would rather take a picnic on the bluff where the lighthouse sits and watch the ocean change colour under the sunset than spend a few hours with a bunch of drunk arse fishermen who she serves daily. Not that it matters because I’ll never take Connie on that date.
Fortunately for me, Connie and Peter are both standing outside The Shack chatting with a couple of the younger fishermen. Of course my attention is immediately drawn to Connie. She seems carefree and a darn sight happier than she was earlier today. That rankles me a bit. Then again, what the fuck did I expect? I’d hurt her and now she’s pushing back. I might not like it, but I sure as fuck have got to suck it up. For now at least. When I know she’s out of danger I’ll leave her well alone. Ma Silva will get her wish.
Leaning against the harbour wall, shrouded in shadow, I snap a few shots of Peter being careful not to get Connie in the picture. Thank God for long summer nights and the light we still have at 9pm. Once I’m happy I’ve got enough clear shots, I switch to the dark web and message JMSBOND the images. He acknowledges receipt.
Give me a week. I’ve got other things going on.
A fucking week, is he for real? Knowing that I don’t have much of a choice but to wait, and not happy to leave Connie with Peter unchaperoned this evening, I fire off another message to the only person here on the island I can trust who won’t ask questions… Grant.
Connie is with the little prick at Lola’s Shack. Follow them. Make sure she’s safe. Text me if anything untoward happens.
I watch as the three floating bubbles appear whilst he’s typing his response.
Seriously?
“When am I not fucking serious?” I mumble, inwardly cursing him. Don’t piss me off.
> I can almost see him rolling his eyes. If I were a better man, I would have at least said please. I’m not.
Fine. You owe me.
There’s no need for me to respond, I know Grant’s good for it.
Tucking my phone away, and keeping to the shadows, I take one last lingering look at Connie, admiring her shapely legs encased in a pair of dark blue skin-tight jeans, and head off to Ma Silva’s. With every step further away from her I wonder how I’m going to get through the next few hours knowing she’s with Peter-Who-Isn’t-Really-Peter and his wandering fucking hands.
“You’re telling me that my godson is using kids as mules to smuggle drugs?” Grandma Silva’s voice is laced with venom as her pretty blue eyes spark with disgust.
“Yes, and to sell them too. But that’s not the worst of it…” My hand grips my bottle of beer so tightly that I fear it’s going to shatter under my touch.
“Please don’t tell me there’s more.”
“There’s been recent talk of sex-trafficking, though I’ve not been able to confirm that yet.”
“WHAT?!” she booms, shocking me a little with her rage. “I suspected many things, but sex trafficking, Malakai. How could he do something so, so disgusting?”
“Because he is fuelled by greed, by power. He’s worse than his father ever was.”
“When did you find this out?”
“Not too long ago. I keep an eye on my cousin. If I know what he’s up to, I know how to stay the fuck out of his way.”
“I promised his mother I’d protect him from the family business. I failed,” she mutters.
“He was next in line after Grayson to take the throne, Ma. There was nothing you could do.”
“I could’ve stopped him, been in his life more. I could have helped him choose a different path.”
I shake my head. “He was never, ever going to be anything other than who he is. He’s his father’s son. The King wears his crown with pride. Believe me.”
“But you turned your back on the Bennett family name and everything that goes with it. Why not him?”
“Because he has no conscience, feels no empathy or anything else pertaining to real human emotions. He’s cold, calculating. He’s a goddamn monster.”
“He wasn’t always that way…” Her eyes well with tears for a man who sure as fuck doesn’t deserve them.
“We all grew up, Ma. No one stays innocent for long.”
“But there is some good running through the veins of the Bennett family,” she continues, studying me closely.
“Yeah, and that goodness was cut out,” I respond, avoiding her gaze. “My mother, my aunt, all the damn women who’ve got involved with the Bennett men are dead. As you well know, the only surviving female who carries the Bennett name is Avery and she had to run, just like me, to live.”
Ma Silva looks off into the distance, the memories of her best friend welling in her eyes. The Silva family and the Bennett family have always been close. Entwined one way or another by friendship over the past sixty or more years. I don’t know for certain, but I believe Ma Silva had a hand at helping Avery escape her father Montgomery Bennett, one of the most feared leaders of the Bennett family. I’ve no idea if they still even talk or have any contact. What I do know is that Ma Silva has always been on the fringes of our family and her connection will only be severed when she passes. I understand why she’s so protective of Connie. I get it.
“Not all the goodness. Grayson got away just like you did. He made a new life…”
“What do you know?” I snap. I thought Grayson’s new identity was the best kept secret. Perhaps I’ve been wrong about that.
“Enough to know that he’s trying to make amends for all the bad things his family has ever done. You’re not the only one with contacts, Malakai. I have a few of my own.”
“I don’t doubt that,” I respond.
“There’s Grim…” she says, matching my steely gaze with one of her own.
“You know Grim?” I’m not sure why I’m surprised by that fact. I should’ve known Ma is more connected than I’ve given her credit for.
“Yes, her grandfather and I were friends once upon a time. She calls me occasionally, checks in.”
“So you know she runs an underground fight club in London? You know she’s had dealings with the Bennett family too. That her fight club is shady as fuck.” I know that because I’ve fought in the club a handful of times over the years.
“I do. I also know she hates the King just as much as you do, and that she has some very powerful allies… Allies that could come in handy one day.” She lets that statement hang in the air, but I refuse to bite. I am not getting in the middle of some fucking turf war. I stay out of trouble for a goddamn reason. “I’m to understand that those same allies are friends of Grayson’s,” she continues. “Three hotshot billionaires apparently. They could prove useful one day, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Whatever you’re getting at Ma, I want no fucking part of it.”
“I’m not getting at anything. I’m just pointing out that there are always options should you ever need them. Do you speak with Grayson at all?”
“That’s none of your damn business,” I retort. I’m not about to have a conversation about him with Ma. Over the years I’ve kept in contact with Grayson. We’ve shared brief messages, checking in periodically, but never getting too deep or too close, for that matter. He lives his life. I live mine. That distance, both physical and emotional is all we can ever have. We might have been friends as kids, but I was also friends with his brother, the King, once too and look how that relationship ended up. He’s my enemy. Grayson has a new identity and I’m not about to ruin that by discussing him now, no matter how much I might trust Ma Silva or what she thinks she knows about him and his life.
“I miss him,” she admits.
“He was always your favourite,” I reply, wondering how she would feel if it was him who’d Connie had set her sights on. Not that it matters, the man’s gay.
“I cared about you all, but I care about my granddaughter more, which is why I’m going to ask you one last time to leave Connie be. Please,” she begs this time.
“There are things I need to deal with first. Then I’ll go.”
Ma nods her head in thanks. There really isn’t anything more left to say. I’m not about to concern Ma Silva with my hunch about Peter. I’ve got shit under control. The less people who know, the better.
“Goodnight, Ma.”
“Goodbye, Malakai,” she whispers, the affection in her voice marred with guilt. I don’t blame her for warning me away. I don’t blame her in the slightest, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.
Twenty-Seven
Connie
Almost a week passes. A whole week where I’m aware of Malakai’s presence on the island and try my best to ignore it. I’ve no idea why he’s still here. There are no issues with his boat, Princess. He hasn’t attempted to speak to me again, or tried to fix things with Lola, who has steered well clear of him. Grandma Silva has been a little distant too. When I’ve asked her what’s wrong she just gives me a painful smile and says she misses Grandpa John.
Despite the blistering heat of another summer heatwave, I don’t spend much time on Broken Shores. It feels tainted somehow. I can’t step onto the beach without thinking of Malakai, without wishing with every part of me that he was mine. It’s killing me slowly, this feeling of loss. He’s here and yet he may as well be a million miles away.
Some days I swear I can feel his eyes on me, burning my skin, setting it alight. Of course, it’s only my imagination getting the better of me. He made his point and he’s stuck to it. Insignificant to his existence that I am. Good for one thing only, his blessed relief and more heartache for me.
Despite that, my awareness of him hasn’t faltered. When I work in The Shack with Lola, I find my gaze drawn to his boat moored in the harbour. It’s a beacon that keeps beckoning me closer, but I refuse to be drawn in. Not when I c
atch glimpses of him on the deck, sun ripped and godlike. Not when I hear the deep rumble of his voice as he talks with Grant in the boat shop on the odd occasion I might pass by. Not when I dream of him touching me and wake up feeling achy and bereft. Not when every single part of me wants to run to him even though I know he’ll only push me away. I refuse to be the one to slit open her wrists and bleed again.
This is no existence. Something has to give.
Shoving thoughts of Malakai far into the recesses of my heart, I take my frustrations out on the washing up. I’m doing a good job at getting most of the soap suds all over my white t-shirt and floor rather than the actual dishes themselves. When the plate I’m holding slips from between my fingers and crashes to the floor, smashing on impact, I exhale loudly feeling my frustrations getting the better of me.
“Hey, Connie, do you want to tell me what’s up?” Lola asks me, as she traverses the counter and pops more dirty dishes on the side ready for me to wash then bends down to clear up the broken plate. Even though Malakai hasn’t attempted to speak to her, to apologise, she appears to have gotten over her initial fury and settled into ignoring his existence instead.
“I’m not sure… I’m probably coming on,” I retort with a wry grin, as I try to hide my true feelings. This isn’t about my period, though it is something just as painful.
“Does this have something to do with a handsome man who’s been loitering around this place like a lovesick puppy, by any chance?”
My head whips around to face her and tumbled thoughts spin in my head. How does she know about Malakai? When I meet her gaze and notice the broad grin spreading across her face, I know she’s got it all wrong.
“Peter?” she prompts, rolling her eyes and lowering her voice a little so the few remaining fishermen can’t overhear.
“Yes, Peter,” I lie.
“What’s up? He’s a good lad and he’s certainly taken a shining to you.”
“He wants me to go to Canterbury with him for a short trip, maybe meet up with my friends…”
