Undefeated, page 16
“Yes,” Robert says, his brow creased.
A shadow underwater catches my attention and fear races up my spine. Shark! Is my first thought. But I quickly realize it’s a person. Shifting to better face it, I take in a slow deep breath. I’m not a super strong swimmer but at least that dress is gone. My gun is too, though...
Brock’s head pops up, his bandages missing but the butterfly bandages still pinch his skin together. That must hurt in the salt water, but Brock’s face doesn’t show pain. “I didn’t see anyone emerge from the trees, sir.”
“Why wouldn’t they follow us out—knowing we must be disarmed by the water?” Robert asks.
“I don’t know.”
They stare at each other, some silent communication passing between them again. “Are they just fucking with us?” I ask.
Robert turns to me. “What do you mean?”
“Is it possible Fernando doesn’t want you dead? He just wants to fuck up your life?”
Robert blinks at me. Water caught in his lashes slides off onto his cheeks. “That’s…”
“I know it sounds crazy, but you don’t want to kill him. Maybe he doesn’t want to kill you.”
The whine of the speedboat slows as it approaches the dock. Brock disappears under the water again, I assume to swim out to his arriving team.
“You had extra men on a boat but not on the land?”
“We have men on the land,” Robert says.
“Where are they?”
“Probably in the trees killing those motherfuckers,” Robert says, his tone harsher than normal. He’s rattled by these constant assassination attempts. While used to danger, he’s not used to being hunted…
My arms and legs start to ache. Blue still circles. “I hate hiding,” I say, my chin dipping into the water with each word.
“Me too,” Robert agrees, then narrows his eyes at me. “We are not going out there. I pay for protection. We are going to let them protect us.” His head, like mine, is the only part of him out of the water.
“Fine,” I say, feeling my son move inside me. The boat idles at the end of the dock, about twenty feet away from us.
Brock reappears. “Our ground team has taken out three people in the trees.”
“Are there any left?” Robert asks.
“Unknown,” Brock answers. “I’d like to move you and Mrs. Maxim to a secure location. We can take you back to your room—I’ll have men secure it from the land first and we will bring you by boat. Then we will finish clearing the landscape before moving you off island. I think it’s best if we evacuate you both.”
“I’ll stay,” Robert says. “She will go.”
Brock nods. “Follow me.”
We swim under the dock to the speedboat, Blue staying right by my side. There are two men on board, their faces painted in green and black camouflage paint, their bodies thickened by armor. They wear helmets and submachine guns hang from straps off their arms. They look like a nightmare—and they are our protection.
One of them reaches out a hand to help me aboard. I take it—my wet skin is slippery, but he grabs my wrist with his other hand and hauls me up like I weigh nothing. “Thanks,” I say.
He nods, his gaze traveling down my body, then quickly darting away. Dripping wet in my underpants and bra, I shiver as the breeze touches my exposed skin.
I glance around the boat hoping to spot a towel. It’s about twenty-four feet long with a rigid inflatable exterior—the better for ramming into things. There is a center console for steering and seats in the front and back. Metal equipment boxes are secured to the inner sides.
Brock, dripping wet, his latest Hawaiian shirt soaking and stuck to his body, moves past me and opens one of the cases. Pulling out a pistol, he turns back to me and holds it out. How thoughtful.
I take it and smile. “Got a towel?” I ask.
His eyes flicker over my body and then race back to my face. “Yeah,” he says. “Let me find one.” He turns to the two armored men. “Jacobs.” The one who helped me out turns to him while the other works with Robert to get Blue on board.
He’s got his paw over the side and Robert is pushing from the water while the other guy hauls him up. Blue scrambles over the black rubber and lands in the boat. He straightens himself and then shakes, spraying us all down.
“Fuck,” Jacobs says eloquently as he pulls a stack of towels out from under one of the seats. “That dog is huge.”
Robert hauls himself up on the rubbery gunwale, his white shirt slicked to his body. My mouth goes dry and I look away—when trying to avoid sleeping with my husband, it’s a good idea not to watch him pull himself from the water in a white shirt all Mr.-Darcy-after-a-swim-in the-pond style.
Jacobs hands me a towel and I wrap it around my shoulders, burrowing into it for a moment to warm up. Blue moves to my side. He looks so much smaller wet. He’s got an over-loved stuffed animal look to him. I smile down at him. His tongue flops out of his mouth as he smiles back.
“Sydney,” Robert says, his hand landing on my back. “Sit down, we need to keep moving.”
I wrap the towel around my body, freeing my arms, and, still holding the gun Brock gave me, take one of the seats in the front. Robert sits next to me and Blue settles at my feet, his wet chin landing on my foot.
“The sandals stayed on,” I say, impressed with Robert’s knot tying.
“But the dress did not,” Robert notes. “That was a part of my plan for the evening, but I didn’t envision it happening like this.”
I pause a beat, recalibrating, and then respond. “Well, the night’s not over yet.” I use the same neutral tone he did, as if I didn’t just suggest that I might go along with his “me naked except my sandals” plan.
Robert turns to me, his gaze on the side of my face as I keep my focus forward. The engines move from idle into drive and the sound ramps up. Robert doesn’t say anything, he just keeps staring at me. I resist the urge to meet his gaze. Two can play this game.
The boat moves away from the dock and speeds up so that the wind forces my wet hair to fly out behind me. I shudder from the chill.
Robert moves closer, his arm coming around my shoulders and pulling me into him. It’s warmer with our bodies touching so I don’t pull away. I settle more fully into the side of him. For the warmth.
His lips brush the top of my head in a gentle kiss. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, but close enough that I can hear it over the roar of the engines and wind.
“For what?” I ask. “Being such an asshole that your own kid is trying to kill you?”
Robert breathes out a soft laugh. “No, for not getting you fed.”
I sit back, looking into his face. Away from his body the wind tugs at me, throwing my hair around my face and whipping it into my eyes. Robert smiles at me, his arm still around me, though the hold is loose. As if he is patiently waiting for me to come close again.
I swallow sudden emotion and blink quickly.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “Nothing,” I say it again, trying to convince myself it is nothing. That this is just a game. A game I can win.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I’m on another plane. It’s a one-engine Cessna, not as luxurious as the helicopter from Robert’s friend’s yacht—in fact it smells kind of like french fries. The pilot, Bill, is only an arm’s length away. I could reach over his seat and tickle his ears. He owns this little thing. It’s not tall enough to stand up in and barely wide enough for Blue and me to sit side by side. But it was all we could get on such short notice. And I like it. I like the scent, the sound, and the pilot.
“How you doing back there?” he asks me.
“Great!” I yell over the drone of the propeller.
It’s practically morning now. Robert and I waited in our suite while his team cleared the island. He spent most of that time on his phone, texting and occasionally taking calls in foreign languages while I changed back into my own clothing and demolished the non-alcoholic half of the mini-bar.
Blue enjoyed the beef jerky, but we are both still hungry. “How much longer?” I ask, glancing at my phone. It’s almost out of battery.
“Only about forty-five minutes,” Bill says, turning his head slightly to address me.
Probably in his sixties, Bill has a ring of gray hair and a full beard in salt and pepper. His belly extends almost to his controls but at about an inch shorter than me he fits in the small craft perfectly.
He’s taking me to the Cook Islands where a Joyful Justice member will meet me and take me to the island. I’m exhausted and starving. “Think I’ll be able to get anything to eat there?”
“Sorry, not at this hour.”
“Fair enough,” I say, sitting back into my seat and letting my gaze wander out the window at the sea not all that far below us.
When I left, Robert kissed me. It didn’t feel new anymore. It felt…not normal either. But…I close my eyes, trying to not think about it and failing.
Robert’s hand at my waist, his fingers in my hair, his lips on mine, our bodies pressed together. Fuck, I am totally going to sleep with him. Unless he gets killed first. Vibration from my bag pulls me from my thoughts.
“What the?” I ask, looking at my phone in my hand as though it may have an answer as to how a phone is also vibrating in my bag. Putting it down, I unzip the duffel and follow the sensation to a black handset with a little knobby antenna on top. A satellite phone. Robert snuck a fucking phone into my bag. The screen is illuminated with just a number, no name or image attached.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Sydney,” Robert’s voice comes over the line.
“You put a phone in my bag?” I ask.
“Dan doesn’t need to know everything we discuss, Sydney. We are husband and wife.”
“You know I’m not bringing this thing to the island with me, right? I may think the internet is a bunch of pneumatic tubes shooting information around the globe, but I also understand that phones can be tracked. Dan has drilled that into my head.”
“If I wanted to know the location of the island that badly, Syd, I wouldn’t have called you on this phone. I would have just placed a tracking device in your bag.”
“How do I know you didn’t do that?” He sighs, as if I’m tiresome. “You just expect me to trust you. Why? Why would that make sense for me?”
“Well, Sydney, it would make your life a lot easier.” His voice isn’t harsh but it’s on the road to pissed. But I’m tired and I’m hungry and I’m confused about what I feel when he kisses me. So fuck Robert Maxim and the sat phone he snuck in my bag.
“You’re an overbearing, arrogant, toxic fuck!” I yell louder than I mean to. Bill glances over his shoulder at me, his eyes kind and worried. He raises his brows, questioning if I’m okay.
I shake my head to silently communicate that I’m fine. I’m fucking fine.
Robert chuckles over the line. Chuckles. “You’re upset about what happened. Regretting how you feel for me, Sydney, is almost as much of a waste of time as not trusting me.”
My blood boils. “You don’t get to have everything you want, Robert.”
“Why not?” he asks.
“Because I won’t let you.”
“Why not?” he asks again. “Why can’t we have everything we want? What’s wrong with that?”
“I didn’t say we, Robert, I said you.”
He chuckles again and I grind my teeth. “But Sydney, we want the same things—we want each other. You want to trust me and I want you to. You want to fuck me, and I really want you to.”
“I want to burn it all down,” I say, my voice low and dangerous.
“I will pour the gasoline, my love.” I cough a laugh. “But if you want to strike that match, you’re going to have to recognize what you actually want first. What kind of a feminist denies herself what she wants? Are you afraid of being a slut?”
“No,” I say, far too quickly.
“Then you’re afraid I’ll hurt you. Which implies I have the power to do so.”
“No,” I say again, slower this time. “You can’t hurt me,” I affirm, for myself as much as for him.
There are voices in the background and Robert says something muffled. “I have to go,” he says.
“Are you going to interview the…crew mate,” I say leaving out the word captive. Bill doesn’t need to know about that—he already knows enough about my personal life, no need to fill him in on the criminal elements of said life.
“Yes,” Robert says. “Want me to call you with an update?”
Oh what a tricky question. He knows I want to know—those fuckers tried to kill me. They shot at Blue! But if I say yes, then it’s implying I care if he gets killed. Which I guess he already knows…since I admitted my feelings to him. How can I be in love with a man I don’t trust? What the fuck is this crazy emotion?
“Not on this phone,” I answer. “I’m trashing it as soon as we land.”
“As you wish, my love.”
Before I can tell him not to call me that, Robert hangs up. I roll my lips and stare down at the handset for a long moment before shoving it back in my bag.
“Everything okay?” Bill asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah,” I say again, nodding to myself. Everything is fine.
The plane drones on. I close my eyes and drift between sleep and awareness of the noise and vibrations of the small craft.
“Joy,” James’s voice reaches into my mind. The scene coalesces into his backyard in Brooklyn. The small round table holds a pitcher of margaritas—tonight’s are yellow, so probably passion fruit—and I’m in the rickety chair I sat in when we were both alive, young, and I’d never killed anyone.
“Hey,” I say, smiling. “Good to see you.”
He grins. “I made your favorite.” He gestures to a plate of appetizers and I lean forward, grabbing a pig in a blanket, my mouth watering. I pop it in my mouth—the salty hot dog and the sweet pastry dance on my tongue.
“You’re too good to me,” I say through my chewing.
“I know.” James acknowledges his own amazingness with a shrug. “You need to take better care of yourself,” he admonishes me. “I suggest you start carrying snacks.” He smiles. “You’re going to have to for the kid anyway.”
I roll my eyes. “What do you know about having kids?”
“I helped raise you, remember.”
“True,” I admit. James pours me a margarita and tops off his own glass. I pick up my cup and hold it up. James clinks his against mine.
“To your son,” James says.
“Drinking margaritas to the baby growing inside of me…” I laugh.
“It’s just a dream, Joy. You can do whatever you want without consequence.” He emphasizes that last part, hinting at the consequences on the other side of this dream.
“Meaning what?” I ask, knowing what he’s going to say.
“You’re in love with both of them.” James starts to recap my life in the way he always could—laying out facts as if they were not attached to feelings. “Robert seems fine with that. Understanding, even. He may want other lovers too.”
I roll my eyes. “Did you just say lovers?”
“Are you jealous?” James raises a brow and sips his margarita.
“No,” I grab another pig in a blanket and fill my mouth before I can say more. But James is too good for that trick and he just sits there, half smirk in place, waiting for me to spill my guts. “I’m not,” I say around the food, not capable of holding out even for the length of time it takes to swallow a mini hot dog.
James blinks and waits. I sigh. “It’s not jealousy, I don’t think. I just. It’s so complicated.”
“What is? Actually getting what you want?”
I frown at him. “Mulberry isn’t on board.”
“That’s true. He is not willing to give you what you want and Robert is…yet you only feel good about sleeping with one of them.” James sips his margarita again. “What’s that about? Why do you only want to sleep with the man who doesn’t want to give you what you want?”
“Robert only wants to give me what I want so that he gets what he wants,” I answer.
“Isn’t that how the world works?” James asks. “Certainly, you wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with someone who was only thinking of your needs. It’s a two-way street, takes two to tango, and all those clichés.” James twirls his hand in a circle as if to encompass all clichés that imply we must give to receive and vice versa.
“He’s controlling.”
James tilts his head. “You kind of like it, don’t you?”
“No!”
James laughs. “He never actually controls you. And don’t you like the game? Just a little?” He shrugs. “It’s playful almost.”
“Almost,” I mutter. “He forced me into marriage—“
“To save you from prison…” James sips his margarita, waiting for my next argument.
“Robert is…I mean, James, he has tried to kill me!”
“That’s old news, Sydney. You’ve tried to kill him.”
“You don’t like him, do you?” I ask, shock in my voice.
“Like him?” James looks up, thinking. “It’s not about like, it’s about what works for you. It’s about you acknowledging what you want and getting it.”
I snort-cough on a sip of margarita. “I don’t know what works for me.”
“And you never will unless you try it on. I mean, what’s the worst thing that could happen if you sleep with him? If you try to give your relationship a chance.”
“I’ll hate myself.” The words come out fast and sure.
“Oh?” James says. “Now we are getting somewhere. Why would you hate yourself?”
“I’m not some prize, and that’s how he treats me. If I sleep with him then he will have won me.”
“Hmmm, is that true?”
“I think so.” I sip my margarita again, the sweetness of the passion fruit mixed with the bite of tequila relaxing me. “Besides, he’s a predator, James. If I sleep with him, he’ll probably lose interest.”
“Wouldn’t that be good then?” James asks. “Look.” He leans forward, putting his empty glass on the table and reaching for the pitcher to refill it. String lights twinkle in the tree above us. The back sections of brownstones rise up on either side, their windows lit—people inside living lives. “If he got bored with you then it would be over. You’d figure out a way to live separate lives—”
A shadow underwater catches my attention and fear races up my spine. Shark! Is my first thought. But I quickly realize it’s a person. Shifting to better face it, I take in a slow deep breath. I’m not a super strong swimmer but at least that dress is gone. My gun is too, though...
Brock’s head pops up, his bandages missing but the butterfly bandages still pinch his skin together. That must hurt in the salt water, but Brock’s face doesn’t show pain. “I didn’t see anyone emerge from the trees, sir.”
“Why wouldn’t they follow us out—knowing we must be disarmed by the water?” Robert asks.
“I don’t know.”
They stare at each other, some silent communication passing between them again. “Are they just fucking with us?” I ask.
Robert turns to me. “What do you mean?”
“Is it possible Fernando doesn’t want you dead? He just wants to fuck up your life?”
Robert blinks at me. Water caught in his lashes slides off onto his cheeks. “That’s…”
“I know it sounds crazy, but you don’t want to kill him. Maybe he doesn’t want to kill you.”
The whine of the speedboat slows as it approaches the dock. Brock disappears under the water again, I assume to swim out to his arriving team.
“You had extra men on a boat but not on the land?”
“We have men on the land,” Robert says.
“Where are they?”
“Probably in the trees killing those motherfuckers,” Robert says, his tone harsher than normal. He’s rattled by these constant assassination attempts. While used to danger, he’s not used to being hunted…
My arms and legs start to ache. Blue still circles. “I hate hiding,” I say, my chin dipping into the water with each word.
“Me too,” Robert agrees, then narrows his eyes at me. “We are not going out there. I pay for protection. We are going to let them protect us.” His head, like mine, is the only part of him out of the water.
“Fine,” I say, feeling my son move inside me. The boat idles at the end of the dock, about twenty feet away from us.
Brock reappears. “Our ground team has taken out three people in the trees.”
“Are there any left?” Robert asks.
“Unknown,” Brock answers. “I’d like to move you and Mrs. Maxim to a secure location. We can take you back to your room—I’ll have men secure it from the land first and we will bring you by boat. Then we will finish clearing the landscape before moving you off island. I think it’s best if we evacuate you both.”
“I’ll stay,” Robert says. “She will go.”
Brock nods. “Follow me.”
We swim under the dock to the speedboat, Blue staying right by my side. There are two men on board, their faces painted in green and black camouflage paint, their bodies thickened by armor. They wear helmets and submachine guns hang from straps off their arms. They look like a nightmare—and they are our protection.
One of them reaches out a hand to help me aboard. I take it—my wet skin is slippery, but he grabs my wrist with his other hand and hauls me up like I weigh nothing. “Thanks,” I say.
He nods, his gaze traveling down my body, then quickly darting away. Dripping wet in my underpants and bra, I shiver as the breeze touches my exposed skin.
I glance around the boat hoping to spot a towel. It’s about twenty-four feet long with a rigid inflatable exterior—the better for ramming into things. There is a center console for steering and seats in the front and back. Metal equipment boxes are secured to the inner sides.
Brock, dripping wet, his latest Hawaiian shirt soaking and stuck to his body, moves past me and opens one of the cases. Pulling out a pistol, he turns back to me and holds it out. How thoughtful.
I take it and smile. “Got a towel?” I ask.
His eyes flicker over my body and then race back to my face. “Yeah,” he says. “Let me find one.” He turns to the two armored men. “Jacobs.” The one who helped me out turns to him while the other works with Robert to get Blue on board.
He’s got his paw over the side and Robert is pushing from the water while the other guy hauls him up. Blue scrambles over the black rubber and lands in the boat. He straightens himself and then shakes, spraying us all down.
“Fuck,” Jacobs says eloquently as he pulls a stack of towels out from under one of the seats. “That dog is huge.”
Robert hauls himself up on the rubbery gunwale, his white shirt slicked to his body. My mouth goes dry and I look away—when trying to avoid sleeping with my husband, it’s a good idea not to watch him pull himself from the water in a white shirt all Mr.-Darcy-after-a-swim-in the-pond style.
Jacobs hands me a towel and I wrap it around my shoulders, burrowing into it for a moment to warm up. Blue moves to my side. He looks so much smaller wet. He’s got an over-loved stuffed animal look to him. I smile down at him. His tongue flops out of his mouth as he smiles back.
“Sydney,” Robert says, his hand landing on my back. “Sit down, we need to keep moving.”
I wrap the towel around my body, freeing my arms, and, still holding the gun Brock gave me, take one of the seats in the front. Robert sits next to me and Blue settles at my feet, his wet chin landing on my foot.
“The sandals stayed on,” I say, impressed with Robert’s knot tying.
“But the dress did not,” Robert notes. “That was a part of my plan for the evening, but I didn’t envision it happening like this.”
I pause a beat, recalibrating, and then respond. “Well, the night’s not over yet.” I use the same neutral tone he did, as if I didn’t just suggest that I might go along with his “me naked except my sandals” plan.
Robert turns to me, his gaze on the side of my face as I keep my focus forward. The engines move from idle into drive and the sound ramps up. Robert doesn’t say anything, he just keeps staring at me. I resist the urge to meet his gaze. Two can play this game.
The boat moves away from the dock and speeds up so that the wind forces my wet hair to fly out behind me. I shudder from the chill.
Robert moves closer, his arm coming around my shoulders and pulling me into him. It’s warmer with our bodies touching so I don’t pull away. I settle more fully into the side of him. For the warmth.
His lips brush the top of my head in a gentle kiss. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, but close enough that I can hear it over the roar of the engines and wind.
“For what?” I ask. “Being such an asshole that your own kid is trying to kill you?”
Robert breathes out a soft laugh. “No, for not getting you fed.”
I sit back, looking into his face. Away from his body the wind tugs at me, throwing my hair around my face and whipping it into my eyes. Robert smiles at me, his arm still around me, though the hold is loose. As if he is patiently waiting for me to come close again.
I swallow sudden emotion and blink quickly.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “Nothing,” I say it again, trying to convince myself it is nothing. That this is just a game. A game I can win.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I’m on another plane. It’s a one-engine Cessna, not as luxurious as the helicopter from Robert’s friend’s yacht—in fact it smells kind of like french fries. The pilot, Bill, is only an arm’s length away. I could reach over his seat and tickle his ears. He owns this little thing. It’s not tall enough to stand up in and barely wide enough for Blue and me to sit side by side. But it was all we could get on such short notice. And I like it. I like the scent, the sound, and the pilot.
“How you doing back there?” he asks me.
“Great!” I yell over the drone of the propeller.
It’s practically morning now. Robert and I waited in our suite while his team cleared the island. He spent most of that time on his phone, texting and occasionally taking calls in foreign languages while I changed back into my own clothing and demolished the non-alcoholic half of the mini-bar.
Blue enjoyed the beef jerky, but we are both still hungry. “How much longer?” I ask, glancing at my phone. It’s almost out of battery.
“Only about forty-five minutes,” Bill says, turning his head slightly to address me.
Probably in his sixties, Bill has a ring of gray hair and a full beard in salt and pepper. His belly extends almost to his controls but at about an inch shorter than me he fits in the small craft perfectly.
He’s taking me to the Cook Islands where a Joyful Justice member will meet me and take me to the island. I’m exhausted and starving. “Think I’ll be able to get anything to eat there?”
“Sorry, not at this hour.”
“Fair enough,” I say, sitting back into my seat and letting my gaze wander out the window at the sea not all that far below us.
When I left, Robert kissed me. It didn’t feel new anymore. It felt…not normal either. But…I close my eyes, trying to not think about it and failing.
Robert’s hand at my waist, his fingers in my hair, his lips on mine, our bodies pressed together. Fuck, I am totally going to sleep with him. Unless he gets killed first. Vibration from my bag pulls me from my thoughts.
“What the?” I ask, looking at my phone in my hand as though it may have an answer as to how a phone is also vibrating in my bag. Putting it down, I unzip the duffel and follow the sensation to a black handset with a little knobby antenna on top. A satellite phone. Robert snuck a fucking phone into my bag. The screen is illuminated with just a number, no name or image attached.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Sydney,” Robert’s voice comes over the line.
“You put a phone in my bag?” I ask.
“Dan doesn’t need to know everything we discuss, Sydney. We are husband and wife.”
“You know I’m not bringing this thing to the island with me, right? I may think the internet is a bunch of pneumatic tubes shooting information around the globe, but I also understand that phones can be tracked. Dan has drilled that into my head.”
“If I wanted to know the location of the island that badly, Syd, I wouldn’t have called you on this phone. I would have just placed a tracking device in your bag.”
“How do I know you didn’t do that?” He sighs, as if I’m tiresome. “You just expect me to trust you. Why? Why would that make sense for me?”
“Well, Sydney, it would make your life a lot easier.” His voice isn’t harsh but it’s on the road to pissed. But I’m tired and I’m hungry and I’m confused about what I feel when he kisses me. So fuck Robert Maxim and the sat phone he snuck in my bag.
“You’re an overbearing, arrogant, toxic fuck!” I yell louder than I mean to. Bill glances over his shoulder at me, his eyes kind and worried. He raises his brows, questioning if I’m okay.
I shake my head to silently communicate that I’m fine. I’m fucking fine.
Robert chuckles over the line. Chuckles. “You’re upset about what happened. Regretting how you feel for me, Sydney, is almost as much of a waste of time as not trusting me.”
My blood boils. “You don’t get to have everything you want, Robert.”
“Why not?” he asks.
“Because I won’t let you.”
“Why not?” he asks again. “Why can’t we have everything we want? What’s wrong with that?”
“I didn’t say we, Robert, I said you.”
He chuckles again and I grind my teeth. “But Sydney, we want the same things—we want each other. You want to trust me and I want you to. You want to fuck me, and I really want you to.”
“I want to burn it all down,” I say, my voice low and dangerous.
“I will pour the gasoline, my love.” I cough a laugh. “But if you want to strike that match, you’re going to have to recognize what you actually want first. What kind of a feminist denies herself what she wants? Are you afraid of being a slut?”
“No,” I say, far too quickly.
“Then you’re afraid I’ll hurt you. Which implies I have the power to do so.”
“No,” I say again, slower this time. “You can’t hurt me,” I affirm, for myself as much as for him.
There are voices in the background and Robert says something muffled. “I have to go,” he says.
“Are you going to interview the…crew mate,” I say leaving out the word captive. Bill doesn’t need to know about that—he already knows enough about my personal life, no need to fill him in on the criminal elements of said life.
“Yes,” Robert says. “Want me to call you with an update?”
Oh what a tricky question. He knows I want to know—those fuckers tried to kill me. They shot at Blue! But if I say yes, then it’s implying I care if he gets killed. Which I guess he already knows…since I admitted my feelings to him. How can I be in love with a man I don’t trust? What the fuck is this crazy emotion?
“Not on this phone,” I answer. “I’m trashing it as soon as we land.”
“As you wish, my love.”
Before I can tell him not to call me that, Robert hangs up. I roll my lips and stare down at the handset for a long moment before shoving it back in my bag.
“Everything okay?” Bill asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah,” I say again, nodding to myself. Everything is fine.
The plane drones on. I close my eyes and drift between sleep and awareness of the noise and vibrations of the small craft.
“Joy,” James’s voice reaches into my mind. The scene coalesces into his backyard in Brooklyn. The small round table holds a pitcher of margaritas—tonight’s are yellow, so probably passion fruit—and I’m in the rickety chair I sat in when we were both alive, young, and I’d never killed anyone.
“Hey,” I say, smiling. “Good to see you.”
He grins. “I made your favorite.” He gestures to a plate of appetizers and I lean forward, grabbing a pig in a blanket, my mouth watering. I pop it in my mouth—the salty hot dog and the sweet pastry dance on my tongue.
“You’re too good to me,” I say through my chewing.
“I know.” James acknowledges his own amazingness with a shrug. “You need to take better care of yourself,” he admonishes me. “I suggest you start carrying snacks.” He smiles. “You’re going to have to for the kid anyway.”
I roll my eyes. “What do you know about having kids?”
“I helped raise you, remember.”
“True,” I admit. James pours me a margarita and tops off his own glass. I pick up my cup and hold it up. James clinks his against mine.
“To your son,” James says.
“Drinking margaritas to the baby growing inside of me…” I laugh.
“It’s just a dream, Joy. You can do whatever you want without consequence.” He emphasizes that last part, hinting at the consequences on the other side of this dream.
“Meaning what?” I ask, knowing what he’s going to say.
“You’re in love with both of them.” James starts to recap my life in the way he always could—laying out facts as if they were not attached to feelings. “Robert seems fine with that. Understanding, even. He may want other lovers too.”
I roll my eyes. “Did you just say lovers?”
“Are you jealous?” James raises a brow and sips his margarita.
“No,” I grab another pig in a blanket and fill my mouth before I can say more. But James is too good for that trick and he just sits there, half smirk in place, waiting for me to spill my guts. “I’m not,” I say around the food, not capable of holding out even for the length of time it takes to swallow a mini hot dog.
James blinks and waits. I sigh. “It’s not jealousy, I don’t think. I just. It’s so complicated.”
“What is? Actually getting what you want?”
I frown at him. “Mulberry isn’t on board.”
“That’s true. He is not willing to give you what you want and Robert is…yet you only feel good about sleeping with one of them.” James sips his margarita again. “What’s that about? Why do you only want to sleep with the man who doesn’t want to give you what you want?”
“Robert only wants to give me what I want so that he gets what he wants,” I answer.
“Isn’t that how the world works?” James asks. “Certainly, you wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with someone who was only thinking of your needs. It’s a two-way street, takes two to tango, and all those clichés.” James twirls his hand in a circle as if to encompass all clichés that imply we must give to receive and vice versa.
“He’s controlling.”
James tilts his head. “You kind of like it, don’t you?”
“No!”
James laughs. “He never actually controls you. And don’t you like the game? Just a little?” He shrugs. “It’s playful almost.”
“Almost,” I mutter. “He forced me into marriage—“
“To save you from prison…” James sips his margarita, waiting for my next argument.
“Robert is…I mean, James, he has tried to kill me!”
“That’s old news, Sydney. You’ve tried to kill him.”
“You don’t like him, do you?” I ask, shock in my voice.
“Like him?” James looks up, thinking. “It’s not about like, it’s about what works for you. It’s about you acknowledging what you want and getting it.”
I snort-cough on a sip of margarita. “I don’t know what works for me.”
“And you never will unless you try it on. I mean, what’s the worst thing that could happen if you sleep with him? If you try to give your relationship a chance.”
“I’ll hate myself.” The words come out fast and sure.
“Oh?” James says. “Now we are getting somewhere. Why would you hate yourself?”
“I’m not some prize, and that’s how he treats me. If I sleep with him then he will have won me.”
“Hmmm, is that true?”
“I think so.” I sip my margarita again, the sweetness of the passion fruit mixed with the bite of tequila relaxing me. “Besides, he’s a predator, James. If I sleep with him, he’ll probably lose interest.”
“Wouldn’t that be good then?” James asks. “Look.” He leans forward, putting his empty glass on the table and reaching for the pitcher to refill it. String lights twinkle in the tree above us. The back sections of brownstones rise up on either side, their windows lit—people inside living lives. “If he got bored with you then it would be over. You’d figure out a way to live separate lives—”
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