Devil's Island

by Jason Halstead

  Chapter 9

  Sam didn’t understand what was happening. He’d meant to goad her into working harder this morning, but Tamara had kicked his ass on that run. She hadn’t just kicked his ass, she’d trounced him! Where did she get that kind of endurance?

  “So, what’s for dinner?” Tamara asked from the passenger seat.

  He glanced at her, remembering their deal, and turned back to the road immediately. The image of her sitting there in that piece of cloth she called a swimsuit was etched into his brain. Her pale flat stomach below breasts that seemed fuller every time he saw them superimposed itself before him. He was distracted, and swerved to avoid hitting a car in the other lane. Damn driver was too close to the line anyway.

  No woman had the right to be that enticing. Especially not one as young as Tamara! The fact that she wanted him didn’t help matters at all. He realized his running shorts felt a little tight, and concentrated on the road again.

  Unfortunately the white lines on the road reminded him of her slender white legs. She had looked like a young goddess sprinting effortlessly in front of him. The bottom half of her swimsuit barely covered her small ass.

  Someone honked, bringing him back to the present.

  “Yeah, and back at you, fucker!” Sam yelled, returning the obscene gesture.

  “Are you okay?” Tamara asked, laying her hand on his thigh. Electricity entered him at the touch. He instinctively jerked away from the too-pleasant sensation. He had to put his foot back on the gas, but kept his thigh turned away from her.

  “What? Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” he blustered. He was a grown man. Why was he letting her get to him like this? “You, um, wanted to know about dinner. How does adzuki beans and forbidden rice, topped with marinated chicken breasts sound?” Why did he have to say breasts?

  I wonder if hers have gotten any firmer?

  “Yeah, that sounds fine.” He could tell from her tone that she wasn’t happy. He couldn’t bring himself to ask, afraid of where that conversation might lead.

  The rest of the short drive was quiet, allowing Sam to concentrate on the road with some sort of herculean effort.

  His phone buzzed as he walked through his front door. He was surprised to see that it was Latoya on the other end. She never called him this early, unless there was an emergency.

  “Don’t worry about coming in today,” she told him after he answered. He could tell she was stressed about something by her tone of voice. Very little stressed her out.

  “Am I fired?” he asked, his heart plummeting into his feet as he jumped to conclusions. “I thought I was doing better at controlling my anger. I promise I’ll be on time more often.”

  “What? No. God, no. You’re not fired.” His heart began to beat again in its proper place. “Something happened in one of the dolphin tanks last night. We’re closed for today, though the police are investigating it. I don’t think they’ll want you here cleaning up the crime scene.”

  “Crime scene?” He blurted before he could stop himself. Tamara was standing in front of him with one eyebrow raised. He rushed into his room, and locked the door behind him. “Are the dolphins alright? What about Dolly?”

  “Listen, Sam,” she told him firmly. He knew that tone of voice, too. She only used it when she wasn’t willing to be argued against. “I’ll tell you everything I can when I can. Right now, consider yourself on paid vacation. I know you can’t afford to take the time off, so I’ll work something out. I’ll let you know when you can come back to work.”

  She hung up before he could say anything back.

  Stunned, he sat on the edge of his bed and stared off into his thoughts. Something had happened to the dolphin tank and she wouldn’t tell him what. His mind worked up images of that rich kid deciding to go for a late night swim and drowning with the gentle creatures. Or worse, the dolphins flopping on the bottom of their tanks, gallons and gallons of water leaked out into the service tunnels. The fact that he thought the dolphins dying was worse than some poor, obnoxious, spoiled kid drowning probably said something about him, but he didn’t care.

  Shouldn’t the security cameras have seen something?

  “Sam.” Tamara knocked. “Are you alright in there?” There was genuine concern in her tone. For a split second, he thought to open the door and let her in, but in his current state, he realized that might not be such a good idea.

  “Yeah,” he lied. “It was just work calling to let me know I could take the day off. I’m going to jump in the shower. You can have it next.”

  “I could join you. Return the favor from last night.” Her offer almost sounded innocent. Almost. He knew if they showered together the only cleaning they would do was with his pistol until it went off.

  “No, I can manage. Thanks though.” He wasted no more time un-strapping his prosthetic and getting into the shower. Despite his work related woes he couldn’t stop his mind from replaying the shower with Tamara last night. He knew she wanted him, she’d made that clear enough. And despite having already fallen under her spell once before he was reluctant to do so again. Even if it had been some of the best sex he’d had in his life.

  Was it his morals that were stopping him? If so, he had already crossed that line, so why stop now?

  The image of his ex-wife packing up their car—his car—tumbled through his mind, and he understood. He’d already lost too many people that were important to him in his life. His wife, his kids, his army buddies. . . . All gone in one way or another. If he let her in, truly let her in, he would lose her too. He was cursed, and it wasn’t fair to do that to her.

  By the time he stepped out of the shower, his cock was back to its usual size. Well, normal before he’d met Tamara.

  When he was dressed and stepped out of his bedroom, he could smell something burning.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded, heading into his tiny kitchen.

  “I was going to make you breakfast,” Tamara said uncertainly. “I thought it might cheer you up.” As she spoke, she opened the oven and smoke billowed out. Before he could think to stop her, she reached in and grabbed a pan out.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded, running to her. By the time he was at her side, she’d already set the pan down. He grabbed her wrist, and turned her hand to look at it. He had some burn cream in his bathroom, but if she’d hurt herself bad enough, he’d have to drive her to the hospital.

  Her hand was unblemished.

  “I told you, I was trying to make breakfast,” she pouted, yanking her hand back.

  Sam looked at the pan. It was still smoking. Whatever had been on it was a blackened crisp.

  “I don’t—“ he started to say, but was cut off when the fire alarm finally sounded. If this had been a real emergency, I would have been burned up by the time the alarm went off! he thought. He was going to have a talk with his landlord.

  “Open a window,” he ordered her, while he went and opened the front door. They both grabbed towels and started waving the smoke out, until the alarm finally quieted.

  “What were you trying to make?” Sam asked when he could be heard without yelling.

  “I found some breakfast sandwiches in the freezer. I tried to follow the instructions, but—“ she waved her hand at the charred lump.

  “Did you take it out of the box?” Looking at the burned mass now, he could make out the remains of the cardboard container. “Never mind. From now on, I think I’ll do all the cooking.” Oddly, he wasn’t too angry about the situation. Compared to having a mandatory day off because something had happened to his dolphins, a burned breakfast was nothing. Besides, nothing bad had come of it.

  “So what are you making for breakfast?” Tamara asked a little too cheerfully. She could act a little more contrite, at least.

  “A bowl of cereal,” he stated, and then suited actions to words. Not the healthiest breakfast, but it would do.

  “So, are you going to tell me what that call was about?” Tamara asked after sipping her milk from t
he bowl.

  For a few minutes, Sam had been able to forget about work. He grimaced, remembering what Latoya had said. A crime scene.

  “Seems I get the day off.” He tried to sound happy about it.

  “Great!” Tamara said, and Sam groaned. Until now, he hadn’t thought about what a day off meant. An entire day with her, cooped up in his tiny house, unless he went out. Sam hated going out in public. There were too many unknowns. Anything could happen. Anything could explode. Looking at Tamara’s excited face, he knew they needed to be somewhere public. Somewhere he would be less tempted to rip that tiny excuse of a swimsuit off her, and have his way with her.

  “Go shower,” he told her, ripping his eyes away from her heaving bosom. “We’ll go to the sports store, and get you something better to workout in.”

  “You’re welcome to join me,” she teased as she headed to his room.

  “The longer you wait, the longer before we can go shopping,” he told her, ignoring her offer. He got up and walked to his couch doing his best not to look at her ass as she left. He hoped the prospect of shopping would outweigh her desire to seduce him. Goodness knows his ex preferred spending his money, rather than rolling around together.

  For a second, he thought about calling his son. He hadn’t talked to Sammy Jr. in a while, but a glance at the clock showed that it was still too early on the west coast. Damn her for moving so far away!

  “I’m ready,” Tamara informed him. He was almost afraid to look her way, afraid she would be completely nude again. Instead, she was in one of his overlarge shirts, and a pair of her pants. His shirt somehow made her more alluring, with it hanging off one shoulder, and showing her bra strap. Her dark hair was pulled back into a short tail by one of the zip ties he kept in his room. He couldn’t help but notice how much her face had filled out. He had tried goading her by calling her fat earlier, but she was still far from anything remotely resembling chubbiness.

  Naturally, because that was the type of day this was turning out to be, they ran into rush hour traffic. By the time they made it to the mall, his nerves were shot and he wanted to break anything he could get his hands onto.

  Unfortunately, his car and Tamara were the only things at hand. One he couldn’t afford to break, and the other he wanted to do other things to.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck it all!” Sam shouted when they got to the doors. Looking around, he saw what he should have noticed at first, but had been too wound up. The parking lot was practically empty. The store wouldn’t open for another half-hour.

  “Relax,” Tamara told him, placing her hand on his arm. Despite the jolt that ran through him, he didn’t pull away. “You’re so tense!”

  He closed his eyes, and concentrated on his breathing, until he calmed down.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Such an innocent question, and yet so dangerous. He couldn’t talk to her about how every minute with her was a struggle to keep his hands off her. How he was worried about the dolphins he worked with, or about all of his issues with his ex-wife. He really didn’t feel like talking about his experiences in Afghanistan, either.

  “No,” he told her, letting the finality in his voice stop her from pursuing that question.

  They waited in an uncomfortable silence until the store opened.

  “Go find something better to run in, but don’t make me go broke,” he told her, pointing to the clothing section. He had somewhere else he wanted to look.

  “Mr. Mendez, you know I can’t sell to you,” the gray-haired clerk behind the gun counter stated when he saw Sam.

  “Just looking,” he told the ornery man. Due to one angry night before his ex stole his kids away, he couldn’t pass the background check. It didn’t matter, though. There were other ways to get guns. He just liked window shopping.

  “I’m ready to go,” Tamara said, appearing at his side unexpectedly a while later. The clerk gave her an odd look, but said nothing.

  “What did you find?” Sam asked, worried about how much this was going to cost him.

  “Just this bra and these shorts,” she told him. What she had in her hands weren’t shorts, but they weren’t panties, either. At least they covered more than her swimsuit had.

  He paid for the two articles, and they headed for the exit.

  “I’m sorry miss, but you’re going to have to come with me.”

  Sam turned to see a large man in a security uniform with his hand on Tamara’s shoulder.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Sam demanded, shouldering the man away from her.

  “A customer spotted her shoving merchandise under her shirt,” he said.

  “Do you have any proof?” Sam asked. He really hoped she hadn’t stolen anything, but seeing the way the security guard had manhandled her pissed him off.

  “She just needs to show me that she doesn’t. . . .” he trailed off, looking at Tamara, and then shook his head. “You know what? I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding. I see you paid for some stuff, so I’m sure the other customer was just confused.”

  The guard turned and walked away.

  “What was that about?” Sam asked, turning to look at Tamara. She was holding her stomach, and looking just as confused as he felt.

  “I don’t know,” she told him, and took off running for the car. “Race ya!” she shouted over her shoulder.

  He didn’t have his running prosthetic on, so he didn’t even bother. He did notice that her shoes looked newer than what he remembered buying at the thrift shop a couple days ago.

  Maybe she just cleaned them up, he thought as he unlocked his car.