Page 44 of Boneyard HEA

“What about staying for lunch?” Tomás says as the warm water pours over my back while I lean my hands on the glass wall.

I’m aching, stinging even, here and there, especially my butt, but I’m stupidly happy. Maybe they sucked out my brain with their cocks. I sigh and turn over, lean my back against the glass as I peer down my front, lifting my breasts, and noting all the places I’ve been pinched, sucked on, and bitten.

Fuck, I am crazy.

“No. I’d want to go punch Karsten. He went over the line, sending his man to instruct me on what to do to her. You want to stay? You can.”

“No.”

Instead of returning to the party, we turn left outside the bathroom, and return to the foyer, then head past the reception desk. No words are exchanged with the staff who only smile and hand back their belongings. We descend the front steps and wait for a valet to fetch our vehicle. I’m placed in the rear seat with Mr. Loxland, this time, and he has me lie with my head on his lap.

It’s strangely comforting.

“We have to have another talk when we get back.”

When I nod, my hair makes rustling sounds on his pants. I put my hand on his thigh, just above his knee.

“Lunch first,” Tomás says from the driver’s seat. “You’re making me miss whatever they have arranged here, and it’s always good.”

“Lunch first,” Mr. Loxland agrees.

The mention of food reminds me of our breakfast on the ferry, that seems a long time ago. Whatever this Karsten Drummond said to them has changed things.

The car engine starts and the tires grate then we rumble down the road.

“I’m being lenient with you,” he says, then he sighs. “Fuck, Karsten.”

After a moment, he wraps his hand over the top of my fingers and closes it. We’re holding hands? I have to smile, even if I might have to leave them soon.

16

Juniper

I’m sitting on the balcony with them, eating from a picnic-style lunch the hotel provided. Cold chicken and salad on squashy fresh buns, gourmet cheeses…yum, and sliced fruit and Danish pastries. Since wearing no underwear is hazardous with the sand that seems everywhere out here—and how does it even get up on the second floor—I’m wearing a pink floral bikini.

A shop to the left, where the bikini came from, sells swimwear and little dresses. I’d love to browse among the clothes some more, try on and buy a few more.

I’ve chosen a chair beside the glass railing, with the street a few yards below. It’s busier now with people shopping, and consuming coffees and cakes in the café I can see from here. Beyond the palm trees fringing the beach, the restless sea rushes at the shore before ebbing and sucking back out, the sun glinting off the smoother patches of water.

It’s peaceful up here, munching on delicious food, even if the men have been treating me…like an object?

Like a woman they can order about and fuck when they want to?

But they are feeding me. I amuse myself again by wondering why I’m obeying. There is a novel enjoyment in being the center of their attention and lovemaking, if I can call it lovemaking. Festive furious fucking? I need a new description.

Apart from having to show off the bikini, once I put it on, and wear the collar, they’ve stopped making me do things like crawl on the floor.

When I question that, Mr. Loxland dismisses it with a dryly worded, “Maybe later tonight, on the beach, when we get you to run. After we catch you, we can tie you to a tree and do ‘things’.” He waves his hand vaguely at the ‘things’.

Run from them? I should do that anyway.

I muse as they sip their cappuccinos that Mr. Loxland sourced from the café. My own iced frappe trickles condensation onto the circular glass table, and I prop my bare feet on the timber rail of the glass balustrade.

They’ve been idly discussing the Karsten incident, without asking me much.

Funny how reluctant I am to do what I’ve decided to do. I have reasons, and I’ve run through them over and over. Chances are I may get reported to the cops after this. Too many people know I’ve probably done something bad to Nathan.

It’s time, and I’m not sure of this at all. Be brave? That seems ridiculous when I’ve already killed a man. Though that happened on the spur of the moment when I was alone. Am I brave or am I just stupid?