by Ker Dukey
He has a confidence about him that commands the space he’s dominating with his size. He’s taller than me by a comfortable foot and a half. As he edges closer, the urge to run away sends a rush of energy to my legs. “Do you speak?” He narrows his dark orbs on me, bringing a hand up to loosen a tie around his neck.
Moving toward a table set out with bottles full of liquids, he asks, “Drink?”
The dryness of my throat aches. A longing to quench a thirst I hadn’t realized I had has me nodding and pushing a meek, “Yes, please,” past my lips.
The quirk of his lips doesn’t go unnoticed as he pours amber liquid into two glasses and hands me one. His fingers brush mine as I accept the offering, sending a spark over my skin. My eyes fixate on the contents of the glass. There are two mouthfuls at most. Maybe he can’t spare more. I smile a thank you and lift the glass, taking a sip.
A harsh burn explodes over my tongue, making me gag. “Oh God, what is that?” I choke out, holding the glass out to give it back to him. A harsh laugh barks from his lips, making my stomach dip.
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” He steps toward me, closing in around me like a predator would prey. I shuffle back, bumping my hip against a couch.
“One of who?” I frown.
“Cult Island.” He scoffs, snatching the glass from me and throwing the contents into the fire. It hisses and snaps, flames jumping out in retaliation. “I should have guessed by what you’re wearing.” He smirks, his eyes lazily roaming down my body, making a blush bloom on my cheeks.
“Cult Island?” I quiz, brushing down the front of my damaged dress.
“Why are you here?” he barks out, ignoring my question.
“I came here because my sister died here.” I don’t like his tone. He speaks as if I’m beneath him. He may live in this grand tower, but I’m not an ant beneath his boot. Maybe I should be afraid. He could very well be the evil that took Clara’s life, but there’s something about him that hints he’s not as scary as he portrays. And surely Claudia would have never sent me here if he was dangerous.
His gaze is focused so intently on me, my feet fidget.
“You look like her.” He turns to face the fire. Silence befalls the room, all but the crackling of the embers.
“Who?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat.
“Your sister.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“How did you know her?” My heart races.
“You come here to get money from us for her death?” he snarls, pouring himself another drink of burning liquid.
“Are you all like this?” I ask, walking closer to him to show him I’m not afraid.
“Like what? Assholes?” His brow raises, and for the first time, I notice his eyes are dark brown with a smudge of green through one iris. It’s bewitching.
“Cruel,” I correct him.
“Cruel?” he barks out a humorless laugh. “If I were cruel, would I have invited you in? Offered you warmth and a drink?”
“You gave me fire liquid and spat words at me to sadden me, anger me…”
He closes the space between us, and I refrain from moving, although my body is willing my legs to flee. He smells like citrus and rainwater fresh on the tree leaves.
His forefinger and thumb grip my chin, I gasp at the contact, the brutal pinch. Tilting my head back, his other hand strokes my neck so delicately, such a contrast to his grip. He descends down my chest before curling around my necklace, holding the chain up and inspecting the heart.
“How does someone from Cult Island make it here with our jewelry around their pretty little neck? Don’t your people frown against such pleasantries?”
I pull from his grip, my hand clutching my pendent. “You recognize where this came from?”
He scoffs, then turns his back to me as he lounges in a large chair, propping his foot propped up on his knee, his hands gripping the fabric of the arms.
“Of course.”
“I need to know please,” I plead, taking a few steps toward him.
His appraisal of my dress incites a shiver racing up my spine. “You need some fresh clothes.”
“I lost what I had.” Embarrassment for my attire and situation heats my cheeks.
“There will be things here you can use.” Getting to his feet, he summons me with a crook of his finger. My eyes dart in the direction of the front door, then back to him. Should I trust him? Who else do you have?
“Are you coming, little islander?” he calls.
“Yes.”
We ascend a beautiful staircase that swirls almost in a complete spiral, leading to a vast hallway. I’ve never seen so many pretty ornaments in my life.
Huge windows adorn every wall looking out to the ocean.
It’s breathtaking.
Lush red carpets feel like velvet beneath my feet. “This way.” He smirks like he holds secrets and is going to taunt me with them.
“How many people live here?” I ask, mesmerized by the size of the place.
He unlocks a door and enters a room, holding the door open for me.
It’s another huge room. Centered in the space is a bed with poles on each corner covered in drapes. There are more doors in here. It’s beautiful and probably the same size as my whole house.
I don’t realize that I’m wandering around the room, touching and exploring freely, until my eyes collide with the ominous silhouette of the man.
“Is this your room?” I ask, feeling small under the weight of his stare.
“No. It’s yours. For tonight anyway.”
“I couldn’t ask that of you.”
“You didn’t.” He moves toward another door, opens it and gestures inside. “Closet. Choose something to your liking.” He steps to another door that opens into a bathroom. “Shower.”
“Your generosity is appreciated. But I have to ask why.”
“Why what?”
“Why offer me a place to stay and clothes?”
Maybe this is normal for these people.
“Because, sweet little islander, it would be cruel not to.”
His words incite a bubble of happiness to float inside me. Is this man the monsters my father is so afraid of us discovering? Maybe because there aren’t men who look like him on our island. My eyes drag over him. The suit he wears pulls taut in all the right places. Why doesn’t every man dress this way? He looks like a dream. Maybe I am dreaming…or I capsized and this is heaven. “What’s your name?”
He’s silent for a few moments, his gaze boring into me, heating my skin.
“Colt.”
Colt. I like it.
“I’m Mo—”
“Mona,” he finishes for me. My mouth pops open in surprise. With that, he leaves the room, closing the door with me inside. I want to chase after him, ask a million more questions, but the chill on my skin makes me aware of my attire. I’m so tired and sore, and in desperate need of a shower and fresh clothes.
My heart thunders in my chest, but the pull of the shower and clean clothes force me push down my anxiety. Going to the bathroom, my mouth almost unhinges. It’s immaculate white, the brightness almost blinding. Tiles cover all floors, walls, and ceiling. There’s no small, cramped cubicle, it’s just one massive space. A pipe protruded from the ceiling. A basin covers the entire back wall with a floor-to-ceiling mirror. A toilet sits in the back corner. Slipping out of my tattered dress and underwear, I go to a panel on the wall with buttons and glowing numbers. “How do I work this thing?” I muse. Suddenly, water begins to spout from the pipe and then from holes in the walls, jetting over me from everywhere, massaging my skin. It’s otherworldly. A small shelf protrudes from the back wall, stocked with shampoo that smells like spring flowers and body wash that reminds me of summer.
Warm water steams the room, and I marvel in the heaven of it. There are no hot water pipes on our island, just cold. Showers are used only when you’re brave enough to face the harshness.
Once I’m thoroughly clean, I search t
he panel for an off switch. “Erm, how do you…?”
“Shower, off.” Colt’s voice cuts through the steam.
I try to cover my body with my arms, shocked at the intrusion.
“I realized you’d need towels.” He smirks as he enters the space, which now feels much smaller than before. He places them on the basin, then takes one from the top and holds it out for me. I snatch it from his hands and wrap my body.
“I forget what prudes you people are.” He snorts, his eyes lingering on my skin.
“I bet you’ve never had a man’s touch on your flesh before,” he drawls, his finger running a path from my wrist to my shoulder. A sprinkling of goosebumps rise in his wake.
“Not an uninvited touch,” I snap, pushing his hand from me and walking back through to the bedroom. I’m not a prude but I am self aware that this man is a stranger.
I feel his gaze on me before I see him enter behind me.
“Are you going to stand there and watch me change, or do you have better manners?” I ask with confidence I summon from my discomfort, not turning to look at him.
“My manners are questionable, little islander. But I’m well acquainted with your moral code.” Before I can say anything, he leaves the room, a soft click latching.
Hurrying to the door, I pull, but it doesn’t give way. I slam my palm down on the wood. “Hey, let me out.” Nothing. Oh God, he’s locked me inside. How could I be so naïve and trusting? Have I given up one prison for another?
Exhaustion washes over me, and my eyes drift to the giant bed. Maybe just five minutes to rest, then I can see if the windows are a possibility for escape.
Ten
Colt
Damn, seeing the girl all wet and helpless nearly knocked the air from my lungs, then her mouth opened, unleashing a backbone made of fire I’ve never seen so vibrant in another. She’s from Cult Island—that makes her the enemy.
The last girl who came looking for sin destroyed everything.
I have the urge to send her back across the water, but something about her and her need to discover things about her sister stopped me. If she didn’t think this place was a danger to her, she hadn’t heard the rumors or didn’t believe them. For a moment, I wanted to be in that place with her—to not think the worst of a man whose blood ran in my veins.
Pulling my cellphone from my pocket, I dial the number I dread. After five rings, he finally answers.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the demi God himself.” He snorts. He’s always hated the status bestowed upon me first in high school, then via media.
“I have something you should see.”
“Color me intrigued, brother. What is it?”
“Just come to the mansion, Cash,” I growl.
“Mmmm...I’m kinda busy.” The sound of bass vibrating down the line sends a prickle of annoyance up my spine.
“Bring whatever shiny new toy you’re playing with if you must.”
“Fine. But I’m not sharing.”
“Your toys lack appeal these days, brother.”
I pour myself another drink. The path down my gullet is a welcome burn.
It’s over an hour before Cash, my older brother by thirty-four minutes, makes his appearance with a blonde whore draped in diamonds from his collection.
“You can’t dress trash in shiny jewels and turn them pretty.” I smirk. Instead of defending herself, the blonde winds her body around him like the snake she is and flicks her tongue out to kiss his neck.
“Why did you call me here?” he asks, grabbing a handful of the blonde’s ass. “I haven’t eaten, and you remember how I get grumpy when I’m hungry.” He smirks, cutting his eyes to me.
“A girl washed ashore.” Standing from the couch, I pour him a drink and hold it out toward him. He pushes the blonde away, and she lands in the chair with a squawk.
“You have my attention.”
“She claims to be Clara’s sister.” I watch the storm brew in his gray eyes. Where I’m dark hair and dark eyes, my brother is all light, but his soul is tainted by darkness.
“Where is she now?”
“Upstairs locked in a guest room.”
“I want to see her.”
“What about me?” The blonde gets to her feet and sashays across the room in a poor attempt at being seductive.
“You can leave now,” Cash barks, holding up his hand to halt her advance.
“Fine.” She turns on her heel and heads toward the exit.
Cash tuts. “Leave the necklace.”
“But you said it makes me look glamorous.” She sulks.
“He lied.” I hold out my hand, motioning for her to come forward.
Sighing, she unclasps the necklace, her eyes narrowing on me. “Fine, it’s probably fake anyway.”
“Nothing we own is fake, only the sluts my brother drapes them on.”
“Fuck you,” she spits.
“Not in this lifetime.” I shudder. My brother may put his dick in anything with a pulse, but for me, meaningless sex is just that: meaningless. It didn’t appeal to me. It just made me feel empty. Twenty-eight years of nothingness becomes tedious in the end. I tried to settle with an ex, but couldn’t do it.
“Take me to her,” Cash demands.
When we enter the room, I half expect the girl to fly at me, scolding me for her imprisonment. Instead, we find her asleep on the bed, a long skirt now covering her legs and a sleeveless camisole on her upper body. Thick, dark curls feather out over the white linen. Black lashes fan her face. She has a petite nose and large, luscious lips. Freckles decorate the apples of her cheeks. She’s breathtakingly beautiful. And that makes her dangerous.
“She looks like her,” Cash announces, reminding me he’s here. There’s just our breathing filling the air between us.
“But she’s not her,” I remind him.
“Don’t you think I realize that?” he bites out, the room darkening with his aggression. His hand goes to his heart, rubbing the ache there that comes with thoughts of Clara.
“Did she say why she’s here?”
“Only that her sister died here.”
“And Father?”
“I haven’t told him.”
“Don’t!” He turns fast, grabbing me by the shoulders. “Don’t you dare tell him.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I rebuke, removing his hands from me, stroking down the lapels of my suit. “We should allow her to sleep. She got banged up getting here, we can question her tomorrow.” I head toward the door, looking over my shoulder to find Cash moving closer to the bed, his brow furrowed. “Cash?”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
Eleven
Cash
Fuck, this is not what I expected from tonight. I hate this time of year—this fucking day. The anniversary of Clara’s death never gets easier. It’s like hell opens up and drags me back there, back to the blood, pain…the soul gone from her eyes the day we found her. Just seeing Mona laying here is like a cruel joke. I need a drink. How can she look so much like her, yet different enough to know this isn’t a trick my eyes are playing on me? The urge to lay down beside her and inhale her scent, get lost in the short memories of the time we spent together is overwhelming. It’s not her, asshole.
Why is she here? What does she gain by coming here? How is she not afraid of us? Thoughts of Clara play in my mind—her laughter, her smile, the way every touch was a new sensation to her. Her innocence was so addictive to corrupt.
She begins to stir, and I hold my breath. When she doesn’t wake, I drag a chair to the side of the bed and slump down in it. She’s beautiful, just like Clara was. Just a few more minutes in her presence, then I’ll leave.
My eyes blink open, and it takes me a few seconds to realize I must have fallen asleep. I jolt when I see the girl standing above me on the bed holding a lamp.
What the fuck? My arms are trapped. She’s tied me to the damn chair with one of the curtains from the bed.
“Who are you?”
she asks, her eyes impossibly wide, wary.
“You tied me up?” I want to laugh. Colt is going to have my life for this.
“Who are you? You’re not the same guy who locked me in here.” She’s confident of that, despite us being twins. My hair and eyes are fairer in color.
“I’m his brother. We’re twins,” I growl, trying to pull free from her bindings. “Can you please untie me?”
The lamp still out in front of her like a weapon, she backs up to the other side of the room.
“Why were you watching me sleep?”
Fuck, I bet that was creepy for her to wake up to.
“I was just curious about you. You look like Clara.” My words knock her off guard. Her eyes flash as her arms falter.
“How do you know Clara?”
I lift my chin to gesture to her necklaces. “I helped her pick those out.”
A gasp escapes her pretty lips as she wraps her hand around the pendants.
“You’re the Ward brothers,” she whispers.
“Guilty.” I smirk.
“How did you know her?” She stalks closer, finally putting down the lamp. “Were you friends?”
“Did she not tell you about me?” I ask, confused she wouldn’t have mentioned me to the most important person in her life. Clara always spoke of her sister and rescuing her from her father’s corrupted morals.
“No.”
Damn, that hurts.
“Mona, please untie me.” I say her name to put her at ease.
“How do you know my name?”
“Because Clara talked about you. You were her favorite person in the world.”
“Don’t speak for her, she left me,” she stammers, anger and sorrow washing over her.
“She planned to return for you,” I tell her honestly.
“Do you know who killed her?” Her question sounds accusatory.
