Page 15 of All The Way Under

He looks uncomfortable, swallowing hard before replying, “Someone with a ransom larger than mine. I’m guessing you have connections by what they’ve told me.”

The pit forms in my stomach. He knows who I am.

“What exactly have they told you?” I ask as we round the last bend before we get to the makeshift parking lot for the vehicles. Our cage is close by, and it gives me shivers for more than one reason.

He shakes his head. “It’s why I wanted to know what you did and was asking questions.

They said you had a high ransom. That’s all.

It’s easy to leap from that to having connections,” he explains, stooping down when he recognizes the bike that’s missing parts.

“I want to go home and see my family and my dog, and have this in my past. It doesn’t matter what they say.

We shouldn’t believe it, anyway. They’re crooks. ”

Other men bring a large, heavy, balled-up tarp and open it next to us with a bunch of stolen parts. Brody blows out a breath when he makes the connection. There are bits and bobbles from a lot of different technologies.

My hand immediately darts out when I see a screen that looks like it belongs to a GPS. It’s smashed, but I bet I could get it working if I can find the right makeshift tools.

“Are you married?” I ask, questioning just what he means by family. He used that word to be intentionally misleading, goading me into asking more questions. I think. Or maybe he doesn’t share things about himself often.

I roll wires in my hand, testing the ends to see if they’re sharp.

“I’m not,” he deadpans, picking up spark plugs and a carburetor.

“Kids?” I return.

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“So who is your family?”

He turns his head, annoyed with my line of questioning, I bet.

“My brother and my parents. I have a guard dog too.”

“Where do you live?” I ask, handing him a wrench. It feels oddly like being in my dad’s shop, and a pang of grief hits me square in the chest.

My dad has to be sick with worry and guilt for allowing me to go and do this. Talking to Brody, even as square as he is, helps.

“The North East,” he deadpans, then lets the wrench clank down against another tool. “Near Sag Harbor. Anything else?”

“We live close to each other in real life,” I say. “Do you have a girlfriend?” My voice gets irritatingly high on the last word.

He sits, facing me.

“What about me would make you believe a woman would want to be committed to me long term?”

Your abs is on the tip of my tongue.

“The way you present yourself to me doesn’t have to be the way you are to other women.

Even people like you can be nice to the right person,” I explain.

“We’re trapped on an island. You said it yourself that it doesn’t bring out the best in you.

I don’t think it’s that far-fetched that you have a girlfriend or a situationship back home. Whatever it is that men do these days.”

One of his brows shoots up. “I am not a man who does situationships. I do work.”

“You do gym. You do moods,” I say, cracking myself up. “Seriously, you don’t have anyone?”

“That’s hard to believe?” he asks. “Do you?”

He’s just throwing my question back, but it makes my stomach flip.

“I don’t. He broke up with me before my record-setting sail. Now I’m setting different records, I’m sure. Not the good kind either.”

Examining my nails, I smooth my fingers over my cuticles. Bianca would die if she saw them.

“I have family waiting too. My parents, my sister, and friends.”

“You’re disbelieving that I don’t have a ball and chain, and you don’t either?”

I clear my throat. “Well, it’s different for you, I’m sure. It’s not so easy for me to date.”

I need to be careful about what I say. The last thing I want is to have to tell him about the circles I have to stay inside of and the type of people who are deemed acceptable.

“I don’t check the normal boxes as a partner. I like odd things like sailing and software. I don’t deal with typical male bullshit either, so it makes it hard to find someone who…appreciates me.” I scrunch up my nose when I realize I still said too much.

“How is that different for me? Are you assuming I don’t have high standards and enjoy dealing with typical female bullshit? It’s hard to find someone who appreciates you no matter what. If anything, it’s even harder for me. I like the gym and mechanics. Those things don’t attract a lot of ladies.”

He begins wrenching again, but drops it out of nerves. His hand shakes as he picks it up. I’m making him nervous or uncomfortable.

“You don’t talk about this kind of stuff often, do you?”

Brody shakes his head once. “Never.”

“What’s your type?” I soldier on, needing more info to figure him out.

It’s the most fun I’ve had since before the sail.

My mom’s spring soirée was enormous, and all my friends were there.

We dressed in matching flowy maxi dresses, drank champagne, and made plans for more partying when I returned from my sail.

I don’t remember laughing so hard in my entire life.

Of course Mom invited prospects for me, her friend’s sons.

They all have the same bland personalities, with the same insipid style, with the same degrees and ambitions.

I tried to engage with them, but they all reminded me of lying, cheating Archie at the end of the day, and I don’t want that.

“I don’t have a defined type, and if I do, I’ve never thought about how to describe it,” he says, pouring gas into the bike tank from a black makeshift can. The bike doesn’t start when he bypasses the starter to try to see if what he just fixed is working.

“Let me,” I say, moving him out of the way, taking the wrench, and redoing what I saw him mess up. “Describe it,” I order while I focus on the task. “Think about your type and describe it.”

“When I think about something, it’s not going to be this instantaneous ah-ha moment. It takes time to sift through my thoughts,” he says.

I peer over my shoulder, and he’s watching my hands with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t want to be bored or bossed around,” he replies. “I don’t need to think too hard for those.”

“Okay, same,” I reply, switching wires out with ones that I found when they first put the tarp down. It cranks immediately when I try. “But it’s hard because I’m a woman and men want to tell me how to live and who to be.”

He shakes his head.

“Good job,” he says as he moves my hands out of the way to finish the job. “I’ll put it back together now.”

At the sound of the bike starting, the men guarding us from a distance clap and whoop.

“We keep doing this, they’re going to crown us leaders of the pirate tribe,” Brody remarks, grinning. “The right man won’t tell you how to live and who to be, but it feels like you know that already. You’re fishing for someone else to tell you that.”

I scoff. “I’m the leader of pirates now. I don’t need anyone to tell me anything.”

I brush my hair over my shoulder. It’s stiff from drying in the sun after being wet.

“I take it back. Maybe I need someone to tell me where to find some shampoo and soap.”

Brody tries to hide a smile, but I see it before he turns back to work.

“There’s a large garden east of the main building. There must be stuff growing that can be used for soap,” he says. “Do you know anything about herbs or mixing things? I don’t know much in that regard. I know leaves of three let it be, and if it’s shiny and red, you could turn up dead.”

Clearing my throat, I say, “I do know a few things. I studied all the different countries I sailed to as a kid.” I regret telling him that fact, so I bluster on, “We need to get into the garden. I’d kill…I mean, I’d do anything for a fresh vegetable, too.”

Brody picks up a different, smaller tool and stands to get a better grip.

“You think you can use whatever manipulating skills you have to get us into the garden tomorrow?”

“Manipulating?”

“Yes. I mean, they took to you immediately. There has to be some skill you have that made you trustworthy so quickly. To them.”

“To them? Not to you?”

Brody starts the bike using the button, and it roars to life on the first try. He’s better than I gave him credit for after the first wiring mistake.

“I didn’t kill people, Saylor, and you said you trusted me.”

“I do now. It’s not like I have a lot of options. But you have to admit, even if you had killed people, they’d still trust you over me.”

He offers the bike to the guard, pushing it toward the man with his eyes aglow, then walks back to me.

“I can’t say, because I didn’t do anything to make them hate me, and you did.” Brody pauses. “What’s your type, then?”

“That conversation was done and over, and you’re bringing it back up. See? It is entertaining and interesting to talk about it, right?”

He picks through the parts on the tarp, examining each piece and part, rolling them in his hand to catalog them.

“You won’t believe me when I say this, but I don’t know.

Really, I don’t. I know my exes weren’t my type just because they’re my exes.

My sister fell in love with her first boyfriend, and it was game over.

She’s married now. I guess I expected the same thing to happen for me, and when it didn’t, I sort of gave up trying… too hard.”

“Someone at your job? A man who has the same talents and hobbies? Someone who likes sailing?”

He’s spitballing, trying to see if anything lands as a response.

“What was your last ex like?”

I raise my brows. “All my exes have cheated on me. I’ve come to expect that as the norm. Archie cheated and lied, but he was charming when he needed to be and had a good job.”

I almost say, a good pedigree, but I stop myself.

“When he broke up with me, he said it was because I wasn’t serious enough about life, because I wanted to do this sail around the world.

” I exhale noisily. “That’s how they caught me, you know?

I was trying to sail around the world, and my AI system went down.

I needed to dock to fix it before I continued on my journey. ”

Brody narrows his eyes. “You expect men to cheat on you?”

I’m flustered now that he’s turned the questioning back on me, exposed in a way that I never am.

“They always have, so either that’s what I attract, or that’s how men are, and I’d hate to think it’s a me problem.”

“I have never and would never cheat on a woman.”

Brody takes out the junk parts and closes the tarp, so the weather doesn’t destroy anything more.

“When I find the right woman, that will be it for me. The men who have cheated on you aren’t men. They don’t deserve your time or energy.”

My stomach flips. “Was that a compliment?”

He shakes his head. “An observation about basic human nature. If humans cheat, they aren’t in love.

I’ve seen it a lot with my friends. Some are faithful and some aren’t, and the common denominator with the men who step out on their wives isn’t their wives, it’s them and their own issues. It’s fucked up.”

“You seem to know a lot for someone who doesn’t talk about relationships often,” I counter.

“Here is a compliment. You were right. Talking about this is entertaining. I may learn something about myself,” Brody says, raising his face to the sky. “The rain is about to start. Do we ask them for food before we go back?”

Ravelo waves us over and brings us to the stilted house that has the tables for eating.

We eat, and I watch Brody carefully. He seems to be deep in thought and avoiding all eye contact.

I correct my first impression of him in my mind.

He’s not bad vibes, he’s hard to get to know vibes.

After seeing him nearly naked, he’s also hot vibes.

He fixes things. He’s educated with a skill set to rival my own.

He has blue eyes. Biceps. Abs. A deep voice.

A section of hair right in the center of his forehead that forms in one perfect curl.

He is loyal. He has a dimple on one side—the left.

I’m staring, and I only realize it when he turns to look at me. He licks his lips and grins. He knows what he’s doing to me. He has to.

“I have another question,” I blurt.

Brody juts up his chin and bites into a chicken leg.

“Ask it.”

I run my hand through my dirty hair and say, “If we were in the real world and you saw me out on the street, would I be your type on looks alone?”

“Oh, this is a fun game,” Brody replies, rubbing his hands together. “Tell me what you’re wearing in the real world.”

“This. I’m wearing this,” I reply, erasing my smile. “Be serious. I need to test my theory. Am I your type physically?”

He swallows a bite of food, and I take a bite.

“I am physically attracted to you. If I saw you on the street and knew nothing else, yes, I would find you attractive.”

“Would you approach me?”

He rubs his chin with his thumb and forefinger.

“I don’t ask women out. My last relationship was a long time ago and lasted for a year or so. But for the sake of your theory, I’ll say yes. I’d ask you out.” He tilts his head. “The question is, do you say yes to me? In the real world?”

I’m dirty, still hungry after eating, and staring at a man who is equal parts unnerving as he is gorgeous, and all I can think of is sex.

“Yes. I’d say yes.”

“Ding. Ding. Ding,” he says, pressing his lips together. “I think we have a winner. You’ve found your type.”

He palms his chest. “Happy to be of service, baby.”

I swallow down the last bite and continue staring at him. He’s acting smug, but he’s covering for an insecurity. I’m sure of it. I lean back in my chair.

“Looks like you’ve found your type too.” I lean over and tap him on the nose as I say, “Me.”