Devil's Island

by Jason Halstead

  Chapter 4

  Tamara fumed inside. He’d barely looked at her, before dismissing her. It would have been one thing if he had told her no, but he had ignored her! He'd treated her as though she wasn’t worth being noticed! She knew how short and skinny she was. Maybe if she had a tall and sexy body like Subie he would have acted different.

  When they’d been eating and he’d informed her that there would be conditions for her staying she’d immediately thought the worst. But when he’d said he wasn’t interested in her that changed things. She knew she was having an effect on him, but then he turned away. If the bulge in his pants had been any indication she might be better off failing. She knew she wasn’t a virgin— she'd checked in the shower to be certain— but she was small. Compared to the size of the lump in his pants she figured it might not be fun for her after all. She wondered how something so simple as a zipper could hold a monster like that back.

  Even now, sitting beside the man as he drove her to get some clothing of her own, she couldn’t get the image of it out of her mind. Having sex with him would hurt, but something deep inside of her wanted that kind of pain. She shivered and hugged her arms to herself. His borrowed shirt rubbed against her nipples and made her gasp. From the tingling between her legs, she knew she was going to try again.

  "You cold?" Sam asked as he glanced over at her. He jerked his head away and stared out the window. His cheeks were flushed.

  Tamara looked down and saw the twin bumps poking his shirt out just above her arms. Yes. She wanted him. She didn't know who she was or who he was, but she knew that she wanted him. She bit her lip to stop herself from suggesting he could warm her up and reached up to the mirror on the back of her sun visor. "Just had a chill, I'm fine," she said while she looked at herself.

  She was young. Too young, maybe? Her urges didn't feel right. Or maybe it was the hormones in her body. "I just— I wish I knew who I was."

  Sam nodded. "You and me both," he muttered and risked another glance at her.

  Tamara offered him a smile and looked away first, sparing him any discomfort. She wanted him, sure, but she needed him more. Needed him to help her figure out who she was and what she was doing. He was right, she was too young to be here on her own. Had she come with friends or family? Was she on spring break? Or maybe she lived on the island somewhere. She sighed and stared out her window.

  “Here,” Sam said, interrupting her thoughts and making her jump. “This place should have something for you.”

  The Nifty Thrifty was a small worn down store. Tamara grimaced. She’d been hoping he’d take her to a mall, with some decent things. Expensive things, maybe, but she felt like that was the sort of stuff she was used to. Maybe she could even entice him into going to a lingerie store. The odds of her finding anything fancy or seductive at the Nifty Thrifty were against her.

  She was right.

  She found three shirts and four pairs of pants that she was willing to be seen in public in. The way Sam’s eyes had bulged when they rang up to twenty-five dollars had made her smile inside. Especially when he tried and claim her choices showed too much skin.

  See, she thought vindictively, if you would have licked the water off my body with your tongue we could be lying in your bed right now.

  The older man jumped, startled as they walked out of the store. He pulled his vibrating phone out of a pocket and stared at it.

  “Yes?” Sam said as he got into his car. Turning to Tamara he put one finger over his lips.

  He wants me to be quiet? she thought. Maybe it’s some lover. No wonder he turned me down. I should speak up and ruin it for him. I should—

  “Listen, I don’t give a damn what you think you’re entitled to,” Sam snapped, disrupting her train of thought. “I already send you more than half my regular paycheck. The judge told you, you can’t touch my disability income.” He paused, and Tamara strained to try and hear the other person. It was definitely a woman, but her words were too quiet. “I know. She already called me. Maybe if you didn’t gouge me so badly, I’d have money to help her. What do you do with the money I send, anyway, if it’s not going to my kids?” Pause. “Oh, don’t give me that shit! One of your excuses for—“ he paused and glanced at her, before continuing, “—for doing what you did to me, was because Luke makes more than I do, and he can support you better.”

  The amount of scorn Sam put behind the other man’s name left no doubt about how her benefactor felt. What had the woman done to him that Sam didn’t want her to hear?

  “Fucking bitch,” Sam snapped, hanging up. The large man set his forehead against the steering wheel. Tense silence filled the air, made all the worse by the anger she could sense coming from him. “Sorry about that,” the man muttered after a bit, sitting back. He punched the wheel in front of him hard enough that she felt the reverberations through her seat. “It’s not enough that I send her most of my paychecks for child support, but knowing she’s poisoning my kid’s minds against me is just going too far!” He started up the car, jammed it into gear, and the tires screeched as he pulled out of the parking lot. “You would think that nearly twenty years of marriage would garner some sort of respect, but no! She can’t handle my bullshit, she says. She can’t handle my excuses.” Someone honked as Sam swerved the car back into his lane. “She has no idea what I went through, damn it! Let’s see her lose a leg and a good friend in the same instant and see how well she handles it.”

  Tamara had a white knuckled grip on the door handle next to her as the veteran ranted and raved. Her stomach was in her throat as the tires on Sam's car squealed in protest at how fast he took the turns.

  “I’ll bet right now, she’s telling her how I’m not willing to help her get a car.” Who is he talking about now? Who is this other her? “That I’m hording my money, being just as greedy as she is!”

  Red and blue lights started flashing behind them, sending Sam into another tirade. If she weren’t already terrified for her life she would have been laughing at the inventive way the one-time soldier swore.

  The relief that flooded through her when Sam finally slowed down and pulled over made her feel giddy inside. Now she'd survived being drowned and a car ride with Sam.

  “Great, just great!” Sam yelled at the ceiling. “They’re going to think I kidnapped you or something.”

  A knock on her window startled her, and she turned directly into the beam of a flashlight. She squinted, blinded by the bright light, and scowled at it. The knock came again, and she realized she was supposed to roll down the window. She searched for the knob and started to turn it. When she looked back up she saw the officer shaking his flashlight and frowning. The light had gone out. He shoved it back into his belt and peered through the window at them both.

  “Sam Mendez,” the officer's deep voice greeted them. “What’s the big hurry?" He looked at Tamara more closely and added, “And who is this? Some crack-whore you’ve talked into your bed tonight?”

  Crack-whore? Sudden anger burned through Tamara at the off-hand insult. After being rejected by Sam, getting told that her choice in clothing was too risqué, going on this crazy ride, and now this, her emotions were on a rollercoaster ride that couldn’t end well for anyone around her. How dare he compare her to some weak-willed little gutter slut!

  Without thinking about what she was doing, she glared up at the officer and locked gazes with him. As soon as their eyes met she felt that odd twisting sensation inside her again. It almost felt as though something were swimming in her stomach, making her slightly nauseous, until it turned into tingles that made her want to smile. “I’m his daughter,” she lied to the man. “But since you’re so interested in crack-whores, why don’t you go see if you can find any?” The tingles were replaced by a sharp twist in her stomach. She looked away from the cop and down in the car, breathing through her mouth to keep her dinner down.

  “Officer, I—“ Sam spoke up, but what he’d been about to say was lost as the policeman straightened up and
walked away.

  “Damn it!” Sam swore again. “He’s probably going back there to call for backup and have me arrested. What on earth possessed you to say something like that?” Sam yelled.

  She ignored him. She couldn't breathe through her spell of nausea. She opened her car door and leaned out. Nothing came out but she was wracked for a few minutes with dry heaves. She spat out some bile and straightened slowly before leaning back into the car and shutting the door. Despite having eaten less than a couple hours ago, she realized she was hungry again.

  “What the hell?” Sam asked in confusion, no longer angry. For some reason, Tamara shivered.

  Sitting back up, Tamara saw the cop car fly past them, lights blaring into the night.

  “What did you do?” Sam demanded, turning to her, and meeting her gaze. She felt that twist again, but this time it was pale compared to the one a moment ago. Was she getting sick?

  "I— I don't know," she answered. "I felt like this when I left the hospital. Maybe too much seawater? Can that make you sick?"

  "Make you dead," Sam muttered. "But I brought you back."

  "You what?"

  Sam nodded. "You weren't breathing. You'd drowned. I did CPR on—"

  "How?"

  Sam raised an eyebrow? "CPR? You want me to teach you how to—"

  "No, I know what it is. How did you know how to do it to me?"

  He glanced away and sighed. "Army," he said with a shrug. "I was a combat medic."

  "Oh," she said. "Um, Sam? Thank you."

  The large man shook his head and put the car back into gear. The drive back was slow enough that Tamara didn't fear for her life.

  Sam remained silent for the rest of the drive, and even as he unlocked his front door, he moved almost like a man in a daze. Tamara was starting to worry about him. She followed him into the house and put her bags next to the couch he'd said she could sleep on. She turned and saw him heading straight for one of his cupboards. He pulled out a large bottle filled with a clear liquid.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. He was acting weird. Not angry, but calm. It was scary, not knowing what was going on with him. She wondered if coming back here was a bad idea. Brock and Subie had invited her to hang out with them, maybe she could walk to their hotel and find them. If they hadn't gone out again.

  “No,” he replied, startling her out of her thoughts. “This world is fucked up.” Putting the bottle to his lips, he tilted his head back and took a couple swallows before slamming it back down and gasping. Some of the liquid had escaped his lips and dripped off his chin. “And I’m just as fucked up as it is.” He took another swallow, and this time when he set the bottle down she could see the word “Vodka” on the label.

  “Can I have a shot?” she asked, walking up to him. After the way her day had gone, she could use a good shot, or twenty.

  “How old are you?” he demanded, scrutinizing her.

  She was starting to get sick of that question. “I’m old enough!” she informed him defensively.

  “Huh, maybe you are,” he grunted, and then turned around and rooted through one of his cupboards. A moment later he came up with a shot glass, and filled it for her. “Take it slow, this stu—“

  She ignored him, grabbing the glass and throwing the liquid down her gullet. Liquid fire coated her throat, and she bent over coughing the stuff back up. It hurt worse than her throat did after waking up on the beach!

  “I told you to take it easy,” Sam’s voice sounded above her, and a moment later she felt his strong hand patting her back.

  Whether it was the effect of the alcohol or his hand touching her, she felt her stomach warm and the tingle returned. She stood upright to look at him. Their eyes met, and suddenly everything seemed to grow quiet. Everything except for the steady drumbeat of her heart in her head.

  “Ah, damn it. I’m going to a special hell,” she heard him mutter, sending a thrill through her. She found her back pressed hard against the counter as his lips mashed against hers. The roughness of his goatee dug into her lips and cheeks, adding a level of delicious pain to the pleasure of the act. She could easily taste the vodka on his tongue as it dashed into her mouth.

  She wasn’t sure what had happened to change his mind about her, but she couldn’t wait to see what had made that large bulge in his pants earlier.