Page 47 of Faded Rhythm

Julian

Three months later

The sun is brutal this morning in Gros Islet.

I squint under the weight of it as I walk the narrow, winding road leading to the market.

The salty breeze off the Atlantic brushes against my face, and I can already feel my t-shirt sticking to me.

I shift the canvas grocery sack in my hand and adjust my sunglasses.

Somewhere, music plays faintly in the distance.

Country western, which blew my mind when I first touched down here.

St. Lucians' tastes are quite diverse. So far, I prefer Soca.

I pass the drugstore, nodding to the woman sweeping in front. I wave at the fisherman setting up his ice chest of snapper outside the fish market. The scent of mangoes from the fruit stall is thick and sweet and tangling with the aromas of coffee and rum.

“Morning,” I say to the woman at the produce cart. I pick out some breadfruit, papaya, and a few sweet peppers.

She nods, but doesn’t smile. Fair enough—I’m not from around here. Everyone’s pleasant and polite, but I haven’t made any friends yet. That's my own fault. Most days I don’t venture beyond the local restaurants and the barber shop.

Still, I like it here. It’s stunningly beautiful and peaceful.

I chuckle to myself on the walk back, glancing down at my toes, which are calloused in these brown flip-flops. I traded boots for Unc sandals. Tactical gear for cotton tees. War rooms for beaches.

But I fuck with it heavy.

When I get back to my place, a small, weather-worn white stucco bungalow with bright blue shutters, I unlock the gate and push through the courtyard, passing my hammock and the long clothesline strung with damp t-shirts.

I drop the groceries in the kitchen, crack the windows, and strip down to my shorts.

It’s naptime.

I usually go to the beach. Every day, like clockwork, I walk the winding trail behind the property, past almond trees and my neighbor’s goats, to the quietest stretch of the beach. I fish. Snorkel. Sit in my kayak and let the sun toast me while I think.

I mostly think about her.

But I haven’t reached out. I can’t. AJ says the police are sniffing around trying to connect her to Brett’s disappearance. I can’t risk her freedom like that.

So instead, I keep myself busy going through the encrypted data AJ pulled off of Dime’s hard drives. I’ve been diving deep into old contracts, surveillance footage, blackmail material, names…lots of names. Some of them famous.

I don’t even know what I’m looking for anymore.

But it passes the time.

And sometimes, it makes me wonder if I could do this for real. Use my skills to become a private investigator. I’d still be serving justice, but without leaving a trail of bodies in my wake.

At night, when the sea turns black and the frogs start their symphony, I eat and scroll through her social media from my burner accounts just to get my Sable fix.

She’s healing up nicely.

She’s fucking beautiful. Still.

And she’s doing it all without me.

I feel guilty, because the bright light that used to radiate from her has dimmed a bit. I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault. Once again, a woman I care about is collateral damage.

That’s why I left her in that hospital room.

She doesn’t post the girls, but she mentions them a lot, mostly on her stories. Little things, like the paper crown Rae made her for mother’s day, or Kelice starting piano lessons. I wish I could see their little faces, but I admire the way she protects them.

I haven’t looked at another woman since I got here, which says a lot, because St. Lucia got some talent. But they’re not her , so I glance and keep it pushing.

I take care of my needs when I have to, but I’m wound up. Pent up. Restless. The kind of restless that can’t be fixed with a cold shower or a fist full of lotion.

Tonight, I try to distract myself.

I eat fish on the back patio, then I go inside and collapse on the old floral couch that came with the house. I turn on the TV for background noise. Happy Days is on. I laugh to myself, because I thought I escaped that shit a long time ago. The nostalgia is cool, though. It lulls me to sleep.

Then something jolts me awake.

A knock.

My hand instinctively flies under the couch. My fingers wrap around cool steel—my Glock—before I remember.

I’m not on a mission.

I’m on an island. A peaceful one.

I’m safe here.

I exhale slowly and slide the gun back into its place.

Another knock.

I get up, half-dazed, and make my way to the door. My feet drag across the tile. My brain’s still foggy from sleep. I twist the knob and pull the door open.

And there she is.

Sable.

Standing in the moonlight like something from a fever dream.

Her hair is wild and curly. Her skin a little pale. But her eyes…her eyes are the same.

Alive.

“Hey,” she says, and the sound goes straight to my heart.

I reach out and touch her face just to make sure she’s real. She leans into my touch and smiles, stunning me with her beauty. I can’t even speak. All I can do is stare.

And then I pull her to me, and nothing else matters.

My mouth is on hers. My hands slam the door shut, then go straight to her ass. My dick is so hard, it hurts, but the more pressing matter is showing her my gratitude. She doesn’t know that she changed my life showing up here tonight. She made my dreams come true.

I scoop her up in my arms. She wraps her legs around my waist like it’s second nature, like her body remembers mine. I kiss her deeper, tilting my head to get more of her, thrusting my tongue deeper to drink her in. She moans, sending an electric current up my spine.

“I missed you so fucking much,” I whisper, my lips trailing down her jaw. “You have no idea.”

Before she can answer, I’m moving down the short hallway to my bedroom. I lay her down gently, then strip her out of her dress. My breath hitches when I see her again, naked and fine.

She’s even finer than I remembered. Damn .

There’s a raised pink scar under her collarbone. I reach out and brush my fingers over it.

“Do I need to be gentle?”

She shakes her head. “Be whatever you need to be to make me feel good.”

Bet.

I peel her out of her panties, then myself out of my shorts. By the time I settle between her thighs, I’m shaking. That’s how urgent this is. Her skin is warm and soft as ever. And her eyes…they’re full of fire. She’s so fucking sexy.

When I slide inside her, my body jerks from the sudden rush of heat and pleasure. My eyes roll back. She feels so familiar wrapped around me again.

“Fuck,” I groan in her ear. “It’s been too long.”

She bites my bottom lip. “She missed you.”

I return the favor with a nip to her neck. “I missed her, too.”

She arches beneath me, moaning, digging her nails into my back. “I thought about this every night.”

“Me, too, baby.” I suck on her tongue, slowly rocking into her, trying the gentle approach. “You just don’t understand how much I love it when we fuck.”

“Is that what you love?”

I stop for a brief intermission. My fingers tangle in her hair as I capture her eyes with mine.

“I love you, Sable. All of you.”

Finally. I said the words. I feel the words. I’m living the words.

I savor this moment. It’s not just fucking. It’s making love.

There's that word again.

I start back slow, savoring every movement. My hips roll in rhythm with hers, our bodies falling in sync. One hand cups the back of her neck as I kiss her, while my other hand slips between us to find her clit. She cries out, lighting a fuse in me.

Then we lose ourselves.

It gets wild and breathless, two bodies moving hard and fast, tangled in the sheets, two hearts tangled in each other.

Her heels dig into my back as I drive into her.

Her pussy tightens around me, squeezing, gripping, tugging.

It feels so damn good, it’s all I can do to hold it; I can’t cum before she does.

I close my eyes and fuck her until she yells my name and I feel her come apart in my arms.

That pushes me over the edge.

I groan into her neck, thrusting deep one last glorious time, emptying every ounce of tension and pent-up longing into her.

I pull out slowly and roll onto my back. I measure the time by her body language, counting down the minutes until she’s ready to cum again. When she turns her head to smile at me, I know she’s ready.

My head is between her thighs now, my tongue showing absolutely no mercy. I lick, flick, and suck her to another orgasm, and even though she doesn’t need to, she returns the favor.

I’m on my knees on the bed when she sucks me into her mouth, one hand in her hair, the other at the back of her neck. She’s good at that shit, too. Who knew?

“Fuck.” I stare down at her pretty face, grimacing when she locks eyes with me, pinning me in place with her stare. She’s in control and she knows it. All I can do is watch helplessly as she makes my dick disappear, taking me to the back of her throat like a fucking champ.

I don’t last long.

“I’m close,” I warn, but she doesn’t seem to care. She gags on it, slurping as spit drips down her chin. It’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen and heard in my life. My toes curl as she sucks that nut out of me. I cum hard, and she takes it all right down her throat.

It’s only after all this that I’m clearheaded enough to ask her the question.

“How did you get here?”