Shay Savage - Bastian’s Storm

“I can’t do that anymore.” I shook my head quickly. “Not with her around me.”

“You may not have a choice.”

“You told me there is always a choice,” I reminded him.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “live or die. You’ve managed to weave yourself a noose and wrap it around your own neck.”

“There was nothing I could do about that,” I insisted. “I didn’t even know—not until we were in Venezuela. Whoever went digging for information found what he wanted. It’s not like I told anyone my real name; they already knew.”

“He might not believe that.”

“Convince him.” I tried to make my words sound like a command, but we both knew it was a plea. If Landon went to bat for me, I had a chance. If he didn’t back me up, I was going to have to grab Raine and get back into hiding as quickly as possible, and I was fairly certain she wouldn’t go willingly.

“I’ll try to hold him off,” Landon said. “I don’t know how long that’s going to last.”

With a sharp breath, I closed my eyes in a moment of relief. When I looked back up, I caught a strange expression in Landon’s eyes—one I hadn’t seen before. I had no idea what it meant, and he went icy as soon as he realized I was looking at him again.

“I’ll keep quiet,” I promised. “Not a fucking word. I swear, Landon.”

He nodded.

“Bastian?” Raine’s voice fluttered from around the other side of the shrubs lining the doors to the building. I turned my head to look at her and then looked back to where Landon had been standing, but he was already gone.

“Right here,” I called out.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked.

“Just having a smoke,” I said, fully aware that I no longer had one in my hand. I quickly reached into my pocket, pulled out another one, and pointed it toward the doors. “I couldn’t take any more of that shit.”

“Well, that shit is pretty much over now,” she informed me. “Congressman Howard is putting us up for the night in the hotel across the street.”

“Congressman Howard wants to shove his dick into you,” I growled as I shoved the cigarette into my mouth and lit up.

“Oh, he does not!” Raine said, scolding.

I rolled my eyes.

“Did he get you a room adjoining his?” I asked.

I was being a dick, and I didn’t care. I had no doubt what that asshole wanted, and what he wanted was mine. Fucker.

Raine just narrowed her eyes at me.

I shrugged and smoked some more. If she didn’t want to admit that he wanted in her panties, that was her problem. If he actually tried to touch her, I was going to be his worst fucking nightmare. I could already see it in my head: the fucker leaning in just a little too close, dropping his hand down to cop a feel of her ass, and me coming up from behind and snapping his neck.

Nah, too quick. I’d have to make him suffer.

Raine’s voice brought me out of my musings.

“I’m really tired,” she said. “Are you going to come with me or let the good congressman walk me to the suite he has arranged?”

I narrowed my eyes and growled.

“So, you’re coming then?”

I growled again, tossed the end of my smoke on the ground, and smashed it under my heel.

“Let’s go.”

Raine smiled and took my arm.

The suite was actually pretty nice. There was a big living area and a separate bedroom with a king-sized bed. Raine collapsed into it without even taking off her clothes, and I crawled in after her. As Landon’s little visit resonated in my brain like a bad pop song, I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her into my chest. I looked to the door of the bedroom and listened closely for any sounds outside, but there weren’t any. Still, I pulled her closer and tossed one leg over both of hers.

Raine tucked her head into my shoulder and sighed, content.

“I can’t believe how good this bed feels,” she said sleepily.

“Hot shower in the morning, too,” I replied. I couldn’t have cared less, but it was one of the things Raine had missed the most when we were stranded on the island. Remembering one of her other complaints, I knocked my head against the pillow a couple of times. “Nice soft pillow, too.”

“Hmmm…”

Hearing her so obviously happy filled me with both joy and dread. Closing my eyes, I thought about our nights in the shelter I had built for her, the sound of the waves as they crashed against the shore, and the steady ocean breeze.

I wanted to go back.

“Sorry I was such a jerk tonight,” I told her.

“I know you are,” she replied simply.

“That guy is an asshole.”

“Who?”

“The politician.”

“He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“If he did, I’d fucking rip his arms off,” I promised.

“Bastian!” Raine snapped as she looked up at me. “You can’t say things like that!”

I rolled my eyes in the most obvious way possible. I could kill him, and she knew it. She’d seen first-hand what I could do when she was threatened.

“We’re back in the real world now,” she reminded me.

As if I needed the fucking reminder. I knew exactly where we were, and I was pretty sure I hated it. As stupid as it was, I missed the barely-comfortable-enough-to-doze-off floor of the palm frond shelter at the end of the beach.

I tightened my arms, pulling Raine securely against me.

“Bastian?”

A shudder ran through me.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whispered against Raine’s hair. “I don’t know how to be us here.”

She wrapped an arm around my chest and held me as tightly as I was holding her.

“I love you,” I said as my lips pressed to her neck. The sound of my voice echoed everything inside my body—full of fear and dread.

“I love you, too,” Raine replied. She moved her hand up to stroke my hair.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I said again.

“We’ll figure it out,” Raine assured me. “It’s going to take some getting used to—some trial and error—but we’re going to be okay.”

I wished I could believe her, but Landon’s words continued to echo through my head.

Sometimes it just boiled inside of me.

The fucking anger.

It was directed at nothing and everything. It focused on the sights and the people around me because they were the constant reminder of what I had lost. Sometimes it was even directed at the one person who understood and accepted me for the asshole I was.

It made me hate everything and everyone around me even though I knew it didn’t really have anything to do with shit on the outside. It was like a hurricane, churning around in my gut, swirling around and around until I needed to slam my fist into something to keep myself from vomiting. The tension would creep up on me; my entire body would tighten and even begin to shake, and there didn’t seem to be anything I could do about it except…

Just one fucking drink.

On the other side of the varnished bar top, at least a hundred bottles were lined up in front of me, just barely out of reach. Every one of them seemed to be singing to me, but the ones up on the top shelf on the right called to me the most—Kettle One, Grey Goose, Skye. I wasn't sure why I tortured myself, but I did.

Every fucking day.

“You sure I can't get you something, buddy?” The bartender leaned over and tilted his head to look at me, asking me the same thing he asked me every day. He was a young guy—probably working here to put himself through school or whatever—and had that bright-eyed smile that probably drove the ladies to up the tip percentages on their bar tabs. I didn’t meet his gaze; my focus remained behind him.

With a slight shudder, I pushed away from the bar and stood up.

“I'm good,” I lied.

Turning quickly on my heel before I changed my mind, I stomped out of the bar and into the Miami evening heat. Raine would be back from class before too long, and I didn't want to risk having her recovering-alcoholic boyfriend smell like a drinking establishment, even if I had managed to make it through another day without actually ordering a drink. If she knew I was hanging out in a bar during the late afternoons, she’d be pissed, and that was a conversation best avoided. Being close to the shit made my palms itch, and I knew if I opened my mouth and ordered one, the strength it would take to stop it from passing my lips would be more than I possessed. I’d give in.

I’d fail.

I still had a little time before Raine returned, so I headed through Pier Park and down to the beach. There weren’t a lot of people around, and I was glad of that. I’d had too many confrontations with locals and tourists alike on this particular beach. Though Raine and I had developed something resembling celebrity status after we returned from being lost at sea, I didn’t think that was going to keep me out of jail if I attacked another Bermuda-shorts-wearing fuckhead on the beach.

Removing my shoes, I walked barefoot at the edge of the waves. The tide was coming in, and bits of seaweed sloshed against my toes. There were a few dead jellyfish scattered along the tide line, and bits of broken coral sloshed in and out of the waves. If I closed my eyes and ignored the noise of civilization, I could pretend I was back there again.

The island.

Alone with Raine.

My paradise.

Mine, but not hers.

The tension returned. The tsunami inside of me was not unlike the one that capsized my schooner last year—the one that led me to being alone with Raine on a raft in the middle of the Caribbean Sea with no hope in sight. She had no one but me to make sure she had water, food, and eventually shelter on an uninhabited island. She only had me to protect and provide for her.