Yield (30 page)

He slid aside shutters and opened the French doors, letting in the sun and the breeze, before sitting opposite me at the glass-topped round table. The delicate timber chair creaked. I cocked a skeptical eyebrow. It often amazed me when a big man like him didn’t collapse the chairs he sat on.

“However.” He waggled his own eyebrows. “If you don’t wear something less pretty and see-through, I’ll be fighting off the passersby.”

I looked down at my panties and a lightweight white T-shirt – the best he could do at a moment’s notice last night. The night before I wasn’t sure what I’d had on.

The words he’d said resonated badly and I shrugged without raising my head. If I wore this outside, I’d get raped, if Glass wasn’t there. That imagery had flung me back to
his
house. No point telling Glass that. His words had been innocent and a bit of fun.

Everything had hidden meanings.

“We will have to find me more clothes.” I smiled quickly. “But I’m rich, so it’s fine.”

“Mmm.” He picked a croissant off the center plate and munched down, spraying flakes of pastry. Messy and so like a man. “We have to fix that. You’re not going to be able to send any of your money until we get onto Hugh. All your credit has been cancelled.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry.” He squeezed my hand and I prayed he didn’t notice how cold my fingers were. “It’s easily fixed and I’ll lend you some of mine until you can pay me back a few million.”

As always, Glass, just by speaking, by his assured tone, made me feel good. The man didn’t deserve all this craziness I’d brought him.

“So, we’ll phone Hugh, because you have to tell that bastard what’s happening. He knows you’re here. I had to inform him. But you need to talk to him. If you don’t, he will bring down Armageddon on us to make sure you’re happy.”

That would be Hugh. I nodded and picked up a piece of toast and put it on my plate, then unscrewed the lid from the blueberry jam. “Sure. I can talk to him.”

Hugh.
I ran a wave of calm through myself by imagining. Desert island, palm trees, waves, and shit. Talking to Hugh would be something. I wasn’t the
me
he used to admire. I wasn’t sure who I was anymore.

After we’d eaten, Glass put the call through then spoke to him first, leaning back in his chair, but keeping his hand over mine. While I listened, I watched his hand.

“Yes, she knows the police are necessary just don’t push her, please. You haven’t seen how things are. You’re not here.”

Meaning I was a ball of nerves.

“Yeah, we have some medical tests that should be back today, I’ll send you those and I’ll send you a transcript once Wren tells us more. Of course. Yes.”

He slid the phone across the table and I stared at the glowing screen a moment before I picked it up.

“Hi, Hugh.”

“Hello, Wren.”

Semi-formal as always.

“Tell me if there’s anything you need me to do. Before you say anything though, I’m getting you access to your bank accounts again. We’ll do it through the trust, so to start with, the police won’t know, but we can’t keep this a secret for long or we will be prosecuted for obstructing justice. Two days tops. Okay, sweetheart? Tomorrow you need to come back to Australia with me.”

Sweetheart? A new word for Hugh, at least when talking to me.
He
had used that word. The association with then and now made me feel ill.

“Hugh, I...” I leaned on the table, hand up high hiding my face because tears were dribbling down it, fingers propped on my forehead. Glass must have noticed but he only gave me another squeeze. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

I stared at the phone. “I can’t. No.” Then I pressed
end
before I could hear his reply. “He...he wants me to go back to Australia.”

“If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to. Stay with me as long as you like.”

I was standing at the edge of a whirlpool, and all it would take was one push...

*****

Moghul

A storm was coming. Dark gray on the western horizon. Rumbling. I took another big sip of chardonnay, eased back into the chair, and propped my crossed ankles on the railing. The house was empty since she’d left. Me, I was behaving like a fucking love-sick puppy. I couldn’t be bothered eating and those two nights when I knew she was traveling back to PNG I’d sat up watching movies.
Lord of the bloody Rings
.

Memories, and all that crap.

I chugged down the last of the wine in the glass and reached for the bottle, dragged it from the ice bucket.

My vow to completely forget her had come unstuck within half a day. Sure I wasn’t having her watched, but I was damn curious about her fascination with knives. Why? It bugged me not to know. I put my hand up and felt the scratch on my throat.
Bitch.

Had to know. So far the investigation was costing enough to buy a small town in Sweden due to a strange trail in Europe that apparently needed bribes galore. I’d waved my detective onward, via text.

“Mush. Go Prancer, go red-nose reindeer. Go detective! And fuck.” I was drunk. Shit. First time in years and all over a woman.

Her eyes though...the way she wiggled that ass. How well she snuggled into me when I was being her Mr. Nice Dom. I could do that. Be nice. I’d perfected so many roleplays over the decades. I sucked in a breath, coughed, and slugged down some wine.
Fuck. Yeah.

I pointed at the storm with the one finger left over from holding the glass. “Fuck her. Wasn’t roleplay, even
ifff
she didn’t know it.” I’d loved being her big bad carer. “Fuck.”

It’d showed first when Chris came over. Big bad fucking Chris.

My head threw something at me, a niggle, something was wrong with the picture and I squinted as if I could see her giving him that BJ.

What was it?

I frowned and my mind delivered up him talking on his phone. Which I hadn’t been able to hear.

But she could’ve.

I hung my head backward and chuckled. All my careful shit and preparations, cleaning her up, and what if Chris had said something that could lead her back to me? I fumbled for my phone, wriggled from my pocket, and nearly dropped it to the tiles where it would’ve, given my luck, bounced through the gap at the bottom of the glass and then plummeted twenty yards to the rocks below.

I speed dialed Chris and gathered my wits. Needed doing. I ran my fingers through my deranged hair and remembered that at least now I could stop dyeing it and let the brown grow out.

Found a plus to her going. No hair-dyeing crap.

He picked up. “Yeah? Moghul?”

“Yes. It’s me. I need to know something.” The horizon tilted and I swallowed. Two bottles was my limit nowadays, clearly. “When you were with her, you talked on your phone. Did you say anything at all that might identify you?”

“Why?” Big huge fucking pause. “Isn’t she with you?”

I could tell, even drunk, that he was trying to be nonspecific.

“No. She went home.”

“Then why haven’t I heard... Okay. Look. Let me think. I didn’t know who...it was. I don’t think so, except I said my name – Chris. That was it. So long as you’re okay, I’m okay. She never even saw me.”

I figured, he meant if they couldn’t find me, they couldn’t find him.

“I’m fine. Thanks. Bye.”

End.

I slumped back into the chair. His first name? He was right. There were a trillion Chrises out there. We were good.

Except I had some more drinking to do. I picked up the quarter empty bottle, studied the label, then I stood, and threw it outward to the storm.

Wherever it smashed, I couldn’t hear it.

I was done with her.

One last time though, just in case the Chris thing triggered something. Yeah.

I sat down and tapped my phone on my knuckles, giving myself a good, long time to change my mind.

Then I dialed my man in PNG.

Wren was like bloody Dom-nip. I guess I needed time and maybe somebody else to whip.

As if I would...

Wren

As we drove past the hotels with their razor wire and through the government road block checking for ID and vehicle roadworthiness, I knew I would never be comfortable or happy here in Port Moresby, but Australia was worse. Or it seemed worse.

We went past a car with a
Baby on board
sticker in the rear view mirror only this one showed a pistol rather than a baby. Said it all, really.

Glass’s friends might be okay with guarding me short term but it wasn’t going to last. I had to brace myself and see Hugh, see what was possible without a return to my country of birth. Had to organize my own security.

“Ela Market.” Glass pointed out the casual beachside market and Jurgen slowed and slotted the vehicle into the nearest vacant spot.

When I slid from the seat, the late-morning humidity was already making my T-shirt stick to me.

“Come on.” Glass tugged at my hand. “Something to take your mind off that interrogation. Buy yourself a bunch of taro or a tribal mask.”

I scoffed. Tourist stuff. I’d done the rounds of a market like this months ago. The sun was good, though, beating down on my body and making me feel alive. We stepped along the dirt and bitumen aisles, checked out the huge bunches of bananas, the shells, the handwoven baskets, and exchanged greetings with the sellers. Glass had an easy rapport with most people, but I couldn’t dispel my unease.

The interrogation, as he’d called it, had brought it all back. Jurgen had been kind and Glass had been in the room to keep me centered, but question after question about my abduction had blasted away all happiness. Despite the brightness of the tropical sun, the day had become ominous from then on.

The questions had lodged in my head.

How long did it take to get there? What was the house like? Did you hear addresses, names, details about anything that might identify anyone?
He recorded audio, wrote things down too. Then, after the general questions, he’d gotten into precise times, days. The time I’d met that man and been forced to give him a blowjob. Though aware of Glass listening, I’d answered. I recalled his name, Chris, and had thought a girl of his had been called Zoe.

The names had made them pause. At the end of it all, that had been the only clue that seemed worthwhile. Jurgen had sat back and made a rueful face.

“We’ll go over it again,” he’d said. Then we were done. Like the doctor, my ordeal was summed up on paper, to be filed away like a parking ticket.

Life was full of ironies. Someone could destroy you then afterward it was only scribbled words, if that, if anyone bothered.

I watched my sandals as I walked, heard the grit crunch under my soles and the chatter of others about me.

Behind us stalked Jurgen and Pieter. Armed, somewhere, somehow, though I hadn’t spotted a gun on either of them. I guess they could always stomp on any attacker. They were a constant reminder of bad things.

“What about a walk on the beach?” Again Glass prompted me and I smiled and followed.

Ela beach was a rock and sand-strewn curve where ocean washed onto land in a desultory way. Like much of PNG life, the ocean was laidback. The hot weather made everything slow down.

We waded into the water that was a few degrees cooler than the air. Barefoot, we had to dodge the sea urchins, while we talked about how pretty the sea was and avoided serious topics.

“Thank you.” I twined my fingers in his and tried to swing his arm.

“For what?” Glass stopped walking and turned to face me. “You don’t need to say that. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

I shook my head, staring at the ripples around his legs, feeling the freshness of the water on my skin, and the smooth surface of a cowrie shell under my toes, yet still the world crushed me. Realness versus what was in my mind.

“I need to thank you, I think. Because...” I shook my head again. “I don’t think I can stay here much longer. I don’t know where to go, and I’m scared of losing you if I do that, if I leave.”

“Hey.” He levered up my chin, in spite of my resistance. I scowled, trying to look aggressive, trying to say
we’re not one anymore
, despite my heart saying the opposite. “Wren, you’re looking too far ahead. Day by day. Remember? There are things you do
have
to do, and other things, like what you said, that you can discuss some more. I’ll help you as much as I can and, damn, you’re not going anywhere without me, unless you make me leave your side. Come here. I’m going to do some pouncing.”

With a hold on both my hands, he drew me closer. I could tell he was watching and waiting for any protest. The hesitance took some of the
zing
from this but I desperately wanted exactly this – to be made to be close. I needed to know how important I might be, to him. I wanted force.

“There. Got you in my trap.”

Yes, you do.

With great deliberation, he twisted my hair around and around his hand then he bent to kiss me.

My eyes stayed open long enough to see the
need
in his.
Yes.

His lips on mine, his grasp on my hair, and his other hand at my hip, freed me and let me wander far away from my bleak past and future. And when he kissed me, I was his, because he’d dared to take me.

He wanted me for who I was, fucked-up head, or not.

At first he was considerate, soft, pressing his lips to mine then breaking away. I smiled from the intimate distance of a fraction of an inch, my lips moving on his as I murmured. “Forgotten how to do it?”

He smiled back, amused menace resonating in the twist of his mouth and eyebrow. “Fuck you, Miss Wren.”

By several degrees of delicacy and violence, his kissing escalated.

We traded dominance, exchanged tongue-deep kisses, until it was my turn to swear and wriggle against him. The hard length of his cock against my stomach made me wish it was in me.

“Have a problem?”

“Something down there is sticking into me.”

At that he snorted. “Patience is a virtue.”

“Bastard.” I wriggled again, deliberately toying, and kissed him with my tongue dipping between his lips, then I bit him.