Stranded (Auctioned Book 2)

by Cara Dee

  “Any nausea?” He smiled faintly and sat up. Easier to see Gray that way, and he was on his back with one arm stretched up while he was trying to pinch stars between his fingers. He wasn’t very successful.

  “Nope.” Gray wore a silly grin, trying to grab another star from the sky. “That’s the ninth time you’ve asked.”

  It was the second, but who was counting. Clearly not Gray.

  “First-time users get sick sometimes,” Darius answered.

  “Oh.” Gray yawned and folded his hands under his head instead. “Are we sleeping here tonight? Can we go catch bananas?”

  Darius coughed around a chuckle and dug out his battered pack of smokes from his jeans. “We’re staying a few hours at least.” So far, no fresh blood had painted Gray’s bandage, and Darius was counting his blessings for it. That said, he wanted to be careful and not move around. “Can you wiggle your toes for me?”

  “Again?” Gray took on the huffy, insufferable tone of a complaining teenager. “See? I’m doing it.” Nothing. Nada. His feet were still.

  “You’re actually not,” Darius drawled. “Try again.”

  Gray frowned and concentrated, and the tip of his tongue poked out. It was…cute as fuck. “What about now? I’m trying to contact them.”

  Darius chuckled once more, and he was relieved when the toes did move. “There we go.”

  “Told you,” Gray sang. “Can’t cut off my pulse.”

  “Circulation,” Darius corrected with a laugh.

  “Hey.” Gray pushed himself up and supported his weight on his elbows. The silly, lazy grin was back. “You laughed, gorgeous.”

  That made Darius snort, and he lit up a smoke.

  “I’m just sayin’.” Gray plopped down again. “I’d let you wear my letterman jacket.”

  Good lord, where the hell were the kid’s thoughts this time?

  “Mr. Stone-face,” Gray whispered at the sky. “Hottest cover, but the pages are blank. No, wait. I mean, they’re in another language. I can’t read your book. You know?”

  Darius’s forehead creased, and he exhaled some smoke. “I can’t even pretend to know what you’re rambling about, boy.”

  Gray waved a hand. “I know some things.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Like, you’re a good man. But then…? Poof. You were born in Greece.”

  “I…”

  “Because your book is in Greek!” Gray’s triumphant yell echoed and bounced between the trees.

  Instantly alert, Darius narrowed his eyes and observed their surroundings. “Keep it down, knucklehead.” They hadn’t searched the whole island yet, and they couldn’t be too careful.

  “Tell me about your tomato plants,” Gray said. “You said you tried to grow them and they died.”

  Darius relaxed a bit, though his shoulders remained stiff. He shouldn’t let his guard down, he reminded himself. Someone could jump out from any direction, and Darius wouldn’t stand a chance.

  “That’s the whole story,” he responded absently. “They died. And you told me it was because I grew them in the wrong season.”

  “Why do you wanna grow tomatoes?” Evidently, heroin made Gray curiouser than ever. “They have tomatoes at the store.”

  “I like the idea of being self-reliant.”

  Gray found that funny for some reason. “Oh God, don’t tell me you’re a hermit who lives in the woods and hunts your food and wears flannel that’s fifteen years old.”

  What the fuck? No, Darius wouldn’t call himself a hermit—much—but what was wrong with living in the woods? In the years he’d spent most of his income paying off the loan for the restaurant, he’d lived in an apartment in Downtown. Then, as of a few months ago, he’d finally bought his dream home up in Westslope. The best district in Camassia, if Darius had a say.

  His property was secluded and nestled deep in the forest, with at least twenty minutes by car to the closest neighbor. In fact, the part of the valley where he lived was one of the most remote. When he was done, it was going to be a proper homestead.

  “You live in the woods, don’t you?” Gray snickered.

  “I do.” Darius scowled automatically. “And let me tell you, when shit hits the fan, you’re gonna wish you were somewhere other than Cedar Valley.”

  Gray scrunched his nose. “What shit?”

  Fuck that, Darius wasn’t going there. He received enough ribbing from his brothers as it was.

  He shouldn’t have said anything. His…hobby, for lack of a better word, was therapeutic but possibly not very healthy. So he kept it fairly private.

  It was time to change the topic. “You should eat something.” He opened the bag Ryan had given him and found crackers, water, one soda, and something in aluminum foil.

  “I’m not hungry—oh, Fanta!”

  Darius smirked and handed over the soda. The foil wrap turned out to be leftovers from one of the dinners on the yacht. Grilled chicken and vegetables.

  “I like you, Dare. You’re like that grumpy cat. You can’t help but smile.”

  Darius furrowed his brow and lifted his gaze from the food. “What the fuck is a grumpy cat?”

  Gray widened his eyes and took a greedy sip, then licked his lips. “It’s a meme. Do you not have the internet in the forest?”

  At that, Darius rolled his eyes. Of course he had the internet. Didn’t mean he was fluent in memes. Then he hit rewind and gave another scowl. “Don’t call me Dare.”

  “Okay, Dare.”

  For chrissakes.

  “No, let him sleep.”

  Darius twitched his nose and rolled onto his side. A blurry image of Gray invaded his dreams, which didn’t fit. He was used to dreaming of the desert and rundown buildings, not…the beach? Oh hell, he was waking up. The fuzzy memories were fading, and he remembered…

  “But we need the boat,” someone whispered. “Ryan’s taking us fishing.”

  That did it. The puzzle pieces fell into place quickly. Auction, yacht, escaping. Waterfall, heroin, Ryan and Cole appearing around dawn. They’d helped Darius carry Gray back to the beach, where they’d turned the little rescue boat into a bed. Gray had been ordered to keep his leg elevated by resting it over the side of the boat.

  Darius grunted and rubbed at his face.

  “Great, you woke him up.” Gray was annoyed.

  With a slow shake of his head, Darius tried to remember more. There was something about the fishing… Oh hell. He sat straight up and squinted. Why were they going fishing? They had enough food to last them a couple days.

  “Where’s—” Fuck. He cleared his throat and peered around him. Their camp already looked lived-in, the ground flattened by feet, makeshift beds made from clothes, palm fronds, and cushions from the tender. There was a fire in the middle, and someone, presumably Ryan, had built a tripod grill already. A large tin was hanging from it and had smoke coming out of the inside.

  I’ve missed something.

  Darius had been out for too long. Something had happened if Ryan was making this much of an effort with the fire and…the fucking fishing? Had they miscalculated the amount of food? Maybe it was a way to pass time. Actually, that was likely. Thirteen traumatized boys would need to stay busy in order to postpone their imminent breakdowns.

  “Where’s Ryan?”

  “On the beach.” It was Fil who answered. He stood next to the boat, wearing an uncertain expression. He shifted on his feet. “I’ll get him for you.”

  “Thanks.” Darius cautiously rotated his shoulder and lifted his brows when he peered down. His bandage had been changed. His gaze quickly found Gray. “How long was I out?”

  Gray bit his lip, hesitating. “Fourteen hours.”

  “Christ.” Darius’s heart rate picked up, and he ran a hand through his hair. This wasn’t good. “Fill me in on everything.”

  “Ryan said you needed to rest,” Gray said. “And I think he was right. You were dead on your feet, Darius. Cole said you sort of collapsed when we got back from
the waterfall.” His cheeks colored slightly, and he looked down. “I, um, don’t remember that part.”

  Too wound up to find that funny or sweet, Darius moved on and eyed the kid’s leg. “Has it been bleeding any?”

  “Huh? Oh. No, not much. Ryan checked it earlier. I’m barely allowed to leave the boat, but I feel better.”

  “That’s because you’re staying put,” Darius replied. “What else? We were gonna leave the tender on the big island.”

  “Nikolaj and Ryan already did that,” Gray answered. “They swam back—”

  “What the—”

  “It was so shallow!” Gray was quick to continue, and Darius did his best to keep his anger at bay. “Cole and Jonas told me. They were waiting on the beach on the other side of the island, and the water was like—I mean, they could almost walk across.”

  Darius scoffed and shook his head. Bottom line, Ryan should’ve woken him up. He had no right to do all that on his own. And to waste the rescue boat like that? No. Hell no. It was a boat, not a goddamn bed. Darius and Gray could’ve slept somewhere else.

  “Morning, princess.” Ryan’s voice caused Darius’s eyes to narrow.

  “Oi. The fuck is wrong with you?” Darius pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the boat. “Have you forgotten Myanmar?”

  Ryan whispered conspiratorially in Gray’s direction. “Big brother’s pissed.”

  While Gray tried to hide a smile, Darius shot Ryan a glare. “You think this is funny?” he growled. “You know all it takes is one misstep and—”

  “But none of that happened.” Ryan lost the humor and gave a pointed look. “I don’t think you realize how much blood you lost yesterday. You talk about me forgetting Myanmar? Fuck you. Have you forgotten every damn airplane you’ve been on? Secure your own motherfucking oxygen mask before you help others. You were slurring like a drunk by the time we got back to the beach.”

  In the corner of Darius’s eye, a couple boys stifled a snicker or two.

  “You’re useless to us if you’re dead,” Ry finished.

  Darius gnashed his teeth but said nothing.

  “What happened in Myanmar?” Gray whispered to Ryan.

  “That’s classified,” Ryan joked with a smirk.

  Darius called bullshit. “My dumbass little brother thought it was a wise idea to play infantry on his own when I was just fifteen minutes away, but he refused to wait.”

  Ryan scratched the back of his neck and winced. “I admit, that was a bad call.”

  Understatement of the century. He’d almost died.

  “But anyway.” Ry clapped his hands together, effectively killing the topic. “I got good news and bad news. Bad news first?”

  Here we fucking go. “Hit me with it,” Darius said tiredly.

  “Satphone’s dead.”

  That wasn’t merely bad news. It was their only lifeline. “You’re…not joking.”

  “I’m not joking,” he confirmed. “The message I sent Squeezy about us getting away should’ve gone through, but there’s no way of knowing for sure. I don’t know what’s wrong with it either—maybe water damage. Battery’s okay.”

  “What’s her protocol, then?” Darius asked.

  “She waits.”

  “She can’t wait forever,” Darius pointed out. “We were supposed to let her know when it was safe to come get us. There’s gotta be a backup plan.”

  Ry inclined his head. “She has the contact information for Hugo and Ramirez. She’s used it before, and they’re prepared for her call.”

  Dammit. Darius hadn’t wanted their old buddies to get involved. “It won’t be the first thing she does, though. She’ll be on standby a while before calling them.” He scratched his jaw. “You’ve had the most contact with her through this. How long do you think she’ll hold off?”

  Ryan made a face, unsure. “A week, tops? Shouldn’t be more than that.”

  “So we need the boat to go fishing,” Fil piped in with. “I’m hungry.”

  Ryan chuckled and gave the kid a playful smack to the stomach. “Where do you put it, kiddo? You’ve been eating nonstop since we got here.”

  Fil’s eyes grew large, and he took a step back. “No, I haven’t.”

  Well, that was a poor little liar. The others who were standing around seemed to think so too, and they laughed.

  It was a good sound to hear.

  Darius side-eyed Gray, who wasn’t laughing. He was off in his thoughts again.

  With a sigh, Darius dragged himself up to a stand. He could dig into the knucklehead’s mind later; right now, he needed to pull his weight and be useful. Ry had done too much already.

  He let out a sharp whistle and hollered at the boys down on the beach. “Everyone come here for a sec!”

  “What’re you up to?” Ryan scowled. “I have everything covered. You rest—”

  “Quit it.” Darius shot him a look. “Have you given them the rundown on safety?”

  Ryan huffed, then shook his head. “I’ve done a perimeter check and filled them in on the situation.”

  “All right.” Darius waited until everyone was gathered in their little camp. “Listen up, guys. Since we might be stuck here for several days, we gotta establish some ground rules. One, no one leaves the camp alone. No exceptions. I don’t care if you’re searching for food or taking a piss, you bring someone with you and don’t go too far without telling Ry or me.” He paused until he got a couple nods. “Two, if any of you get hurt, come to us. Don’t ignore it.”

  “Infections fester around here,” Ryan filled in, studying the boys. “Many of you have already sustained injuries, and we gotta make the antibiotics and supplies last.”

  Nikolaj folded his arms over his scarred, tanned chest and dipped his chin. “Understood.”

  Darius spoke again. “Three, stay alert. Keep an eye on the horizon. There’s a lot of activity in these waters, and we don’t wanna run into the wrong people.”

  “In order to keep your wits, you gotta stay hydrated,” Ryan reminded. “Jonas and Casper, you gathered all the bottles you could find earlier. All of you will be in charge of making sure they get refilled often. As for food—”

  “Finally!” Fil whooped.

  Darius cracked a slight smirk at the kid. At least there was one of them whose spirits hadn’t been completely crushed.

  Ryan was patient, chuckling at Fil’s exuberance. “Not so fast, champ. There will be plenty of food, but you—all of you—need to be careful. Darius told me some of you didn’t eat every day before. That true?”

  Darius watched the expressions around the camp. Wariness, fidgeting, and worry seeped forward.

  “We ate most days,” Jonas said quietly. “We got rice and vegetables and sometimes chicken if we were good.”

  Darius balled his hands into tight fists as the rage washed over him. He fucking hated the world. His chest grew tight, and everything just became so ugly. It was a sensation he’d become accustomed to after all his years doing what he did. What he’d done was more correct, but…well, here he was. The rusty bastard who owned a fish camp in the marina of their sleepy little town in northern Washington was nowhere to be found.

  Two hands wrapped around Darius’s fist, the skin warm and soft to the touch, and he gusted out a breath. It was Gray. As the other boys told Ryan what their eating habits had been like the past several months, Darius focused solely on the young man next to him. A gentle brush of Gray’s fingers worked like a fire extinguisher, causing the anger to fizzle out. The tension snapped inside Darius as it faded, and he exhaled again. A long, deep sigh.

  This was his problem. A big fucking problem.

  He tried to concentrate on Ryan telling the kids how malnourishment worked and how their stomachs couldn’t cope with too much food at once, but Darius’s attention kept shifting back to Gray.

  Gray looked up at him hesitantly. “You’re angry.”

  But you make it better.

  Out loud, Darius said nothing. His inner turmoil was
a lifelong, private shitshow.

  How many times had women ended relationships with him because he never opened up?

  “You were born in Greece…”

  “The pages are blank.”

  “I mean, they’re in another language.”

  “I can’t read your book…”

  Darius winced, Gray’s rambling from last night coming back to him. That was what he’d meant, wasn’t it? He couldn’t read Darius, who kept everything close to the vest.

  That wasn’t gonna change. He’d talked to a few therapists in his day, one of whom had been decent because of his own experiences, but it’d still been all wrong. It hadn’t accomplished shit, nor had it helped Darius move on. Nothing would. He fully believed that now. Much like Gray would adapt, Darius had found his way of coping.

  Sort of.

  The nightmares never really went away. Sometimes, he woke up in a cold sweat, reaching for his gun, as the faces of people he’d lost flickered before his eyes.

  They weren’t always the people he’d lost either. His hatred for humanity stemmed from all the motherfuckers who put children on the front lines of wars. Used them as human shields, as a deterrent that didn’t work, sacrificed them and celebrated martyrdom.

  A familiar laugh filled Darius’s ears, even though the memory was over ten years old. He saw the young boy and the city dust his sandals kicked up as he crossed the road with excitement all over his face. He yelled for Darius, saying he was gonna see his mom again. A mother who’d been dead for a year.

  “I write to you, Mr. James!” he called.

  Darius squinted in the brutal sun beating down on the busy street, the incessant honking from cars that belonged in the eighties fueling his headache. He was dehydrated and exhausted, but he couldn’t leave the street corner until the informer had signaled.

  “Careful, Liman,” Darius cautioned the boy who’d reached the median. “Wait till the light turns green.”

  Raheeq, the kid’s older brother, exited their father’s café with a stoic look on his face. And rather than coming for Liman, he walked the opposite direction, quickly disappearing in the sea of people.

  “I go now, Mr. James!” The boy waved happily, and a cold chill ran down Darius’s spine. Something wasn’t right. “I go with Raheeq—” The last word had barely left him before a deafening blast shattered all the windows farther down the street and sent a ball of fire and smoke into the sky.