Hearing him say that word made her entire body revolt. He was disgusting and crude.
Then speak his language, Liv. Maybe he’ll understand. “Go fuck yourself, Shane. I’m not yours. I never will be. Because I am absolutely, one hundred percent too good for you. Even my…” she paused to spit out the tactless words she hated saying, “my sweet pussy.”
The room filled with a menacing vibe that gave off the faint smell of gunpowder.
Shane leaned forward, hands clasped, staring at her like a soulless shark. “Okay. If that’s how you wish to play. I have other women to choose from on this ship.”
Oh no. “How many did you shitty bastards take?”
He grinned proudly. “Roughly fifty, but the Collection is far from over. The island is demanding we keep going until every man—mated or not—has fathered a new child. The fucking won’t stop until the goddess is appeased.” He chuckled. “Damn, I love that island.”
Everyone had a sore spot and this was Liv’s: men victimizing women. In the women’s shelter where she used to volunteer, she’d witnessed how these predators—disguised as loving husbands and boyfriends—took pleasure in breaking a woman’s spirit. Usually they did it with beatings, but sometimes they did it with words. Either way, by the time the women made it to her, only the shell of who they once were remained.
What Shane and these men intended to do may not involve punching, but they did plan to rob these women of the lives they were entitled to.
“Think about what you’re doing to them,” Liv said. “Or to their families, who are wondering right now where they are.”
“Why the hell would I care about a bunch of useless landlovers? Well, other than ensuring they’ll make adequate caretakers for our offspring. By the way, your mother is lovely—like an older version of you. I thought about taking her, too, but she’s a little old for raising mermen. I do like her quilting, though.”
He’d been spying on her family? For how long? “You’re a monster.”
“No. I’m a merman. I take what little pleasures are granted to us. And occasionally getting laid is one of them.” He winked.
“I guess since I was blessed with an immunity to your awesome mermanly charms, I’m going to have to decline any offers. Also, just to be clear, I’m not going to lie to Roen.”
Shane stood up. “I think you will. I think you’ll do everything I say. Because the woman I have in mind to replace you looks oddly similar—long dark hair, about your height, and beautiful brown eyes. In fact, you could almost be twins.” He released an accomplished sigh.
Liv felt her blood pressure, heart, and soul crash into the floor. “You have Dana?” she whispered.
“Yes, I believe I do,” he said happily. “She is your baby sister, isn’t she? Not so innocent, but so very sweet and so very susceptible to our charms. In fact, she’s up on deck right now with the other women, sipping margaritas with my men. It’s a wild party.”
Party. That word triggered a flash of memories. Liv had been at her parents’ anniversary party at a restaurant overlooking the marina when her sister Krista—the oldest—told her a man had shown up claiming to be her date. Krista had described him as tall with short hair, overwhelmingly handsome, and built. Liv had thought and hoped he might be Roen, because dangerous or not, her heart still felt something for that man. Maybe it always would. But, sadly, Shane had been waiting outside on that terrace. She didn’t remember much else, but clearly more had happened. They now had Dana, her twenty-four-year-old sister, and they were on a goddamned boat heading back to that goddamned island no one knew existed, where they would be “claimed” in a bloody, barbaric ritual that defied all logic.
Liv’s entire body shook with rage. “If you or any of your men touch her, I’ll kill you. Do you understand me, Shane?”
“Ohhh…That’s what gets me hard, little landlover. Your feisty attitude. I’m going to enjoy fucking you, Liv. Over and over again until our time is up.”
“Roen will never let it happen.” And neither would she.
“He will let it happen because he’s a coward, and you’ll do anything to make sure your sister goes free. Won’t you, Liv?”
She looked down at the floor, holding back her fury and possibly every cuss word in the English dictionary.
“Wouldn’t you?” he repeated threateningly.
“Let her go, Shane,” she growled.
“I will. If you do what I ask.” Shane reached for the door. “I’ll have someone bring you clothes and food. Get some rest, Liv. You and your sweet little pussy are going to be needing it.”
Liv glared at that vile, hideous man, thinking of her dream: “Kill them if you have to, Liv. But don’t let them get you on that island.”
Liv had never taken anyone’s life—in her world it wasn’t even a consideration—but to save Dana from what lay ahead, she wouldn’t hesitate. And curse her to hell, but killing a sadistic predator like Shane? She might even enjoy it.
CHAPTER TWO
Roen stood on the edge of a rugged cliff at midday, overlooking the never-ending ripples of blue ocean. The salty wind whipped through his hair and chilled his skin to a throbbing numbness. I must jump. I must jump and save her.
Down below, the crashing waves broke violently against the black volcanic rocks. If he jumped, he knew he might not survive.
But I have to save her. With every passing second, she drifted farther and farther away in her yellow life raft. It would be impossible to find her in such a big ocean if he didn’t go after her now.
Roen flashed a glance over his shoulder, where his men stood in formation, awaiting their fates like sentinels from an ancient world.
“You cannot save them both, merman,” said the island in that sadistic voice of a woman he’d come to know and loathe so well. “You must choose: your mate or your people.”
“I will not choose,” he screamed over the roar of powerful waves below. “I would rather die.”
“You will choose or you will all die.”
“Why are you doing this?” he screamed.
“Because no one disobeys me. And those who do pay the price.”
“Mr. Doran, here’s your coffee,” said Cherie, Roen’s personal assistant, snapping him out of his daydream—a repeat of his nightmare from the last two months. “Strong. Just the way you like it.”
Sitting at his antique desk, he gave her a quick nod, masking his moment of disorientation. “Thank you.”
Don’t think anything of the dream—it’s merely your subconscious blowing off steam. At least, that’s what he hoped.
“You’re very welcome, sir.” Cherie flashed a flirty little smile before pouring him a cup. For the record, Cherie never used to smile, never showed emotion, but she did speak three dialects of Chinese, which was why he’d hired her a few years back. He hoped he wouldn’t have to fire her now. After all, she’d done nothing wrong. He was the one who’d changed.
“I’ll call you if I need anything further,” Roen added to politely dismiss her.
A wounded expression flickered in her brown eyes before she stormed out the door of his corner office located on the twentieth floor of his headquarters in downtown Seattle.
Roen hissed out a breath and ran one hand through his chin-length hair. No question about it, life had become infinitely more complex. That included being around the opposite sex, which had been a distraction before he’d discovered—and accepted—who he truly was. What he truly was. But now, it was a goddamned nightmare. This morning in the elevator of his building, for example, a new tenant he’d seen only in passing threw her arms around him, shrieking she couldn’t stop thinking about being together again. The security guard and doormen had to pry her reaching lips from his neck, and when they did, she began ranting, “You can’t leave me! I need you!” behaving like they’d had a romantic breakup. He truly felt bad for these women because their lust was an illusion. In his case, his only desire was for the one woman he couldn’t have: Liv. Day and night, he coul
dn’t stop thinking about her—those wide brown eyes and long, silky, dark hair. Those sweet, plump lips and curvy body meant for touching. With every breath he took, his desire only grew. Gnawing, aching, throbbing for one whiff of her skin and a taste of the soft flesh between her—
Mind back to work, you arse. You can’t have her. Well, technically he could, but it would destroy her in the process. It was simply what happened to women who got involved with his kind. He and his men were like poison. To the heart, the soul, and mind. He need only think of how his father destroyed his mother to remember that.
Roen begrudgingly turned his attention back to the stacks of papers on his desk when his phone rang.
Roen knew the number and hit speaker. “Phil, I hope you’re calling with good news.”
Phil, his lawyer in Chicago, made a grumbling sound. “No. Not today, because I’ve looked at this every which way. You’re asking for the impossible.”
“Impossible is you surviving the ass kicking I’m going to give you if you don’t fucking figure this out.” Roen picked up his mug and sipped his piping hot black coffee.
“God, you’re such a prick. And is it my imagination, or has it only gotten worse? Like you went to prick finishing school to polish those sharp edges.”
Actually, Phil’s sarcastic remark wasn’t far from the truth. Roen had changed. Physically, he was a bit larger now—a side effect of “becoming one” with his new home and people—but mentally, he had shed any soft edges. Not that he’d had many. Now, even less. Because the men of his kind, regardless of where they started out in life, only served one purpose: guarding that damned island. They were born to kill, defend, and fight.
Roen laughed. “You’re lucky I like you, Phil.”
“Flattered, I’m sure. But I really meant what I said, Ro.”
Ro. Roen hated it when Phil used his nickname. It always meant bad news. “Phiiil,” Roen warned. “Don’t tell me it can’t be done. You pay who you have to—senators, more useless lawyers, whothefokeever—to foking figure it out and make it happen.”
“I can’t do a foking thing to get you a foking title to your foking land if you don’t foking tell me where the island is.”
The “foking” remark was a jab at Roen’s slight Scottish accent. He’d more or less grown up in the United States, but his roots tended to show when he got angry and swore—i.e., all the foking time.
Roen grumbled a few choice profanities under his breath before explaining for the tenth time, “I can’t tell you where the island is yet. Not until I’m sure we’ll get this approved.” Otherwise, word would get out that there was an uncharted island in the middle of the North Pacific that had no legal owner. Every fucking idiot with a boat in this hemisphere would be looking for it. “Make something up—tell them we’re waiting for surveyors or something.”
“I’ll do what I can, but this is going to take time. Years perhaps.”
“Nope. It’s got to happen fast.” Roen was up against the clock on this. Every day he watched the despair in his men’s eyes grow more toxic. For far too long, they’d been promised the return of the women they loved, only to be forced, blackmailed, and bullied by the island to protect her. Yes, she was alive—he’d spoken with her more than once and they could all hear her heartbeat. Yes, it was goddamned strange. But no stranger than the fact he now led the “people” who lived there. And certainly no stranger than being one of them—not quite human, and definitely not the half-fish creatures portrayed in old whaler legends. The island’s “women,” on the other hand, were an entirely different story, the very thing nightmares were made of.
“I’ll do my best, Roen, but you might want to come up with a plan B, just in case.”
“There is no plan B, Phil. This is the only option. Why do you think I’m going to all this trouble?” According to one of their scriptures, his people would soon turn on each other—those who were fed up with being prisoners versus those who believed protecting the island was their sacred purpose. Once the fighting started, many men would die and the island would become vulnerable to humans—landlovers, as they were called. Word would get out about the island’s sacred water, a substance that cured any illness and prolonged life. But the island also needed that water to stay alive. It was her blood. Take too much or contaminate the island with too many humans, and the island would die. Unfortunately, the world would go with it because that water, which leached into the ocean and spread via the rain, served another purpose: It served as a catalyst to initiate a heartbeat in the very early stages of embryonic development. So without the island, all life would quickly wither.
All this was why Roen’s plan had to be carried out properly. First, however, he had to prove to the island she didn’t need them anymore. At least, not like before. In this day and age, there were far better ways to keep her protected from the landlovers.
“Money is no object,” he said to Phil. “If it takes selling my company, I’ll do it. This is important.”
“Why? Do you plan to build a resort or a cruise ship port? Is that what this is about?”
“The island has been in my family for generations, and I want to legally pass it on to my heirs,” he lied. Actually, he needed to hire private security to safeguard the waters, but that would mean public exposure. Holding a legal title to the land would prevent someone else from trying to stake a claim.
“Heirs?” Phil stifled a laugh. “Is the infamous bachelor Roen Doran settling down, or are we talking about the hordes of little bastards who will be coming forward with a claim?”
Children. Now there was a sore subject. Given the direction things were heading, it would be foolish to have children. But that was yet another of the many disagreements he had with the almighty island, who insisted now was a perfect time—a testament to her utter naïveté. She refused to accept that her way of doing things was driving everyone toward extinction. Unfortunately, she’d had the final word on the matter when he’d been forced to barter for Liv’s freedom. Roen had to vow complete obedience to the island, forsaking any attachments his heart had to Liv—something he quickly learned might be impossible. Second, he had to agree to hold a Collection and fully participate. Yes, the island wanted him and every other man to get to work producing more mermen for her protection. He’d agreed; then he swore to himself that if they survived, the next generation of mermen would be free from this twisted cycle of indentured servitude. And because there was nothing more important to him than Liv.
Liv. An image flashed in his mind of holding her naked, their sweat-slicked skin pressed together, her scent filling his nostrils and—
Stop torturing yourself. She’s free now, and she’ll never end up becoming one of those creatures or going mad like your poor mother. Find happiness in that.
He adjusted himself in his black slacks, something he found himself doing every time he thought about Liv, which was twenty times a day. Maybe more.
Because she’s perfect. Her smile, her heart, her body with those soft pink—
“Roen? You still there?” Phil’s voice snapped him away from yet another X-rated Liv fantasy.
Roen looked up at the ceiling and groaned. How much longer could he live like this? “Yes. I’m here.”
“I want to help you, Roen, but even I—”
“You’ve never failed me once, Phil. So stop your foking whining and get me the title before I fly there and hurt you.” Roen hung up the phone and turned his focus to the stack of presentations on his desk. He’d been meeting with defense contractors all week, getting proposals for equipment and, yes, weapons. Once that was figured out, a trust would be established so there would always be money to keep the island protected.
Roen’s cell phone vibrated on his desk, and he glanced at the screen. It was Lyle, his younger brother by about two years.
“What’s wrong, Lyle?” Roen said into the phone.
“You need to turn on the news.” Lyle’s deep voice was filled with dread.
“I hate surpris
es. Just tell me.”
“Turn it on. Then get your ass home to the island.” Lyle ended the call.
“Foke.” Roen walked over to the small sitting area in the corner of his office and used the remote to turn on the flat screen. He never really watched the thing unless he wanted to monitor the market. Roen flipped through the channels. Dammit. Where the foke is the bloody news?
“Cherie!” he called out.
Within seconds, her head of long black hair peeked through the door. “Yes?”
“Where the hell is the news?”
She rushed over and took the remote. “There you go.”
When the channel popped up, Roen felt like he might actually pass out. “No. Foking no.”
It was a headshot of Liv and a similar-looking woman—dark hair and eyes, pale skin, and heart-shaped lips. The word “Abducted” flashed across the bottom of the screen.
“Do you know her?” Cherie asked.
Roen nodded absentmindedly while listening to the reporters. Liv and her younger sister, Dana, had been taken by a large, “noticeably handsome” man approximately seven feet in height, in the middle of a family gathering. The reporters noted that the case was of special interest due to Liv being the same woman who’d been lost at sea and miraculously rescued three months ago. It was a story that gained national coverage, primarily because it had been linked to his own disappearance. Obviously, he’d resurfaced.
Foke. This can’t be happening.
Roen dropped his head. “Shut it off. Tell Edward to have my plane ready in ten minutes.” Edward was one of them, since humans weren’t generally welcome on the island, nor could they see it unless right on top of the damned thing or the island wished to reveal herself. The island had many, many impressive abilities, which he’d been taking the time to study.
Obviously, keeping her word isn’t one of them. Rage pulsed through his body. He’d made a deal. A goddamned deal. What is she up to?
MERMADMEN (The Mermen Trilogy Book 2) Page 2
