by Nicole Snow
“It’s not you,” he says.
I close my eyes. “When Dad was alive...it kinda was.”
“Bullshit,” he growls. “I don’t believe it.”
But I’m already shaking my head. “You don’t understand. I grew up spoiled, with Mother and the servants who were always around looking after every little thing, fawning over me constantly. I never had to work hard in school. I was a decent student, but I think my teachers were afraid to mark me down when I deserved it, knowing who my father was.”
I pause, letting out a heavy sigh. “Before art school, I’d nearly accepted shutting myself up in the house with Mother and Savanny, but I hated it. Dad’s heart attack was sudden. It shook me out of my stupor. So when I came home, I got too involved. I knew something was just off.”
“You started using your gut, Val. Your instincts. And judging by what I’ve seen, you’ve got good ones.” Flint offers me a smile.
It helps, but I still feel hollowed out. And I’m far from finished.
“I kept asking Ray questions he wouldn’t answer. Whenever I went to the office, asking why he wouldn’t just put me on the stupid ships like he agreed, he always had excuses. He’d get angry, throw his weight around, remind me how much more he knew about daily operations than I did since he’d been involved with the company for years. There was always a change in scheduling, fueling, the crew manifests...of course, I know now. He meant to keep me off those boats as much as he could.”
“He fucking buffaloed you,” Flint growls, his fingers on one hand forming a fist. “Seems like his modus operandi. Just wait till it finally catches up with him...”
“Anyway, that day, the day of the accident, I went to the office. Ray wasn’t there. I heard he was taking the yacht out for a cruise. Nothing about it made any sense. Ray barely touched the yacht since Dad died, and spontaneous pleasure trips by sea weren’t his thing. If he wanted to fly to the other islands, or even the mainland, he’d just hop on a chartered flight. So I went to the slip shortly before he was due to depart and snuck on board. Savanny came with because I thought I might actually wind up on another island, and I didn’t want to leave him alone too long. On board, the galley was stacked to the ceiling with these long, black boxes. They had these—I don’t know?—old-fashioned looking padlocks attached? Almost like the kind on school lockers.”
Flint smirks. “Just like the ones when you were in seventh grade?”
“Close. Thing is, King Heron doesn’t use anything like that. We use insulated ice boxes for fresh fish, shrimp, anything we pull out of the sea. And those boxes weren’t for fishing gear, either. That’s what Ray tried to tell me they were when he found me. I knew he was lying and told him so. We argued. Then I heard the other people, men who weren’t part of the crew, demanding to know what the hell was going on. He grew frantic, snarly, and told me he was making this run to keep us safe. Keep us alive.”
“Bastard,” Flint snarls.
“Obviously, I didn’t believe one word of it, and I told him so. But he was angry, almost panicked, said I shouldn’t be there, that I was going to ruin everything.” Needing a second, I pause, sucking in slow, deep breaths.
“Then what happened?” Flint asked.
“He grabbed Savanny and marched away, threw him in a little closet. When I went to get him, Ray pushed me in the closet, too, and locked the door. He told me to shut up if I wanted to live.”
I have to pause, taking in the fury on Flint’s face. The man looks like he’d tear the whole world limb from limb if anyone dared hurt me.
“Go on,” he orders.
“I fought back but stopped yelling when I heard the other voices. I wanted to hear what they were saying, but it was muffled. I only caught bits and pieces. Something about the boxes. Then Ray grew quiet. They started asking him questions about some kind of charges they’d found. I think they meant a bomb. They were convinced Ray put it there. He swore he hadn’t, he’d never do anything to hurt their business, and then the closet door was ripped open. They found me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Men I’d never seen before. Two of them, quiet and angry and rough-looking. They said they were going to kill me in front of Ray. One of them held a gun to my head. Ray kept saying I didn’t know anything. I said the same. I truly thought they’d pull the trigger on us both. But eventually, they dragged me up on deck, released the dinghy, and threw me in with Savanny. I started the engine, figured I’d go get help or something, I really don’t know what I was thinking; I wanted to get away ASAP, and just as I thrust the throttle forward...I heard something else land in the boat. I turned and just knew it was the bomb. I didn’t have much time, so I grabbed Savanny and dove straight into the water.”
Flint keeps watching me through the conversation, his eyes wide, bleeding concern.
Shrugging, I add, “That’s the last thing I remember before waking up here, not knowing anything.”
“Shit. These men, would you recognize them if you saw them again?”
“Yes.” An idea needles me. “Actually, I think I can even draw them...”
“Let’s go downstairs and have some coffee,” he says, tossing aside the sheet.
I crawl to the edge of the bed, halfway forgetting what I’ve suffered. I have to bite my lips together at the sight of his long, lithe, muscular body. Corded muscle ripples around the black boxer briefs he has on, all tanned skin and ink and scars stretched over a body meant to turn every woman on the planet into a hot mess.
He looks at me, holding out his hand. “You sure you’re okay? It’s a hell of a lot to process, I’m sure.”
“We’re cool!” I sputter, grabbing his hand and climbing off the bed.
Sweet Jesus. If only hashing bitter memories and bad guys were my only worries. Then I wouldn’t have to work to unglue my eyes from Hercules.
We hurry downstairs. I find a pencil and some paper while he brews coffee.
By the time I’m done and look up, I’m disappointed. At some point while I was busy drawing, Flint went to his room to put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.
Bummer.
“I sent Cash a text. He’s on his way,” he tells me, taking a long pull off his second mug of coffee.
I push the notebook across the counter. “Okay. I’ll get dressed, too.”
Flint and Cash are outside when I come downstairs wearing a clean new dress, and there’s a third man with them. He’s tall, black, and grins with a carefree joy that lights up the room. Not what I’d expect from such a mountain of a man, but it makes me smile back and feel awfully glad he’s on our team.
Flint introduces him as Davis and tells me he’s the one who was driving the Jeep yesterday. He also says Davis just confirmed the men I drew were the same goons in the SUV. They were also in the white van at the coffee shop, shadowing Ray.
I don’t remember a white van, but don’t ask because Cash wants me to describe the bomb they’d tossed in the boat with me.
I try, but I end up drawing it instead since that’s easier.
One good look and Davis says it had to be a marine explosive charge, something underwater demo teams routinely use for sabotage. Usually remotely controlled.
Flint and Cash agree. The trio go back and forth, talking and brainstorming like they’re planning the defense of the whole island.
I feel oddly left out.
But I shouldn’t.
This is all about me, but ironically I don’t know the first thing about saving my skin. I barely managed to spare my own cat from being turned into meowy confetti. If we’d jumped off that skiff a second later, I’d be bite-sized shark snacks along with poor Savanny.
I try to listen while they talk about marine explosives, how they’re used to sink ships, and where they need to hunt down more info. They touch on crime groups, rivals, piracy, guns, drugs, and other nefarious things.
It concerns me deeply, but I can’t focus, can’t pay attention.
It’s like I’ve reached my lim
it for bad news and I just don’t want any more.
God. What if I’m more like my mother than I thought? Living behind the curtains. Head in the sand.
Is that why it took so long to get my memory back?
I stand up, cross the lanai, and walk to the beach, trying to accept the grim fact that this is my life.
All the things I remember.
All the things I don’t want to.
All the things I wish I freaking had.
It makes me feel like a different person than I did yesterday, and it’s jarring.
Staring at the sunlight dancing off the ocean, at the gentle waves, I try to find the calm they usually bring.
Savanny brushes against my leg and mews softly. The sick, tipsy sensation in my head doubles.
My focus drifts down to him with a melancholy smile.
I love this cat, but why did I want him in the first place? An illegal animal?
Maybe I felt like I was above the law and the rules didn’t apply to me. Why? Because I come from a rich family? Because it was what my parents taught?
I sigh, kneeling down, and gently fold the little furball in a hug. It’s fine having money, but to think it gives you special rights, special privileges, just doesn’t seem right.
No, it can’t be the trauma that stalled my memory for so long.
It’s the person I was, especially before art school.
I was hardly Ray’s opposite, even if I can’t remember being cruel like him. My sins were indifference and entitlement.
I was the girl who stamped her feet when she didn’t get her way. Always asking our father for more.
And when I had it, when I’d gotten a contraband cheetah-cat because Dad was good enough to indulge my childhood fantasy, I was scared someone would take it all away. I wanted to protect my ill-gotten gains, no different than Ray, probably.
“Hey, you okay?”
I pinch my eyes shut at the sound of his voice. The man I’ve pulled into the mud with me, partly thanks to my own selfishness, my delay sprouting a conscience.
Flint’s shadow falls over me.
I turn around. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Not right now. It’s nothing about the accident or King Heron. It’s just...personal crap. This morning sapped my energy,” I say, lowering my face.
“You deserve a break.” He studies me, then gives a slight nod. “Davis and Cash left. They’ll check on the latest intel. So far everything you said just confirms what we already feared—those men belong to a cartel. It’s a criminal outfit that’s been in the islands for at least twenty years, run by a man named Cornaro.”
The name means nothing to me, but why should it? I’ve lived most of my life with my head stuck in the sand, only lifting it out when I wanted something. “So that’s who Ray works for?”
“With,” he says pointedly. “Not for.”
“Is there a difference?” I turn, wondering at how his eyes ice over.
“Yes. Groups like his don’t just let rich guys buy membership. Not with money. They buy in with blood.”
A chill whirls up my spine. I fold my arms, still not quite sure what he’s hinting at.
Does it even matter whether or not Ray was a full-fledged member of this criminal group?
“Cornaro doesn’t partner up with anybody on even terms,” Flint says, every word breathing more tension into the air. “He fucking uses people. Always to his benefit. From what we’ve learned, it seems like there was already a loose association between the Cornaro Outfit and your old man. King Heron went through a rough patch ten or more years back. Took tons of losses, the company almost went tits up. Then Stanley Gerard found himself a new investor. Ray just took it further, deepened the bonds, thought he’d climbed in bed with somebody who’d help him shit gold since it worked so well for your dad.”
I shake my head. “I don’t get it. What does King Heron have that they’d possibly want?”
“Ships. An easy conduit to move illicit cargo. They’ve got a hand in everything, Val. Trafficking weapons, drugs, people all across the South Pacific. If it’s illegal, it’s a Cornaro job.”
Disgust fills me. “It isn’t just ships. More like...no morals.”
“Huh?”
“No morals,” I repeat. “You’re right, it started with my father. He was willing to do anything to save his company. I remember this time when I was younger, he was so stressed. There were months where he’d fly off the handle or shut himself up in his office downstairs, whispering to people on the phone long after I should’ve been asleep. Sometimes, I’d hear him through the vents, even if I didn’t understand what he was saying, or why he had all these new phones. He would’ve filed bankruptcy if he hadn’t made a deal with the devil.”
“Burners, babe. He stocked up on cheap, disposable phones to stay in contact with Cornaro assets without leaving a trace,” he says.
I sigh. “Gerards aren’t good people, Flint. And you know what they say about birds of a feather...”
He’s looking at me oddly, almost like he’s confused.
I’m definitely not.
I’m finally seeing the blinding truth. It’s sickening.
Flint takes a step back, still eyeing me, something tugging at his lips.
“Do I repulse you?” I ask.
“Repulse me?” Something flashes in his eyes. Anger. Shock, maybe. “Val, what the fuck?”
“I should,” I say, “because I repulse myself.”
I’m breaking down, too numb to feel anything except my lungs hitching, the tears in my eyes burning so hot.
I can’t be here.
He reaches out to grab me, but I tear myself away, running for the house.
14
Prized Bird (Flint)
Val can’t go anywhere, but still I follow, stunned at why the hell she thinks she repulses me.
Is she really that blind? The incessant ache in my blood for this woman couldn’t be further from pure fucking revulsion.
This has to be the amnesia shit, an acid torture eating away at her from the inside.
There’s no good reason she ought to be repulsed by who she is.
She had no say over her old man reaching into a cookie jar with teeth, and then her fuckwit brother digging deeper, until he got bit.
I catch up with her on the lanai. “What’s wrong? Talk to me. Is there more?”
She spins around, throwing her arms in the air. I grab her by the wrists, pull her in, and lock my arms tight so she stops flailing.
“More? Jesus, I hope not!” Tears stream down her face. “I hate the girl I was. I wish I hadn’t remembered anything, Flint. W-wish that stupid amnesia was permanent.”
“Bull. You can’t mean that,” I growl, pushing my forehead to hers. “Stop it, baby. Breathe for me. You’re only thinking about the bad shit right now. You’ve got a lot to cry over, but it’s no reason to hate yourself. Never.”
“But I do mean it...” She covers her face with both hands, untangling from me. “There’s nothing redeemable. It’s not just those men, or Ray, it’s...it’s everything. I’ve lived a crappy life. I’ve been a brat. It’s pathetic!”
Nope. She’s still not talking sense.
That’s a mighty big problem.
I move like lightning, grasping her wrists again, pulling her hands away from her face. I have to make her see. She couldn’t be more wrong.
There’s fuck-nothing repulsive here.
When I look at this woman, I see a chick who’s talented, kind, and just as hellbent on doing better as she is knockout gorgeous. Her beauty’s only rivaled by her will.
I see a chick who’s determined to un-fuck herself, to let that pretty light of her soul laser through this suffocating darkness. That’s her obsession, when she’s not running her mouth with nonsense, and it’s so sexy it hurts.
Hell, maybe I even see my self-destruction in the next kiss.
The one that’s com
ing, however hard I fight, but damn it straight to hell.
Maybe I’m done running from who I was, too. A man who shut himself off from a human connection with a woman for years because I fought too hard to avoid the darkness instead of confronting it head-on.
“Just let me go,” she whimpers, twisting in my arms.
“No. Not till you’re ready to listen,” I growl. “Give me ten seconds, Val. Look me in the goddamn eye.”
I should’ve seen it sooner, her turmoil tangled up in mine.
No, I couldn’t admit how hard it’s been, pushing her away. I didn’t want to dwell.
So I wait for those big gold eyes to fully connect with mine before I give her a big fat dose of real talk.
“There’s nothing bad about you, honey. Not a single thing. You’re human. You’ve got scars and shit to deal with, same as everybody else, but I don’t believe you ever set out to hurt anybody. No fucking way did you ever set yourself up for this mess. Stop blaming yourself for the crap hand you were dealt.”
“But my entire life, I just...I don’t even have any friends, Flint. Not real friends. When I log into my stuff, there’s nobody messaging me, nobody checking up, no old friends coming by to say 'hey, let’s catch up.’ People hate me.”
“Wrong.” I brush a finger across her cheek, wiping away a tear. “I don’t believe it.”
“I do, because I remember. It’s staring me right in the face.” She glances at Savanny, sitting on the lounger next to us, his whiskers twitching. “He’s all I’ve ever had.”
“Not anymore, babe. You’ve got me. You’ve got Bryce. Whatever else happens next, that won’t change.”
“Do I even deserve it?” she stammers, her lips trembling. “You don’t get it. My father spoiled me, Flint, just like my mother said. I never had to lift a finger. Life was easy and blind. If I asked for something, I got it. Even an illegal cat. I never questioned anything, and when I finally did, it was too freaking late. I didn’t care where things came from, or how much they cost, or—”
