Escape (Billionaire Island)

Ten minutes later, I turned the doorknob.

I was familiar with Lucifer’s place. It was a beachfront house on a private beach with lots of security.

Security wasn’t a problem for me either. I’d spent the last several weeks studying the system. Lucifer never let me watch when he keyed in the code, but each number had a certain sound. I’d memorized the sounds and the position of his hands.

Yeah, that’s how badly I wanted out of there.

This man.

This man who, when I met him, I thought could be the one.

He was gorgeous and brilliant and rich.

He was also domineering and arrogant and tyrannical.

He was born into money, but once I got deep into his world, I found out he didn’t depend on family money.

Lucifer made his money in drugs.

The underground drug trade on the streets of LA.

Once I knew too much, he started locking me up.

“It’s because I love you,” he’d say. “I want to keep you safe.”

I believed him at first. Actually believed him! I was clouded by lust and by love.

Once he realized he could control me, he became even more autocratic.

Though he denied it, I was essentially his slave.

Now, I was free!

I disarmed the security system and left the house.

I left the house!

The first time I’d left the place without Lucifer since I moved in over a year prior.

I had no phone, no money, and only the clothes on my back.

But I had the will. The will to escape.

I also knew how to get off the property without being seen. I’d studied the video feeds Lucifer kept.

I knew how to get off his property undetected.

Once I was safely off his land, I found a crowded beach where no one would recognize me.

A lovely woman with two kids lounged near the lifeguard.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m so sorry, but my purse got stolen, and I need to call my brother to come get me. Could I borrow your phone?”

“Of course.” She smiled and handed me her cell phone.

“Thank you. I’ll only be a minute.” I walked away so I could talk in private.

One call.

To Buck.

That’s all it took.

Three hours later, I was on a plane to Billionaire Island.

10

Scotty

I followed her.

This island is safe, but still… She’s so scared of something or someone, so I wanted to make sure she got to her hut safely.

Damn.

Horny and off the clock. Not such a problem when you’re on an island of lovelies.

Except only one woman invades my mind.

Em, with her long dark hair, her searing brown eyes, her milky skin.

Normally I’d hang at the beach or at the bar, people watching, conversing, probably picking up a woman. Usually a staffer. Bedding the art colonists is pretty frowned upon, though I’ll admit I’ve done it a time or two. Or three.

My buddy Lyle is tending bar, so I pony up and take the last available stool next to Nemo, our server from the burger bar. He and Lyle are also my roommates. Well, not roommates so much as suitemates. Staffers share huts, but we each have our own bedroom, which is cool. I’m four years out of college and totally over the “hang a sock on the door if you’ve got a girl inside” days.

Lyle’s a blond surfer boy from LA but Nemo’s half Hawaiian like I am. He looks the part more than I do, though—black hair and dark brown eyes, tan skin. I got my dad’s hazel eyes and slightly fairer skin. The three of us have kind of become known among the staffers as the Island lotharios, to use Em’s word.

“You too, Scotty?” Lyle says, sliding an ice water in front of me. “What are the two most eligible beach bums doing here at the bar when you could be hooking up? What happened to that gorgeous hunkette you were with when you got off duty?”

“She’s tired. Went back to her hut.”

Lyle erupts into boisterous laughter. “You couldn’t seal the deal, huh?”

“You mean the chick you had dinner with?” Nemo asks. “Man, she’s a hottie.”

A hottie? A hunkette? Words I’ve used to describe women many times, but coming from the mouths of Lyle and Nemo, they seem immature and patronizing. I vow never to use them again.

“She’s got class,” I say.

“Too much class to hook up with the likes of you, huh?” Nemo punches my upper arm.

I love these guys, I do, but man, are hookups all they think about?

I can’t escape the irony of my thought.

Hookups are all I thought about until this evening. In fact, I was damned determined to get Em between the sheets.

I let her go.

Sure, I can say it was her obvious baggage, and that’s probably part of it.

But it’s way more than that.

I let her needs take precedence over my own. She wasn’t ready to be with me, so I let her go. I didn’t press her. Normally, I press a little more. I never force a woman, of course, but I can be very persuasive.