Once a Myth (Goddess Isles Book 1) Read online

  Not one had gotten past a third island.

  Most of them didn’t even try, knowing how futile such an attempt would be.

  I cocked my head. Would this girl try? Would Jinx be the one who got away? After all, I’d named her for the bad luck she’d brought upon me. Perhaps, she had yet more to deliver before our time was through.

  “You know…if you’re just going to be silent, I can ensure that’s a permanent situation for you. I’ll command Calvin to remove your tongue for good.” I sipped the final dregs of my coffee, shrugging. “Speaking is a privilege. Speaking to me is the biggest privilege of all. But if you don’t want that ability, then—”

  “Fuck. You.” The moment the ugly curse fell from her pretty mouth, she gasped. Her hands opened and folded by her sides as if she tried to scramble her temper back into its cage, but it was too late.

  Her eyes sought mine.

  They locked and held, and she let loose everything she’d been hiding with a vicious hiss. “How dare you give me that drug yesterday. How dare you make me do such humiliating, disgusting things. How fucking dare you take away power over my own body, laughing at my misery, making me degrade myself in every possible way a woman can.”

  She swooped toward me, fury painting her cheeks bright red, her hair whipping in a sudden balmy breeze. She looked like Medusa with a nest of snakes crawling over her shoulders, ready to sink venom into my neck from a thousand tiny fangs. “I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate you. I hate that you saw me like that. I hate that you made me like that. You think you can sit there, smirking at my distress? Laughing to yourself that you made me willingly sit on your vile fingers. Don’t think for a moment that I held any attraction for you. Don’t kid yourself into thinking I wanted any of what happened.”

  Her nose wrinkled in absolute disgust. “Seeing you touching yourself, getting off on my pain, proved what a sick and diabolical person you are. There is nothing redeeming about you. At least the traffickers were honest about who they were. You…you think you’re a lenient pimp with girls who actually want to be near him. Newsflash: no one wants to be near you. No one.”

  She laughed wildly, totally drunk on her anger. “To say speaking to you is a privilege? Fuck that. Speaking to you is the most revolting thing I could ever do. I wish I’d been sold to anyone else. Literally anyone.”

  Sucking in a shallow breath, she snarled, “And in answer to your sickening question if my fingers are tired? Yes, you fucking bastard. Every part of me is tired. Every part of me aches. I’ve never been so sore or disappointed in myself in my entire life. I passed out cold once those god-awful effects wore off. I wished I’d never woken up and died right there in my sleep. Don’t you get that I’d been stolen? I didn’t answer some stupid job advertisement to be here. I didn’t ask to be part of a cult where you initiate your groupies by making them become some sex-starving creature. I was taken, you creep! I’m here against my will! In case you aren’t aware, trafficking a person means everything they held dear is snatched away and leaves them more lost and alone than ever before. I arrived to you running on barely any sleep, very little food, and a hell of a lot of fear, yet you sit there, all puffed up on your pride, wearing that ridiculous suit in this sort of weather, while patting yourself on the back for my humane treatment, when really, you’re the worst of the lot!”

  She slapped a hand on the table, making my coffee cup rattle in its saucer. “There. I’ve spoken to you. I’ve once again gone against my will. Now, kill me, for all I care, for raising my voice to you. Beat me within an inch of my life for cursing you. But don’t you ever, ever think you’re better than me just because of what you made me become yesterday. Don’t you ever feel superior just because you stole everything that made me me. I curse the very ground you walk upon, Sully Sinclair, and I promise you, right here, right now, that I will find a way to make you pay for what you did. That I promise with every bone in my bruised and battered body.”

  Snapping upright, she held up her middle finger, swearing at me in silent language as well as the sewage she’d just uttered, addressing me with no respect whatsoever in front of guests who viewed me as a god with his harem of goddesses. “Fuck you, Sully. Just, fuck you.”

  Fuck.

  She really, really shouldn’t have fucking done that.

  I was livid.

  Beyond livid.

  I was wrath itself.

  For the longest moment, I let her tirade fade from ringing in my ears, replacing her shrill distress with calming twitters of birds and rustles of palms.

  Then, I stood achingly slowly.

  I smoothed my suit, I checked my tie knot, I glanced down at the guests blatantly rubbernecking at the carnage above them, and then I pinned her to the spot with every rampage and roar percolating in my chest.

  Slowly—so as not to snap my restraint—I moved around the table toward her.

  She didn’t move.

  Her chest pumped with breath. Her breasts strained against the white fabric of her dress, her lips glistened from her violent speech, and her skin flushed with fear not just fury.

  But she didn’t run as I reached out and grabbed her wrist.

  She didn’t flinch as I squeezed her breakable bones with every vibrating ounce of rage inside. And she didn’t argue when I pulled her away from the banister and goggling guests.

  She’d said her piece.

  She’d resigned herself to the consequences.

  Wise girl.

  Stupid girl.

  My fingers hurt from squeezing her so hard. Her pulse pounded in my grip. We kept a sedate and gentile pace, leaving behind sunshine and entering the main villa where a coffee house served all-day beverages and café items, sitting above the Michelin star restaurant below.

  The pastry chef looked up from kneading dough, went to smile, saw my thunderous expression, and darted his gaze back to his task. A server appeared with a tray of fresh coffee cups, only to turn on her heel and scurry back into the kitchen.

  Everywhere, inconspicuous staff scattered.

  Eleanor remained as silent and as damning as her savage outburst but she didn’t once try to run. She allowed me to cut off her blood flow to fingers that had already turned a vague tinge of blue. She followed almost at my side, not behind me or beneath me, jinxing the very air between us.

  She might not fight or flee, but she wasn’t meek.

  Nothing was fucking meek about this girl.

  I’d gotten her wrong.

  I thought she was a young, fanciful idiot who’d barely lived and definitely didn’t have such reckless abandon for her survival. But really…beneath that false mask, she had a temperament to rival mine. A spirit that just begged to be goddamn broken. A tendency to bury what she truly wanted to say until…she couldn’t stop it anymore.

  My palm smashed against the door leading toward the wooden walkway linking this villa with yet another building, allowing us to travel two stories up. We walked in the treetops, brushed past heavy coconuts, and ignored the inquisitive parrots that fluttered around us.

  I never released the pressure around her wrist, and with every step, my mood darkened until all I could see was black. Black as night. Black as endless death.

  I didn’t look at her.

  I couldn’t.

  I’d snap.

  Reaching the next villa that housed a conference room for those guests who couldn’t turn off from work completely, a high-end safety-deposit room for any valuables, and an in-house doctor who could perform almost every surgery with his highly trained team right here in paradise, I snatched open the door, jerked Eleanor into the empty conference room with its bare architecture, polished hexagonal table, and entire bank of screens ready to link any bigwig to his underlings, then threw her against the wall, slammed the door, and locked it.

  But I didn’t turn around.

  Instead, I cricked my neck from the overwhelming tension.

  I removed my sunglasses and studied the grain of the redwood door.r />
  Inhaling and exhaling, calm and slow, I did my best to rein in my temper…so I didn’t fucking destroy her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I’D NEVER BEEN A trapped gazelle in a cage with a lion before. I’d never been a gerbil fed to a snake, just waiting for it to pounce. But I knew exactly how those poor critters would have felt as I stood waiting for Sully Sinclair to snap.

  His back strained beneath his immaculate suit. His fists never uncurled by his sides as he kept his gaze trained on the door, as if it could somehow be stripped from its hinges and used as a weapon against me.

  Neither of us said a word. The silence between us became sharper and more deadly than any knife or blade.

  My heart no longer pumped but whirred like a broken apparatus, racing toward its final beat, confused about its purpose. The adrenaline drenching my system told it to race and race until it finally popped from exertion, so at least I would die a quick death. But the poor thing struggled against the sickening palpitations, fighting to find a life-giving rhythm, destining me to Sully’s fury.

  I swallowed hard as he finally turned around.

  Slowly.

  Ever, ever so slowly.

  He moved as if a sudden noise or motion would snap his hard-fought control. He acted as if he was afraid of his own wrath, which in turn made me petrified.

  I wished I could go back in time and never open my mouth. I wished I’d been strong enough to withstand his taunts and torments. Why had I let him get under my skin so badly? Why had I let loose even while I’d desperately tried to shut myself up?

  I blushed all over again, reliving the horror of what I’d snarled. The truth of it was undeniable. The righteousness of it utterly deserved. But I didn’t want to die, no matter how reckless I’d been. I didn’t want to suffer a punishment that would leave me bedbound and unable to find an escape.

  Stupid.

  So, so stupid, Eleanor.

  He stood facing me. His dark hair stayed swept off his face with its bronze-tips glinting like treasure in the strands. His eyes seemed to glow with the depths of the sea. Not just blue—not just aquamarine or turquoise, but a blend of every pigment: sunshine and shadow, depths and shallows, turmoil and debilitating temper.

  His jaw worked as he ground his teeth. His powerful throat corded with muscle, and a vein pumped visibly as he continued to hold himself in check.

  I’d meant what I’d said that I found him diabolical and vile. But I’d lied when I called him grotesque. Had I called him that, or had I managed to keep that one accusation swallowed?

  Either way, he wasn’t grotesque—not in the physical way at least.

  He was probably the most stunning man I’d ever get close to in my entire life. His tall height was perfect for my leggy length. His features were symmetrical and masculine. His hands fit my body. His fingers knew how to draw pleasure. His cock was every girl’s wet dream.

  Yet…funny how his physical attributes did nothing for me.

  His soul was putrid, and because of that, I found him utterly unattractive.

  The tense standoff between us lasted for far too long. My knees started to shake, and the power at telling him off quickly faded for jittery nausea. Not that I’d let him see that. Not that I’d back down—not when I was the one to pick this fight.

  Finally, he cracked his neck again, forced his hands to spread as if draining a few drops of his temper through his fingertips, then slowly, he came toward me.

  Last time, I’d held my ground. I was too foggy with yelling at him and high on my own disregard for my life.

  This time, I’d had too long to cool down, and I was far, far too aware of what he could do to me.

  He could kill me.

  He could honestly, truly kill me, and no one would care.

  But that wasn’t the worst he could do.

  First, he could do an untold number of things to me until I begged for him to kill me.

  He’d proven he had no morals. He’d shown he had no regard for my health.

  Shit.

  I bolted away.

  I scrambled around the huge angular table, hoping to put the large expanse between us, so I could at least debate my life before he stole it.

  But…my sudden reaction unleashed him.

  The temper he’d been trying to swallow into the pits of his belly snapped, and he launched after me.

  His shoes slapped on the sandstone tiles, pushing him into speed.

  My bare feet gripped on the floor, but it was no use.

  I ran.

  He caught me.

  In one second flat, he grabbed my hair with one unforgiving fist, marched me toward the table, then folded me forward until my belly and breasts squished against the cool wood, and his rock-hard thighs and cock pressed me into submission.

  He shuddered.

  I arched up, trying to remove his hold.

  The pressure on my nape restrained me. My hair spilled from his hold while the messy strands cascaded over my cheek and onto the table.

  He didn’t speak for a second, breathing deliberately, the puff of his hard exhalations tickling my exposed skin.

  “You’re new. You’re young. You’re afraid.” His voice sounded as if a decade had gone by. A decade where he’d been drinking saltwater and smoking endlessly. He sounded gruff and rough and entirely slipped from his throne of decorum. “For those reasons alone, I’m doing my best not to ruin you.”

  His free hand skated over my side, caressing my contours, touching the globes of my breasts flattened on the table. “I’m also reminding myself that thanks to your little ‘outburst’, the amount men will pay has just quadrupled.”

  He chuckled blackly. “Men are all the same, you see. We pretend we want amiable and capable. We tell poised and powerful women that we are proud and find their independence such a fucking turn-on. But really…we want a fight. We want claws and disobedience because then it gives us the right to retaliate.” He grabbed a handful of my ass, squeezing brutally hard.

  I’d have bruises. I’d remember his possessive grip for all time.

  “You’ve had a chance to tell me your truth, now…allow me to return the favour.” His hand slipped to my crack, tracing the sensitive, personal area and making me squirm uncomfortably. “Because you are new here, you lack appreciation of how rare it was for me to request the company of a girl. I never bother myself with a goddess once they’ve arrived. I leave their initiation and training to the highly qualified and obscenely paid staff who ensure my girls are content and my guests are sated and well catered to.”

  “You’re not god, you know. Let me go.”

  “Hush. Your time of talking is over.” He dipped a finger into my crack, pressing my underwear tight against my flesh. “It’s time to listen, rebellious Jinx.”

  Not allowing me any leeway, he shoved his free hand up my dress and found the waistband of my lacy peach knickers that I’d found in the wardrobe in my villa. Without any request or hesitation, he yanked them down.

  I clamped my thighs together.

  It made no difference.

  He kept pulling until air licked my exposed skin and the horrid sensation of having pieces of me stripped away once again made angry tears burn my eyes.

  “You act as if I’m the worst human alive. You paint me as the villain, even if your life wasn’t as perfect as you make it out to be before you were stolen. You detest me.” Keeping his one hand clutching my nape and pinning me down, he bent as much as he could and jerked my knickers to the floor.

  They locked around my ankles as he kicked my legs apart, acting as shackles, reminding me I was his prisoner, whether I wanted it or not.

  His hand clamped on my hipbone. “Do you know my goddesses would be insanely jealous if they saw you? If they saw us.” He rocked his groin into me, hinting only his clothing stopped him from taking anything he wanted. “I have eavesdroppers. They report on what my girls discuss.” His voice lowered to a whisper, sharing a secret with me. “They plot for way
s to seduce me. To trick me into falling in love with them.”

  Bending over me fully, his suit brought stagnant heat and unbearable weight against my back. “Want to know why? Why bought and sold women no longer hate me but devise ways to make me keep them?” He bit the shell of my ear. “Because, little Jinx, they want access, not just to my fortunes, but to this very island they call home. They never want to leave. They don’t want to stop being free in their pleasure. They want to fuck and orgasm for the rest of their godforsaken lives. And they think by fucking me, they’ll get their wish.”

  I moaned against my will as his hand trailed between my legs, stopping dangerously high on the inside of my thigh. “Are you wet?”

  His question was short and sharp, unlike his lulling storybook of lies from before.

  I bared my teeth with rage. I struggled to look into his eyes, unable to turn my head with his unyielding hold. “No, I am not wet, you cretin. You didn’t force-feed me that drug, so hell no, I’m not wet. I will never get wet for you.”

  He chuckled low and vain. “Never is a challenge.”

  “Never is the truth.”

  His eyebrow cocked. “I think I’ll find a different truth.” He laid more weight on me, making it hard to breathe. His mouth found my ear again, but this time, he didn’t speak.

  He kissed.

  His lips were soft and coaxing, gentle and confiding. His tongue traced the shape of my lobe, trailing down my throat, pausing over my pounding pulse.

  “Get off me!”

  He made a guttural noise as I bucked beneath him, hating, hating, hating that heat swarmed outward; an intoxicating melting in my core that had nothing to do with this perverse punishment and everything to do with hardwiring of skin and synapses and the unbreakable connection of touch and want.

  It was as debilitating as taking a drug to hijack my brain’s pathways. Yesterday, he’d used my mental desire against me. Today, he conjured entirely physical. Both I had no control over, even though I hated him to the point of tears. Even though I would willingly stab a dagger into his black-crippled heart. “Stop.”