Redemption Island (Island Duet Book 1)

by L. B. Dunbar

  I was the offender.

  After I’d been a victim.

  “You made a choice, Juliet. A poor one, albeit understandable. Restorative justice will question the anger that drove you to make the decision you made,” Jared stated.

  The decision, as Jared casually called it, was the result of additional harassment. I’d promised not to tell anyone what happened. I didn’t have anyone to tell anyway. Who would believe me? I worked at a club notorious for dealings in dominance and submission, although only a select group knew of such happenings on the third floor. Chellie reminded me I wanted to work that level. When I discovered the third floor, I should have turned the other way. I should have never offered to serve up there, but I wanted the financial raise. And my curiosity was piqued. This was another culture of people, and the scientist in me wanted to know more without coming off like a creep.

  It was over my head, as I too quickly learned. Despite my assurances that I’d never speak of what happened, Rick sought me. He wanted me to come back to the club after I quit.

  “Did you like it?”

  I thought ignoring his question would prompt him to walk away from me as I stood near the bar, waiting to collect my final paycheck.

  “Would you like to do it again?”

  The tease to his voice raked on my nerves. Blood boiled inside me as my body pulsed with fear. I grabbed the closest thing—a paring knife used to slice up lemons and limes. Stepping closer to the enemy, as I’d read on a self-defense website, I looked up at him, holding my emotions at bay as best I could, surprised that I fooled him. For a brief second, he looked as if he believed I might agree to another round. As if I’d ever want a second chance at how he treated me. As if I’d let other men do the same thing to me, in that position, in that manner. My clenched fist rose, and drawing on strength I didn’t know I had, I stabbed him in the neck, cutting through his jugular.

  Yes, I’d made a choice—swift and rash—but so had Rick Fontaine.

  There’s a moment in napping where you sense where you are, you’re aware of your surroundings, but you’re so deeply in a dream or memory, you can’t move. I was in that state, feeling the pressure of Rick’s hands on my ankles, forcing my legs apart, the weight of his palms over my calves like the clammy underbelly of a snake. The rhythmic inching of his fingers coming closer to a part I did not wish him to enter.

  A hissing sound mixed with Rick’s voice.

  “Do you…siss…like this…siss?”

  My eyes flicked open, and I screamed in response.

  11

  Day 24 – Tack

  I heard the blood-curdling scream despite the distance. This wasn’t a woman frightened by a mouse, but someone in imminent danger. Juliet.

  I dropped my journal and raced in the direction of her tree house. Listening as I hurdled over small brush and crushed twigs under my feet, I waited for another sound that didn’t happen. I held my breath as I ran the longest two miles in my life. My pace quickened each second there wasn’t another bellow, and fear grew that whatever I’d find, I’d be too late. I had no assurance the cry came from her tree house, but I didn’t know where else to start. Nor did I have a sense of the direction her cry occurred. I shouted her name with no response. With us as the only two human residents on this island, sound was distorted under the treetops.

  “Fuck,” I cursed, as I neared her home, finding the ladder removed. “Juliet?” I yelled, hoping she would give me some sound, some recognition that she heard me. A crash above my head had me rushing toward the tree I’d climbed to reach her balcony. I launched myself from the closest tree to the vine I used to propel myself over her railing. Dropping onto her balcony, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.

  A large, speckled snake dangled above her.

  Not being versed in the great outdoors, I had no idea the type, other than the length seemed endless and part of it lay in a ribbon across her legs. The head was above her, its body coiled over the natural rafter of a large tree limb.

  “Juliet,” I whispered, uncertain how I was going to save her. She didn’t whimper or sigh or blink. For a moment, I wasn’t certain she was still alive, but then the lizard-like tongue slithered from its mouth, and Juliet squeaked.

  The knife she’d used on me lay on a stand next to her bed and my only thought was to somehow sever the head of this creature, hoping it wouldn’t strike her before I could make it through his thick skin.

  So mesmerized was the creature by Juliet, it didn’t sense my movement as I neared the bed. With her legs trapped and her fear paralyzing her, I didn’t know how I was going to get her to move, but I aimed for what I assumed was the neck directly behind the eyes and struck.

  Blood rained down on Juliet, but the head remained mostly intact. It lowered and fear surged through me that it would lash out at her. Several things happened in tandem.

  “Roll toward me,” I demanded, as I braced to step on the frame of the bed and launched the knife at the wound of its head. She could only twist the upper portion of her body but it was enough. The snake shot forward at the movement, and I stabbed again, forcing the head away from her.

  The body was retreating as the head dangled obscenely from the base. His tongue slithered forward, eyes matching the devil. He was dissected, but not dead. I hacked one more time and the head fell to the bed, narrowly missing Juliet’s hip. I stood over her like a savage hunter, legs spread and straddling her body. Quickly, I kicked the head away from her and bent to push the surprisingly heavy weight of the body off her legs. Her knees bent, and she kicked out at the remaining loops of its body as well. Then she leaped from the bed and ran for her door.

  “Juliet,” I cried, quickly following after her. One hand reached for her upper arm, catching her before she crossed through the exit. “Juliet, did he get you? Are you okay?” I spun her to face me, and without thought, drew her to my chest. The warm blood on her cheeks drenched my shirt, the stench overwhelmingly rancid. She pushed on my chest with a force that surprised me into releasing her and scrambled in the opposite direction. She collapsed and huddled on the floor near a small chair.

  “Juliet,” I whispered as I slowly approached her. Her knees drawn upward with hands over her head, I witnessed her fear, a tangible presence hovering over us. She was trying to cover herself as if she could disappear in this position. Her body trembled, forcing her slender knees to knock against one another.

  “Juliet,” I whispered again as I lowered to a squat, softening my voice as if I spoke to a child. I had no practice with children, but I tried to keep my tone tender. My hand reached forward despite my hesitation. I circled her wrist in hopes to remove her hands from her head. She flinched but I tightened my hold. The effect was what I wanted. She looked up at me, eyes wild and glassy, her face spattered with blood.

  “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Her head shook and tears leaked from her eyes. She seemed too strong to cry. She hadn’t cried that night. She hadn’t cried when she came to kill me. Witnessing the delicate streams trickling down her thin cheeks crushed me in a way I’d never felt before.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice so low it cracked, and I knew she hadn’t heard me. She hadn’t been afraid that night, or at least she didn’t show it. But she was frightened now, and I couldn’t decide if it was the snake or me she feared. When she looked away from me, I dreaded the thought was the latter.

  Shifting to my knees, I reached forward and wrapped my hands around her shoulders, the quake of her body so evident she vibrated under my touch as I lifted her. I shifted a second time and instantly dragged her into my lap, enveloping her by circling her back and rounding my other arm over her tight knees that were pressed to her chest. She was so frail, yet I did not consider her weak. She fit over my thighs, and I drew her to me. Her head fell to my shoulder. I didn’t think before I kissed the top of her head where her hair met tanned skin. Keeping my lips there, I whispered again.

  “I’m not
going to hurt you. Nothing will ever hurt you again.”

  + +

  I’d returned to my tent after lifting the dead snake head and launching it into the jungle. We worked in tandem, and in silence, as we removed the dead weight of the snake body, disengaging it from its position coiled around the limb rafter. I wanted to comment on her lodging, but each time I opened my mouth for a sarcastic comment, I would see the hollow look in her eyes and the blood still splattered on her face.

  Her shelter was stable, with a small bed made of tree trunks and other furniture framed by bamboo. She’d argued with hand motions that she would take care of the linens, refusing my attempt to strip the bed, but I refused to ignore the mess. There was nothing processed or pressed in her place, only the natural wood of our surrounding. Was she resourceful? Had she made these things? How did she get them up here? These ridiculous questions occupied my mind as I worked beside her.

  She’d made no other sound than a grunt or a grimace. Darkness began to creep into the trees, and I didn’t want to leave her but I didn’t know how to stay. I feared the stench of death would draw other creatures to her shelter, but she refused my suggestion.

  “You could come to my tent,” I offered, standing near the door as I watched her stare out the window into the growing night. She shook her head. Her arms crossed over her chest, hands clutching her elbows. She looked broken, and I wondered briefly if she’d looked like that after what we did, after what she did. She was no longer innocent of crime, but this near-death experience brought a strange sense of perspective.

  “I’ll…” I didn’t know what to say, letting my voice falter. I’ll see you around seemed a little blasé for what we’d both just been through.

  “Thank you,” she whispered without removing her eyes from the open window. I continued to stare at her after she spoke.

  Ask me to stay, I thought, wondering where the question came from. It wasn’t that her place was better than mine, but that I didn’t want to walk away and leave her unprotected. Saving her life had made me feel strangely obsessed with protecting her.

  Without further acknowledging me, I left.

  By the time I entered my tent, I was irritated. My journal lay open, pages bent on the floor of my flimsy housing and I swiped it up in my agitation.

  You ruined my life, I’d written. The statement made me pause. Had she? I wanted to lay blame on Rick, on her. If she hadn’t killed him, the tape would have never been revealed. The video was evidence of what he’d done to her, and I became an accomplice. If she’d kept her mouth shut like she promised, neither of us would be on this island and Rick would be alive. I don’t know why she had to kill him. Threaten him, yes—many women had done that before. Scream at him, definitely. Slap him, like she smacked me. He might have laughed in her face. But kill him? I shook my head. That had been extreme.

  I stared at the words I’d written.

  Knowing she nearly died from that snake made me think. That reptile acted on instinct. While it was ready to make Juliet his dinner, she was his source of survival. Her fear fueled his desire to have her. Her innocence made her an easy hunt. Rick Fontaine had been a hunter—he preyed on the weak. Hadn’t he done the same thing? He thrived on the capture, but why Juliet? The answer was simple: she refused him, and it drove his desire to conquer. Had Juliet reacted to him in her own sense of survival? Had she killed him before being killed, as is the nature of animals? Was she that base? Was I?

  I sat with a thump on my mattress which was covered by a sleeping bag and a sheet. Sleeping on a pallet only inches from the ground was nothing like the luxury of her bed. This was part of my punishment—stepping back to basics and living without things. But Garvey had told me it was deeper than giving up items.

  “Circle justice was a way of practice for my people. If you commit a crime, you must make things whole again. If you killed a dog, you might need to adopt a puppy or work at an animal shelter.”

  “I didn’t kill a damn dog,” I argued, and he scowled at me like I was an imbecile.

  “You must decide why you harmed and then what you plan to do about it to make things better.”

  I scoffed at the idea. I didn’t do anything, I argued. I didn’t need to make anything better. This was her fault. She needed to make things better for me.

  Everything had been done by Rick, but the judge didn’t see it that way, and I’d taken the deal only to avoid jail time. I didn’t want to become someone’s bitch. But what Garvey said made a bit of sense.

  He’d muttered something about what you do to the animals you do to yourself. I didn’t understand his meaning, but witnessing the snake attacking Juliet changed things. Why did it want to harm her? Strangely, I understood Rick. He had a desire to possess, but I didn’t know where the root of that obsession came from. I didn’t know where it came from in me, and because of that, I had no answer as to how I’d make things whole. Did I owe Rick or Juliet? Rick was dead. I couldn’t bring him back. My chest ached at the thought that if the snake killed Juliet, I would not be able to repair her, either.

  12

  Day 28 - Tack

  I opened the flap to my tent to find Juliet sitting on the shore facing out toward the sea. For days, I’d been to her tree house, pacing under the landing like a lovesick Romeo, silently sending out pleas for her to drop the ladder and let me up. Maybe that chick with the long hair was a better analogy. Juliet seemed to lock herself in a tower and was refusing to see me.

  Sitting on the white sand outside my tent seemed strangely unnatural as if she didn’t belong here with me. I shook my head. The thought made no sense. I walked to where she sat and plopped down next to her. My feet stretched forward and my hands fell back, giving me the casual appearance of a man at the beach. I stared out at the water, waiting for her to speak.

  And I was ready to come out of my skin because it had been four days since I’d seen her. Her silence unnerved me. Taking a side glance, I noticed she looked tired. Deep purple bags hung under her eyes. Her knees were brought upward, but her arms casually wrapped around her shins.

  “You have a better view than me.” It wasn’t what I expected her to say, and I chuckled.

  “Yeah, well, that’s all that Daddy could get me.”

  She huffed. “Must be nice to have a dad who cares.”

  “Oh, don’t mistake his insistence for concern for my comfort.” The sarcasm dripped from my lips, but I didn’t want to discuss my father with her.

  She nodded, slightly rocking her body with the dip of her head. “You have a tent like a prince on safari,” she teased with a touch of bitterness.

  “You’re the one with the condo tree house,” I mocked, allowing the sudden irritation to take over my relief at seeing her on my beach.

  “That’s what you get when you have no one.” This brought me up short and I looked directly at her—the curve of her nose, the sleek lines of her neck, and the slope of her shoulders.

  “What do you mean no one?”

  “What does no one typically mean?” she bit, rolling her neck to face me. Her eyes looked hollow, the irises too bright. I scooped my hand through the fine grains of sand to prevent me from touching her and looked away.

  “That sucks,” I muttered. As much as I hated my father and his intrusion into my life, I had to admit he’d been there for me. He provided me with a home. He paid for my education. We had food on our table. I didn’t want for anything. I hadn’t wanted until recently.

  “I miss cookies,” she said, startling me as if she could read my thoughts. I turned to look at her, observing once again the elegant curve of her neck, the angle of her shoulder, and the length of her fingers.

  “I miss bourbon.” The comment made me swallow. How I longed for the burn to take away the awkwardness between us. My eyes roamed her body.

  “What are you wearing?” It occurred to me that she wasn’t dressed like someone in confinement but like a girl lost in the woods. Cut off khaki shorts and a bright red tank top were not
the adventurous outfit I expected. She looked like a pin-up wannabe with her perky breasts peeking out the top curve of her tank and long legs leaning out the short hem of her shorts. I swallowed at images of her I shouldn’t have. “Why don’t you have a bunch of safari shit or something?”

  “Because I’m not on a safari. Or a vacation.” She looked me up and down, taking note of my plaid colored board shorts. “And I don’t have money for new clothes.”

  The thought stopped me. If she didn’t have money for clothes, how was she paying for the necessities of this program? I’d been forced to pay my own way, even though this was a sanctioned punishment. I parted with my NCR Leggera 1200 street bike to cover expenses for this island.

  “You’re too skinny,” I blurted.

  “Is that supposed to insult me?” Her eyes flared, and the violet color of her eyes steamed to a deep purple.

  “No, no, I just mean…do you have food? Is someone bringing you food?” I didn’t know why I was stumbling through my words, but I wanted to know if she had enough to eat.

  “I’m good,” she muttered, letting her hands fall from her legs and digging her fingers in the sand like me.

  “You look tired,” I added.

  “Wow, you’re full of compliments today. Is that how you get the girls? Oh, right, I know how you get girls.”

  My eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped, swiping a hand through my unruly hair.

  Ignoring my temper shift, she spoke. “I can’t sleep at night. Each time I close my eyes I imagine I hear another snake.” She shivered next to me, and I wanted to wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her close to me. She looked at me again, those purple eyes gleaming.

  “You’re turning into a bit of a grizzly,” she said, deflecting the subject and biting the corner of her lip. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to insult me in return.

  “I can’t see myself to shave.”