Does It Hurt?: Chapter 14

I fucking hate him.

I’m still seething by the time I step back into the lighthouse.

Closing the door behind me, I begin to charge toward the staircase, and pray to God that Enzo isn’t in there. It would be a form of justice if he slipped and hit his head on a rock.

Natural selection, bitch.

I’m stopped in my tracks when a booming voice pipes up to my right, causing me to jump, a high-pitched yelp slipping free.

“My, my, you look mighty angry. ’Magine you’d give that storm that took ya’ll out a run for its money.”

Shut up, you crinkly dinosaur.

Forcing a smile to my face, I say, “I’m fine. Just didn’t catch any fish today.”

He waves a hand in dismissal. “You’ll have your days, sweetie. Come sit, I’ll make ya feel better.”

An uneasy feeling washes over me as he pats the cushion on the couch beside him, giving me a crooked grin. His teeth are beginning to blacken—something I hadn’t really noticed until now.

He’s been asking me to sit next to him a lot these past few days. It’s weird, but I’ve continuously brushed it off, considering Enzo hasn’t seemed to think anything of it.

You’re looking for something that isn’t there.

Right. He’s just being friendly.

All men want you for one thing, pipsqueak. I’m the only one who actually loves you.

Tightening my lips into a strained smile, I sit down, coercing my stiff muscles into relaxing. Not that it’s working.

His rough, calloused hand lands on my shoulder, sending a riptide of goosebumps across my body. He squeezes it playfully and chuckles. “Yer so tensed up! Fish got you that much in a tizzy?”

I shrug, hoping to dislodge his hand, but it’s unsuccessful. I’ve never been good at confrontation. Throwing up the peace sign and moonwalking out of the vicinity is my go-to response.

But before I can do anything, Enzo is walking into the living room, his eyes immediately finding mine. Instantly, Sylvester’s hand tightens on my shoulder, and while my confrontation skills are lacking, my intuition skills are not.

It feels like he’s trying to claim me.

Enzo’s gaze sharpens as it zeroes in on where Sylvester is touching me.

“What are you doing?”

“We were havin’ a conversation, boy. What else?” Sylvester answers, his tone disgruntled and slightly defensive

“Then why are you touching her?” he snaps, voice hard and unyielding.

My mouth pops open, ready to make peace, but Enzo’s eyes cut to me in warning. I tighten my lips and keep quiet for now. Mainly because Sylvester’s hand has only grown heavier on my shoulder, as if asserting dominance, and by the darkening look on Enzo’s face, he’s about to hike his leg.

“You got a problem with it? Don’t see yer name written anywhere on her,” Sylvester retorts.

“I won’t just write it, I’ll carve it. Take your hand off her, or I will do it for you.”

Abruptly, I stand, dislodging Sylvester’s grip and attracting both of their attention.

“Let’s not fight, okay? And while I appreciate both of your concerns, please don’t use me as a tool in your pissing contest.”

Sylvester opens his mouth, but I rush out of the room before he can get a word out.

I run. Because that’s what I do best.

I’m sitting on the bed reading through an old book about lighthouses when a knock rumbles against the door. Sylvester opens it and steps through a moment later, not even giving me time to let him know it’s okay to come in.

I sigh.

He has no concept of privacy except when it comes to his own. I could have been changing, though I only have a few spare t-shirts and one pair of shorts anyways. My bathing suit is my only source of undergarments, and I only take them off long enough to wash them before slipping them right back on.

“I owe ya an apology for earlier,” Sylvester says, appearing contrite.

It’s been a few hours since I escaped from the dick-measuring showdown, but I haven’t seen Enzo since.

The bastard probably went to my cave, and I’m fully prepared to fight him over it. I found that damn cave, so I reserve the right to control who has custody of it and when.

I shrug. “It’s cool. Testosterone gets the best of us,” I say mildly.

“Meh, well, I don’t think it gets the best of you, but I hear what yer saying. That boy doesn’t got no manners, and my pride got in the way there. I’m sorry if I made ya uncomfortable.”

“Sure. I think as long as everyone keeps their hands to themselves from now on, there shouldn’t be any more issues like that.”

His bottom lip juts out as he nods, and for a moment, he almost looks displeased by my answer. It seems as if he was expecting me to say his touching me didn’t make me uncomfortable, but well… it did.

And I may be a liar, but I’m not about to invite this old man to put his hands on me whenever he pleases.

I’ll go live with the fucking glowworms before that happens.

“That include yer friend, too?” he asks finally, keeping his stare pinned to the wooden floor.

I frown, my brow furrowing.

“What do you mean?”

Sylvester shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I imagine any man would have a hard time keeping their hands to themselves when you look like ya do and are dressed how ya are. Can’t exactly blame ’em, can ya?”

I blink. “Sounds like you’re talking about little boys. A man wouldn’t touch a woman without their consent,” I volley back. “Plus, a bathing suit isn’t an invitation to be violated.”

Sure it is, pipsqueak. You’re practically crying for fucking attention.

He chuckles deep in his throat, the rough sound lacking humor.

“It’s been a rough day. Bedtime is at seven PM tonight, ah’ight?”

“What? Why?”

He grumbles something, waddling his way over to the door.

“We’ll all start fresh tomorrow mornin’,” is all he says.

Just as he steps out, Enzo appears, his face immediately cast in suspicion. He’s shirtless, and it’s almost enough to distract me from the caretaker’s odd behavior.

Sylvester keeps silent and just waits for Enzo to enter the room, the pair watching each other closely.

“You two have a good night,” the old man calls before firmly closing the door behind him.

I stand, having no idea what the hell to say but prepared to say something, until I hear an audible click.

“Did you just lock us in here?” I shout, rushing to the door and jiggling the doorknob.

“Sleep tight,” he calls back, before hobbling down the hallway.

“The fuck? He seriously locked us in?” Enzo barks, pushing me aside to try the door handle for himself.

Enzo slams a hand on the wood. “Hey! It’s fucking seven o’clock, man. Let us out.”

However, Sylvester is already gone, on his way down the metal steps, if the metallic ringing sound is any indication.

“What the hell happened?” he snaps, turning his glare to me accusingly.

“I didn’t do anything!” I shout defensively. “Where were you anyway?”

“I’ve been downstairs fixing a few things so I could focus on something else other than throttling him. I just went to take a shower ten minutes ago and came out to this,” he explains, frustration evident in his tone.

It’s only now that I realize that water droplets are clinging to the fine dusting of hair on his chest, dripping down the contours of his abs. His hair and beard are growing out, yet it doesn’t make him look any less devastating. Coupled with the fierce expression on his face, my organs are currently on fire, and my blood is the gasoline.

“So, what happened?” he repeats, his brow furrowed with anger.

Clearing my throat, I will myself to refocus on the issue at hand.

“He came in here to apologize and then ended up saying if a man touches me, I asked for it because I’m wearing a bikini and shorts.”

He takes a menacing step toward me, a black shadow blanketing him. “Did he touch you again?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, turning to glower at the door. “Lo uccido,” he spits, deathly calm.

“What does that mean?”

He turns to me, searing me beneath his blazing stare. “It means I’m going to fucking kill him, Sawyer.”

I scoff, baffled at why the hell he’s acting like he gives a shit.

“Whatever. You don’t have much room to talk anyway.”

He turns that glower to me, and I shift. He’s seriously scary.

“Come again?” he challenges.

“Well, did you not fuck me while actively drowning me? You’re going to act like there isn’t something wrong with that?”

A dimple begins to appear in his cheek, and I swear to God, if the fucker actually smiles right now, I’m going to kill him.

“You’re right,” he concedes, pausing a beat before saying, “and I’d do it again. I’m the only one allowed to touch you, bella ladra, and I’m the only one who will cause you pain. Capito?”

My eyes widen in shock, and for a few seconds, the only thing I’m capable of is sputtering at him.

“What are you—a barbarian? Did cavemen raise you?”

“I wouldn’t call nuns cavemen,” he responds casually. I just stare at him, and he calmly walks to the bed, picking up the book and studying it. I get the feeling he’s just trying to distract himself from me, and for some reason, that pisses me off more.

“You were not raised by nuns.”

“Where did you get this?” he asks, wiggling the book and ignoring me.

“The bookshelf. It’s a shelf that you put books on,” I clip. “Where did you get your audacity?”

He continues to ignore me as he flips through the book, refusing to offer me a real response.

My hands ball into tight fists, a cocktail of emotions churning in my stomach. From his threats in the cave to Sylvester’s strange attitude, and now this… I’m overflowing with frustration from the entire male species.

I’m pretty sure women can live just fine without them, yet here they are, still plaguing Earth like cockroaches. A definite hiccup in evolution.

“Learn anything valuable about lighthouses? Anything that might actually help us?”

Us. There is no us. There’s only him and me. No we. No unit or team. No partners or even someone to trust. We only became one person for a night. Now it’s he and I. That’s it.

I cross my arms. “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

He hums deep in his chest. It might as well be a tornado alarm.

“Is that because you want to get off this island alone?” he questions lightly, though there’s a hint of darkness in his tone that’s unmistakable.

I turn away from him, fully prepared to put myself in timeout and stick my nose in the corner just so I don’t have to look at him anymore.

Kevin used to get me in trouble all the time, and that was always my mother’s solution. Nose in the corner. I was tired of looking at cracked white paint, so one day, I decided to stick my nose between the walls so hard I nearly broke it. I told my mother it had attacked me and that timeouts were too dangerous. So her solution was to make me stand outside on the front porch, facing the little playground set they bought for Kev. She said now the walls couldn’t hurt me anymore.

Just the sight of watching my brother play without me. Free of sin.

Or at least that’s what he claimed.

And what Mom always believed because I accepted punishments for his wrongdoings in silence.

So, why stay quiet now?

“I don’t care what happens to you,” I mutter beneath my breath.

I only manage one more step when suddenly a hand is roughly gripping my curls and spinning me back around. A gasp leaves my tongue, and my heart bottoms out when I come face-to-face with two fierce hazel eyes. That dark spot in his right iris is sprouting, turning it nearly black.

He steps into my personal space and bares his teeth, tightening his grip on my hair until my skull is laced with pain.

“You’ve made that clear, baby, and it’s so fucking unfortunate for you that I care about what happens to you.”

I push against his chest, but he doesn’t budge, and I’m breathless as I bite out, “Why the fuck would you care?”

He leans in impossibly closer, a cyclone of electricity forming in the room. Every time his skin slides against mine, a storm cloud swells, and lightning strikes somewhere around the world.

How many others have shipwrecked because he can’t stop touching me?

“Because I want to see you suffer. And I will do everything in my power to make sure that happens. If that means keeping you alive just so I can tear you down, so be it.”

Then, he harshly pushes me away, causing me to stumble and land right on my ass, a harsh breath forced from my lungs.

“Asshole,” I wheeze, tears stinging the backs of my eyes while a shooting pain races up my spine.

God, I can’t fucking stand him.

Once again, he ignores me. Instead, returning to sit on the bed, leaning back against the stone wall with his feet crossed, skimming over the lighthouse book as if he doesn’t have a care in the fucking world.

But last time I checked, I’ve been ruining lives far longer than him.