Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
It’s mostly clean, but we will have to boil it. We can’t risk getting sick out here. Thankfully, one of the water containers is stainless steel, so we are able to put it on the fire. It’s the small things I am starting to realise are the most meaningful.
“Where there is water, there are animals, and where there are animals, there is food,” Adrian points out.
I press my lips together.
The thought of hunting animals does not make me happy.
“What about fish?” I ask, screwing the tap on my water container.
“If we can find any of the lines on the lifeboat, we should be able to catch enough to get us through while we’re here.”
A small glimmer of hope washes through me.
“Before we go, I’m washing off. The salt water and blood needs to go,” he murmurs, standing and reaching for the hem of his shirt.
I watch, trying not to stare too intensely as he pulls it over his head.
Oh my word.
Here we are, stuck on an island, and I’m gawking at a man.
Maybe I have lost it.
Ace’s body is ripped, and full of scars and stories. I try to look away—don’t stare, Grace, god—but how could I not? As I stare, I see bruising, the streaks of half-dried blood, muscle stitched tight over his ribs, a whole heap of tattoos across his chest and arms. There’s a skull grinding into roses, a pin-up girl riding a comet, a snake devouring itself, curling up the side of his neck. I’ve seen tattoos before, but never like this. Each one looks like a wound and a badge at once.
He glances at me, catching the full force of my gawking. His mouth tugs up at one side and my cheeks burn red.
“Never seen tattoos before or somethin’?”
“I have. Not that many at once, though,” I say, heat braiding up my neck.
I force my eyes down, desperate to appear unaffected, but they go straight to his hands, big and battered as he peels off his boots. Then, his jeans are the only thing left, clinging to his hips with a threatening kind of gravity.
“Don’t drown,” I manage, but he is already turning and diving in.
I look to Adrian, who raises his brows. “Statistically, a baby on an island is...”
“Shut it, Adrian,” I say, cutting him off.
He shrugs.
I stare down at my own cuts and sunburn, my shirt soaked with sweat, blood and salt. I want nothing more than to rinse off, to let the water leech away all the last two days, but the thought of undressing in front of him, here, now, paralyzes me for a second. Not because I think he will judge, just because he makes me so damn nervous.
Plus, Adrian is still fucking staring at me.
Still, the water is more appealing than my need to be shy. So, I peel off my tank, the fabric sticking to my ribs. My skin is a wild map of pinks and reds, sand sticking in streaks to my stomach. I pause, then drop my pants until I’m standing in my bra and underwear. I cross my arms, stalling a beat. He watches me, a dark heaviness to his eyes that makes me nervous. He’s looking at me like I’m a statue in a museum, fascinating and beautiful, untouchable.
“Don’t be shy,” he murmurs. “Get in.”
I step to the edge and dive in.
The water is so cold it erases everything—pain, worry, even the memory of the storm. My body jolts, hyper-alert, every nerve alive. I stretch my legs out, relishing in the relief it brings. I open my eyes and see sunlight cutting down through the water, my own hands reaching ahead. For one impossible second, I think I could swim away from all of this: the beach, the girls, the wreck, even my own guilt.
I come up to the surface, and breathe in deep, closing my eyes for a second.
“Amazing what a good wash can do,” Ace murmurs and I open my eyes to look at him. “I didn’t want to say it, but you fuckin’ smelt really bad.”
He grins.
I splash him, a cheap shot, but it connects. He looks shocked for a split second, then splashes back—a tsunami compared to my little ripple.
For a second, we forget where we are.
He swims backwards, keeping his eyes on mine.
“Did I really smell?” I ask, using my arms to keep me afloat.
“No,” he grins.
We float around like that for a while longer, just taking a moment to not have to think about what waits for us when we get out.
“Why did you agree to come on this trip?” I ask, swimming closer. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who would work for my father.”
His eyes darken in a way I can’t quite put my finger on. “Job’s a job,” he shrugs.
Dismissive.
I wonder why.
“Did you know him before he offered it to you?”