Legacy (Sociopath Series Book 2)(57)

And in the night time, when the last shreds of sunlight have fallen beneath the skyline and the whole island is soaked in ink-stained echoes, Aeron takes me down to the private beach. There, we haunt each other, leaving no room for the ghosts that followed us; there, he pins me against the drenched sand and splits me down the middle with the slow stretch of his cock. But no matter how deeply I feel him, with every night, he slips further away from me and further away from himself. Secrets have lingered too long in his flesh; now they seek the leverage of bone. They’ll hollow him out to get it.

When I put him in a pool of his own blood, I thought I’d seem him helpless, and that it was the worst feeling of all. I was wrong. There’s nothing that disturbs me more than his sudden apathy. This is the problem with constantly looking over your shoulder: after a while, it hurts, and you learn to ignore the pain.

Worst of all…he hasn’t cut me.

I should be glad of this.

I’m not.

***

Ethan, who has been watching Aeron’s empty sun lounger for the past fifteen minutes, finally wanders down the beach and sits beside me. “So I’ve been reading about this theory that explains how dragons could exist in real life.”

I put my paperback down and pull myself up to listen. The sun’s too bright to see an e-reader, so I raided the island library shelves and found an old Michael Crichton novel about sentient machines. “Dragons. Really.”

“Yeah.” He’s breathing in, bless him—his bare belly is almost concave, even though he’s hunched and leaning on his knees, and his recently acquired tan makes him more than a little handsome. Perhaps he’s noticed. “The theory says their bones were really light and contained some kind of gas that helped them to fly, even though they were frickin’ huge—Ash! Asher Lore, leave the bigger crabs alone!” he shouts.

Ten feet down the beach, Ash turns in his sun-proof wetsuit and eyes the pair of us with devious glee. He already has half a bucket full of crabs and shells, which he holds up in triumph.

“Why the hell he wants to mess with those things is beyond me,” Ethan mutters. “Have you seen the size of their claws?”

“They’re somewhat off-putting.”

“You make some words sound so cool with that accent.” Ethan is ridiculously genuine. Most guys would come off like sleazes for saying that, but not him. “Can you teach me some curse words?”

I laugh. “What, some British ones?”

“Might as well. Not like we have anything else to do.” He puts a hand to his brow and squints back toward the water villas. “Unless Aeron’s gonna come back any time soon and tell me off for talking to you, or whatever.”

“He actually does that?”

“Not yet.” He grimaces. “But he might.”

“He’s gone to meet Gwen and Harvey for an update on the…situation.”

“Oh. Right. That.”

“Uhuh.” Does Ethan never get suspicious of his boss? Or does he just assume it all comes with the territory? I’d ask him, but the last thing I want to do is plant a seed of doubt. “Still want to learn some dirty words?”

He grins. “Hit me.”

“Okay. Um…” I swipe my glass from the driftwood table nearby, and suck a mouthful of sweet coconut and pineapple up through the straw. “We should start with the classics—words for your garden variety *. There’s twat…wanker…tosspot…pillock…knob—which is associated with penises, it’s like calling someone a dick—and its obnoxious big brother, knobhead.”

“See, I know half of these because Spike uses them in Buffy.”

“But does he use ocean-going thundercunt or bollock-munching tit waffle?”

Ethan erupts in low, dirty chortles. “I…no. No, he didn’t. Those are inventive. God.” He manages to compose himself. “Is it bad to say it’s nice to talk to a grown-up?”

“Nope.” I offer him my drink, but he waves it away. “You do an awesome job with Ash, you know.”

He shrugs. “It’s just what I do.”

“I mean, I know we haven’t really talked much or anything…or seen much of each other…but I’ve been around a while. Aware. You do a lot for him.”

“He’s a great kid, and Aeron has a lot on his plate. He does a lot for my mom. It’s a family thing.”

Aeron doesn’t surround himself with a close circle of…anything. That’s not to say he’s all out of choices; Gwen tells us his email inbox and social media accounts are full of messages of support from people who count him as a friend. That email is slander, vicious slander, they say, and there will always be morons who’ll say anything to knock him off the top. But none of these “friends” are close to him. They’re business associates, old acquaintances, and he keeps up appearances—nothing more. Any true friendship is fantasy on their part.

Ethan’s probably closer to Aeron than any of those hangers-on, and he calls him family. I don’t know what to think about that.

“Do you know how long we’re gonna be out here?” Ethan asks suddenly. “Only it’s been a week now, and he hasn’t said.”

“I don’t. I’m sorry. You have something to get back for?”