Third a Kiss

by Winters, Pepper

  Trepidation skated down my spine, colliding with each rib in a clanging symphony. I looked up and met Jealousy’s gaze. “If that’s true…why bother telling me? Why do you care? What do you get in return?”

  She tucked hair from behind my ears before standing in the final ruby dregs of sunset. “I care because he cares. And…if he learns to care for someone, perhaps he’ll care for all of us.” She shrugged, looking much younger than her previous conversation suggested. “If you can give Sully his freedom, then maybe…we can have ours in return.”

  Blowing me a kiss, she smiled at the tatters of my dress left forgotten on the beach, then strode up the steps and into my villa.

  The front door closed a second later.

  I collapsed on my back, exhausted as if I’d run a hundred miles, shaking as if I’d seen a thousand ghosts, blinking with a million hopes at the stars.

  Chapter Eight

  WORK WAS MY SALVATION.

  This time yesterday, I’d been balls deep in Eleanor. Now, I sat at my desk with a cock that still smarted from overuse, a bruised heart, sore lungs, and muscles that’d filled with lactic acid and refused to abate.

  Dr Campbell was right. Elixir wreaked havoc on a person’s neurological system. My body felt like a stranger, my mind a traitor, my rational thought and habits all scrambled. Thanks to Eleanor, I’d been left with explicit dreams, dregs of pleasure I had no choice but to succumb to, and the highly intense and painfully erotic memories of what I’d done to her.

  I couldn’t get her out of my goddamn mind.

  I couldn’t eradicate her scent from my nose, her taste from my tongue, her heat from my cock. She was everywhere. She was inside me. And being so weak to her power pissed me the fuck off.

  Yes, I was in love with the damn girl.

  Yes, I’d slipped and might have told her that at some point yesterday…in some version.

  And yes, I’d definitely let down my barriers when I’d taken her in Euphoria. I’d been honest for the first time in decades. I’d told her I was hers. That I didn’t want her to wake up because I didn’t want to return to this fucking world. I wanted to remain in that cave where it was just the two of us. No lies, no struggles, no opportunities for her to betray me.

  But that cave wasn’t real, and neither was our wild sex yesterday. Both were by-products of scientific formulas designed to trick the mind, confuse the heart, and remove the many obstacles and common-sense that stopped a human from falling in love in mere seconds.

  In that, there was no gimmick or distortion.

  Men fell for their goddess thanks to rioting body chemistry and overwhelming amounts of dopamine, adrenaline, and norepinephrine which made falling head over fucking heels an addictive rush.

  I groaned, digging my hands into my hair.

  That’s all that happened to me too.

  A blend of body programming and misfiring synapses.

  That’s it.

  Then how do you explain feeling that punch to your gut when she stepped off your goddamn helicopter?

  Stop!

  I gritted my teeth and growled at Pika as he sat minding his own business, shredding a pink Post-it Note. He cocked his head, bristling green feathers. He chirped as if growling back, then returned to his shredding with ferocity.

  I’m done with this nonsense.

  She is human.

  She isn’t trustworthy. Look at her current track record.

  She’d run away. She’d stolen Skittles. She’d drugged me.

  If I was stupid enough to want her after she’d shown her true colours, then I deserved the fate I’d been given.

  Nodding with determination, I snatched the phone and called Roy Slater’s villa. It was time he got off my fucking island. Alone.

  Eleanor would not be sold.

  Not because of her little stunt yesterday, but because we had a contract—signed by both of us. A commitment of four years and then freedom. I would find a way to endure those four years. I would revoke this madness inside me. I would return to who I was, and she would begin her proper employment with weekly servicing for the men I let onto my shores.

  Eventually, this scramble of elixir and Euphoria would get the fuck out of my bloodstream and I’d be sane again.

  Slater answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “Pack your bag. Your ride home leaves in thirty minutes.”

  He coughed. “Orders now? After I was treated like a criminal and locked inside my villa all day yesterday? What the hell, Sinclair? I paid to come here. I paid for pleasure. Not so your goon could throw me into a cell.”

  “That was for your own protection.”

  So you didn’t see what I did to the goddess you’ve claimed.

  “Something fishy is going on. Just honour our deal and I’ll leave. We’ll both be glad to say goodbye.”

  “There is no deal. Not anymore.”

  “What? But you agreed. We shook hands. We—”

  “I don’t sell my property, Mr. Slater.” My temper spiked with a snarl. “I had a momentary lapse.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, wrangling the fury in my voice back into its cage and forcing gentile pleasantries instead. “I apologise for the inconvenience and, of course, your extra night on Goddess Isles is complimentary. But your stay has come to an end.”

  He blustered and fought for words, finally settling on a pathetic, “But…I love her. I want her as my wife. You can trust me to care for her as my family, Sinclair. I would never harm her.”

  Trust?

  The most idiotic, dangerous emotion of all.

  There is no such thing.

  My hand tightened around the phone. Pika sensed my rising rage, fluttering to land on my head and hang upside down so we were eye to eye. He granted me enough rationality to exhale heavily and keep my voice from launching down the phone and stabbing the bastard in the ear. “I apologise for your conviction. You might think you love her…but I promise you, it will pass. You’ve been deceived by a delusion. The affection you feel has been triggered by an experience that cannot be compared. When you return home, the intensity will fade.”

  I didn’t know if I lectured him or myself, but either way, this conversation was over. “Be at the helipad in twenty minutes. I will personally escort you from my shores.”

  I hung up.

  Before thoughts of Eleanor could wriggle their way like a parasite into my brain, I picked up the phone again. This time, I called the recruitment office I used in the States. I delivered on a promise that I should’ve done days ago and ordered a highly qualified vet to support the growing number of creatures on Serigala. And because guilt sat heavily for allowing my own shit to come before the animals who’d endured so much, I requested not one but two practitioners. One experienced in small animals, one in large livestock.

  Soon, we’d have a shipment of horses and a couple of donkeys arriving. They hadn’t been tortured in a lab or forced to be unwilling guinea-pigs. Their experiences came from a more sinister nature. A facility that catered to psychopaths who liked to rape animals. A few sheep and a couple of cows were also expected. Poor beasts could be physically rehabilitated but would never trust a human again.

  Like me.

  Normally, I didn’t take on other abusive cases that didn’t originate from chemical testing…but, I couldn’t say no when the request for help appeared in my inbox. Soon, I might have to expand to another island to cope with the ever-growing population.

  Good job I own forty-four of the fucking things.

  When I put the phone down for the second time, Pika flew off my head to help himself to the bird table outside, shoving aside a sparrow and nipping at the legs of a macaw as he eyed up a juicy grape. He was a tenacious little spitfire…unlike Skittles who was so sensitive and sweet.

  My hands balled, thinking about the shy caique and the fact that she was most likely hanging out with Eleanor.

  Goddammit.

  Try as I might, my thoughts always returned to her. To wonderings of what
she was doing. Of memories of what she’d felt like in my arms.

  Fuck!

  Rubbing my mouth, I shook my head and stood. Work wasn’t the all-consuming salvation I’d hoped it would be. I needed the sea. I needed to swim to the horizon and get as far away from this goddess-filled hellhole as I could.

  “Pika. Let’s go.” I snapped my fingers, but Pika continued to attack the mushed grape and my phone rang shrilly in the serenity.

  I deliberated not answering, but with a heavy sigh, I snatched it up, and barked, “What?”

  “Do you always answer your phone so rudely?”

  Every pain, every weakness, every hint of what I’d been through yesterday faded under a tsunami of black hatred, thick as oil, toxic as a corpse-rotting crypt. “What the fuck are you doing calling me?”

  Drake snickered, his voice so similar to mine. We didn’t share much in the sibling gene pool but our voices were almost identical. The only way to tell us apart was his more American drawl from still living on our motherland shores, while I’d lost my accent a little thanks to my adoptive home. Also, the thread of evil he cultivated was obvious whenever he spoke, making him sound like a vile bastard who deserved an excruciating extermination.

  “I figured I owed you a thank you…for setting your fucking lapdog on me.”

  “That lapdog delivered what you were owed for thinking you could tamper in my company.”

  “Our company.”

  “Mine,” I snarled. “Or are you forgetting you got the mansions and the holiday homes and all the goddamn cash while I got the very thing that destroyed—”

  “Sinclair and Sinclair Group is worth more than any of that other shit combined.”

  I bared my teeth. Pika and the rest of the birds took wing at the rage flowing off me. “Only because I made it so. It wasn’t worth nearly as much when they had it.”

  “They?” Drake sneered. “You mean our parents, Sully? The very same parents you fucking murdered?”

  I went ice. Fucking. Cold.

  “What did you say?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I heard you accuse me of murder.”

  He laughed icily. “Cold-blooded murder actually.”

  My heart hurtled itself into a sick gallop toward a cliff. I did my best to rein in the hate between us—to stay calm, collected, and to handle this unfortunate situation—but Drake lowered his voice to a guttural whisper, “I’ve known all along, you little cocksucker. I knew when I showed you what our mother did to those stupid animals you rescued that you’d snap eventually.”

  A nasty coating of sweat broke out over my back. “I don’t know what the—”

  “Yes, you do. Do you honestly think I’m that fucking stupid?”

  I cricked my neck, still trying to divert this disgusting chat to more domestic topics. “I never thought you were stupid, Drake…just a fucking ignoramus with the instincts of a dung beetle. Actually, wait. I take that back. To liken you to any animal is an insult to the animal. You’re just…human.” I said the last word with every disgust and hostility imaginable.

  Drake just laughed. “I’m not the killer in the family, Sully. You are.”

  “I think you forgot to take your meds. You’re delusional.” My nostrils flared as my phone glued itself to my ear. I pressed it into my skull until a headache formed, trying to stop his accusations from spilling free and infecting these pristine shores I’d found sanctuary in.

  I’d run from society because I couldn’t stomach the level of detestation and malevolence that swamped me when talking to people I couldn’t stand. People I didn’t respect or like.

  I had no control over the way my body primed for a fight. A sick and dirty fight where I forgot the part of me that was still human and became a filthy, ferocious animal instead.

  I would tear his motherfucking throat out if we ever came face to face again.

  “I’m not the one who needs drugging, asshole.” He paused before adding, “This stroll down memory lane is good and all, but I’m sure you’re aware I have a reason for calling you.”

  “Extortion by the sounds of it.”

  “Call it what you want. You owe me and I owe you for my broken hand and ribs.”

  “What do you want?” I chuckled frostily. “A get well card? A ‘get the fuck out of my business’ Hallmark greeting?”

  “I want your shares in the company. I want the billions of dollars that you’re sitting on and wasting on those pet projects of yours.”

  I looked at the ceiling, trying to regulate my breathing. “You want to talk about pet projects? Fine, let’s talk about pets, shall we, Drake? The pets you killed?”

  Pongo still rankled me. Still hurt. Watching something being murdered before your very eyes changed your psyche. It carved away the pieces that cringed at gore and mutilation. It hacked away at the fundamental commandments a kid is born with: thou shalt not kill. Thou shall not carry out revenge.

  I’d done both those things.

  And I’d do it all over again.

  Gladly.

  “Still hung up about that stupid mutt? Well, I’m hung up on the fact that you flew after our parents when they hired that yacht, that you stowed on-board with whatever sicko plan you had, that you made them sink, that you were the only survivor, that you so quickly accepted the position of power at Sinclair and Sinclair. Their bodies weren’t even cold when you smashed apart the labs and thought you were some sort of liberator, releasing animals that already had their life’s purpose.” His voice rose, becoming sloppy with loathing. “You chose them over our goddamn parents. You killed them, you cocksucker, and you didn’t even pretend to care.”

  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.”