Micah's Island, page 1
MICAH’S ISLAND
By
Shari Copell
Micah’s Island
Copyright © 2013 by Shari Copell All Rights Reserved.
First Edition: January 30, 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the author. You must not circulate this book in any format.
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Shari Copell generally keeps a low profile, but you can email her at sharicopell@gmail.com
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
Sometimes I dream about killing him.
I wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, my heart pounding, remembering how he very nearly succeeded in destroying me. I think about the pain he caused me with his stupidity and greed. Thinking about him makes me want to stick a knife in his heart and twist it as he goes to his knees in the sand.
Then, as the waves of terror recede, I remember where I am. I hear the deep breathing of my love asleep beside me, and I know I don’t want him to die. It’s too easy, too quick.
I want his failures to torture him. I want him to know that he hasn’t beaten me, he hasn’t hurt me; that I am, in fact, still alive and insanely happy, and there’s nothing he can do about it now. I am safely beyond his reach.
He is my uncle. Calvin Gamble. My mother’s brother.
My adventure (if you can call it that) really began four days before I turned 21. Up to that point, I’d had a fairly normal life. Calvin still owned me for those four days, but I’d soon be free. Well, he didn’t really own me, he owned my island and my resort.
My name is Gianna Deveraux. Pronounced Gee-AH-na. Hard G. My parents owned the resort island of Tiago. I know you’ve never heard of it. It’s under the jurisdiction of Florida, though it sits just inside the northernmost point of the Bermuda Triangle. It’s the secret playground of the rich and famous. They like Tiago because they can be themselves without the paparazzi hunting them.
I’m amazed that they’ve managed to keep it a secret from the outside world for this long. I thought for sure that drunken bimbo whose first name begins with B was going to spill the beans a couple of years ago. I beat the crap out of her when she was here, and her people whisked her away. They posted pictures of her in the gossip rags with a black eye and everything. Said she wrecked her car while DUI. My ass.
Most of the people who vacationed on Tiago were assholes. They wanted to drink, eat, and get laid, not necessarily in that order. Being rich and famous seemed to give them the notion that they didn’t have to play by the same rules as the rest of us. I didn’t care. I just wanted them to spend a lot of money.
My parents were killed in a plane crash three years ago, and of course, the whispers started immediately. Had they been sucked into a vortex in the Bermuda Triangle? Nah. Stupid fucking pilot didn’t fill it with enough fuel to make it all the way from Miami to Tiago. That’s what happens when you put your life in the hands of a drunk. We had wreckage, bodies, and everything. They didn’t disappear into some mystical vortex.
I wish I could have. I had lots of experience running the resort. I’ve been doing it all my life. But my parents, for reasons that I still can’t understand, delivered me and Tiago into the hands of another drunk not a whole lot older than me. My uncle Calvin. Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad.
I’m an only child. I guess they thought I couldn’t handle it. Like Calvin was a big help. All he did was drink, spend money, and screw women. And I’m not entirely sure he didn’t screw an occasional man. He sat in the house all day long on his fat ass while I was out busting my own ass bartending, fixing things, solving problems.
He practically salivated when he heard that mom and dad were dead, and he was now my guardian. It was disgusting. I didn’t know him well, but it didn’t take long for me to learn to hate him. He always looked at me as though I were an insect he wanted to flick away with a snap of his fingers. I think it royally pissed him off that he needed me. He didn’t know the first thing about managing the resort.
He sure knew how to spend money. When he got here, he immediately took over the master bedroom and spent a fortune remodeling it to his taste. He moved me from the room I’ve been in since I was a little girl to another, smaller room down the hall so I wouldn’t see the endless parade of women coming and going. It’s not like it was a big secret.
I picked a fight about it, but Calvin choked me to the point that I almost passed out. I decided it wasn’t worth dying for, but it still pisses me off.
After some knockdown, drag out fights (and make no mistake, I lost them all when they turned physical), we settled into a routine. He fucked, drank, and spent my money while I worked to keep the resort running. Sounds fair, right?
He didn’t talk to me, and I didn’t talk to him. That’s why it surprised the hell out of me when he sent Rico down to the tiki bar on the beach with a message that he wanted to see me at the house.
~***~
In hindsight, I should’ve known something was up. As I walked the smooth path through the jungle back to the house, I noticed there was a huge yacht docked at the marina.
We get some big yachts here, but not like this one. Massive, like a floating hotel. It was big and white, with golden hardware gleaming in the sun. It took up a whole side of one of the marina docks. It must’ve been at least six stories, if you compared it to a building.
It would probably surprise you to know that despite living on an island resort, I don’t know a whole lot about boats. That’s because it scares the shit out of me to go out in one on open water. I don’t do it unless I absolutely have to. Being out on the ocean with no land in sight stirs some primal fear in me. I lock up and can’t breathe. Makes me a little crazy. I’ll keep my feet planted on solid terra firma, thank you very much. There’s nothing out there that I need to see bad enough that I would ever willingly get on a boat.
Our mansion sits on ten acres of lush tropical vegetation surrounded by a very high, white iron fence topped with barbed wire. Calling it a fence will give you the wrong impression. The house is protected like a military base, with armed guards carrying AR-15s and everything.
One of our guests tried to scale the enclosure once. He was almost to the house when they caught him. He had all kinds of nasty things on him: rope, duct tape, and some kind of drug that knocks you senseless. He was after my mom, who was positively, absofuckinglutely gorgeous. Dad sort of went white when they told him. The barbed wire went up the next day. The armed guards were in place the day after.
I punched in the code, and the gate swung open. It was about a half-mile of macadam walkway to the house. Under other circumstances, I would’ve taken my time for a face-to-face with Calvin. It was so unlike him to ask to see me though, that I hurried. Wish I would’ve known then what I know now.
I won’t bore you with the details of the mansion, though I know they want you to include description so you can picture it in your mind. Let’s just say the house was larger than life, from the huge wrap-around porch with its fluted white marble pillars to the double, mahogany doors with gold hardware in the front. The house was a cream color, with dark brown hurricane shutters and lots of what they call ‘gingerbread’. I loved our house.
Calvin was sitting in my dad’s study with his feet up on the massive dark red mahogany desk. My father would’ve punched him in the face if he’d seen him do that.
I’m going to stop here, and give you a little description of what I had on that day. I hate when they do that in books, because it’s not really relevant to the story (most of the time), and it sort of stops the flow of things. I’m going to do it because I think it’s important that you understand that I didn’t leave Tiago with much on in the way of clothing. And I wish I had.
I also want to tell you because my brain can’t seem to lose any of the minute details of those moments leading up to the start of my ‘little problem’, and it makes me feel better to comb over them. They were the last normal moments I had for a long, long time.
I’m told that I look like my mother. Tall, thin, dirty blond hair, blue eyes. Nice boobs, long tanned legs. I know I’m pretty in a head-turning way, but I don’t let it get into my brain and make me all arrogant and egotistical. I’ve seen more than my share of beautiful people who were very ugly once you got to know them. What a turn-off.
I love the tank tops with the built- in bras. I had drawers full of them. The climate of Tiago is hot and tropical. We didn’t wear much, even when it was winter elsewhere. Cutoff jean shorts rounded out the uniform—the shorter the better .
So...on this day, I was wearing a black racer-back tank top with built-in shelf bra and a very short pair of cutoffs. I was barefoot.
And Calvin, the son-of-a-bitch, had his feet up on my dad’s desk.
He’d also poured me a tall glass of iced tea, complete with a sprig of spearmint. That should’ve been Clue Number Two that I was fucked.
~***~
“You turn 21 years old in four days, Gianna. You know what that means,” Calvin said to me. His elbows rested on the arms of the office chair, fingertips pressed together in front of him. He kept tapping his index fingers together, a nervous tick that speaks volumes to me now.
I should’ve known that the look in his eyes, his overall demeanor, was predatory. I should’ve known that after becoming accustomed to life here on the island, he wasn’t going to give it up to his 21-year-old, snotty, uncooperative niece without a fight.
I didn’t know any of those things. I went like a lamb to slaughter.
He was also drinking from a tall glass of iced tea, complete with mint sprig. Same as mine. It was a hot day, and after walking to the house, I drained about a third of it in a couple of gulps. I had no reason to be suspicious.
Now I know the unholy light that shone from his eyes as he watched me drink meant that he knew he had me. Like a cat that smacks a mouse into the corner. And it still pisses me off to no end that he did it with a glass of iced tea.
“Yes, I do, Calvin. And I want you to be off this island the same day,” I snapped. There was no point in pretending. I wanted him gone.
We glared at each other for what felt like hours. After three years of walking on egg shells, never knowing when this fat bastard was going to take a swing at me, I was not going to be the first one to look away.
“And I will be off of this island just as soon as I can be. But first, there is some paperwork for you to sign. I’ve had the lawyers draw these up. No need to wade through all the legalese. They sever my guardianship and transfer legal ownership of Tiago to you.”
Holy shit, where’s the pen! I’ll sign anything that gets this idiot out of my hair!
I stood by the desk, and signed and dated seven or eight sheets of paper. I didn’t even look at what I was signing. I was giving my life away and didn’t even know it.
I sat down in one of the black leather chairs in front of the desk. I’d survived this idiot, and I was going to gloat about it.
I just about jumped out of my skin when the door slammed behind me. I half turned to look but, by that time, a man I didn’t recognize was already sitting in the chair beside me.
Well, he didn’t sit, exactly—he slithered in and draped himself over the chair. He studied me with hard, black eyes. I shivered, though it was hotter than hell that day.
He was handsome in a demented sort of way. A three-day stubble shadowed his face, and he had a long, white scar down his right cheek. He had on clothing that I can only describe as pirate-like. That should have been Clue Number Three.
“I’d like you to meet Dolph Theobald, a friend of mine,” Calvin said, leaning forward on the desk.
Dolph Theobold. I snickered and drank more of my iced tea. A porn-star name if I ever heard one. If he was a friend of Calvin’s, he would be no friend of mine.
“He’s going to carry you off this island unconscious and sell you into slavery in Saudi Arabia. This island is mine now, Gianna. You’ve just signed it over to me. I can’t say it’s been pleasant working with you. I’ve been trying to think of a way to get rid of you ever since I came here.”
The mouthful of tea I’d just taken went spraying all over Calvin, the desk, and all of the papers there.
What the hell did he just say? I tried to rewind and make sense of it. Slavery? Mine now? Unconscious? Get rid of you? It didn’t sound good.
I stumbled to my feet, trying to get a read on Calvin’s face. He looked like a vampire about to take a bite out of a virgin’s neck. I took a few steps to the rear, toward the door. I was not about to give either of these assholes my back.
Unfortunately, the floor chose that particular moment to drop out from under me. That’s when I noticed the white residue that had gathered in the bottom of my glass. I’d assumed it was Splenda.
I turned and flew for the door under the assumption that if I could get down on the beach, I could pass out from whatever they’d slipped into my tea, and they wouldn’t touch me in front of all those people. Really. Sometimes the things I think are laughable.
I had the door to freedom open a crack, but Mr. Dolph Porn Star slammed it shut again, caging me with his arms on both sides. I didn’t want to turn around, but Dolph had other ideas. He grabbed me by the shoulders, spun me like a top, and slammed me back against the door. The room took a hard slant to the right, and my knees collapsed under me.
He forced me back to the chair and plopped me into it. I hate it when men I don’t know put their hands on me. I wanted to fight, wanted to hit him, but I couldn’t lift my arms. I was screaming in my brain, but I could tell it wasn’t making it past my lips. I must’ve looked like a complete idiot sitting there, staring at Calvin, trying to absorb the horrible words he’d said. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out I was drooling.
“I wish I could say I’m sorry, Gianna, but you deserve this. I hope you land in the household of some rich Saudi man who fucks you in the ass every day with a cock the size of a horse. I hope he ties you to his bed and tortures you and makes you bleed.” Calvin’s voice sounded like it was a million miles away.
Thanks, Calvin. Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad.
And then I was no more.
Chapter Two
In almost every romance novel I’ve ever read, the heroine wakes up from a drugged stupor to find herself bound and gagged. She eventually falls madly in love with the villain who carried her off, and they live happily ever after.
Yeah, well....
The bound part definitely applied. In fact, it was overkill. I don’t know what they thought I was going to do when I woke up, but they’d covered all the bases. I was tied six ways to Sunday.
I could tell I was in the cabin of a ship, my arms were over my head and secured to a towel bar screwed into the wall. My feet were tied separately, my legs slightly apart. The ropes disappeared off the bed, secured to something near the floor that I couldn’t see. Lots and lots of rope for one small girl. I wasn’t gagged. There was no one to hear me scream anyway.
I knew instinctively that I was on the big, floating palace that had been docked at the marina in Tiago.
We were moving. I could see blue sky and clouds flying by out of the top of the small window over the bed. I didn’t know how long I’d been out. I tried not to think about being on a ship in open water, but the more I tried not to think about it, the more I did. I think women are funny that way.
The room was small, as ship’s cabins are. I craned my neck around trying to get a look at my surroundings. There was a small closet that I know holds a toilet, a sink, and a shower that isn’t even big enough for you to turn around in. A small settee with a coffee table strewn with random magazines about guns and ammo (and how I wished I had some of both). Typical cabin you’d find on a cruise ship.
I should’ve been scared to death, but I was more pissed than anything. I’d been duped. Calvin is a dumbass, but he’d gotten one over on me. I felt really stupid.
Time passed. I slept. I twisted my wrists in the rope to see if they would give. They didn’t. I slept some more. I was starting to get ravenously hungry, and I had to pee. I wondered if anyone would come for me, or if they’d just let me starve. I was not above pissing the bed if I had to, but that would’ve made me more uncomfortable than I already was.
The sky was starting to darken in the little bit of it that I could see out the window. I finally heard the key in the lock of the door, and I have to admit, my heart stopped.
It was Dolph, bringing me dinner. He didn’t say a word as he untied me. His way of lulling me into a false sense of security. I made a move toward the bathroom, and he nodded his head. When I came out, he backed out the small door of the cabin, eyeing me like I’d sprouted horns. I heard it lock.
