Page 1 of Fire Island (Fire Island #2)

One

EVIE

T he generator hums beside me, rattling the chain and cuffs attaching me to its bulky body with every vibration. Leaning against the cool wall of the basement, I close my eyes, trying my best to ward off the panic that comes around every few hours when I remember how I got here.

Wrestling with the fact that . . . Cal isn’t.

He isn’t here.

Firefly, I assume, is still run aground on the eastern side. She won’t stay there if the swell rises or a storm rolls in. The small, dank space I’ve been a prisoner in for the past week offers no comfort. The nights are a little cool. The days long.

But I prefer my isolation to the three times a day he comes down, armed with a tangled mess of threats, feigned kindness, and scraps of the food Cal worked tirelessly to grow and harvest.

Emotion rolls a boulder into my throat.

I break down every time I think of the man I shared this lighthouse with for the past nine months. The one who, by all counts, is most likely gone.

If I have learned a thing from history, it’s that it repeats itself. Against all hope. Silent tears streak a well-worn path over my cheeks, dripping off my jaw. They splatter onto the concrete underneath, darkening the hard surface with their small, round pools.

“Where are you, Callum?” I sob.

I want to scream out for him, but my voice is still hoarse from the first three days of doing that. When I got no response, I tried for Emmett.

Still, that produced nothing.

Guilt and shame wore me down to silence.

The small wooden door to the generator room cracks open, and the blinding midday sun bursts through as the crack widens. I dip my head into my arm to save my eyes.

“Time to eat, Butterfly.” The slim, tall figure of T enters. He bends, placing a tray at my feet. “Any time you want to come upstairs, all you have to do is promise not to run away.”

I will do no such thing .

I’ve promised a man something before. I couldn’t keep it, and I love him.

Loved .

My face cracks with the uncontrollable wobble of my chin.

“Butterfly, no more tears for him. It’s you and me now,” T says, squatting a few feet from where I sit. A few feet away, because last time I lashed out.

And I will do it again.

“There is no you and me.” I seethe, tears flinging from my cheeks as I lurch forward until I hit the end of the chains.

There is no meek-and-mild girl here anymore.

Cal got what he wished for.

If only he’d been around to see it. If only he was the one to feel the benefits of the months of him guiding me back out of the dark place I’d crawled into. To find my fire for life.

My fire, period.

Emotion tries to steal my face again, and I tamp it back down.

T doesn’t get my tears.

They will never be for him.

As if reading my thoughts, he moves closer, holding out a hand, the way you would to a dangerous animal—injured, but dangerous nonetheless.

“Butte—”

“Don’t call me that!”

His face hardens, eyes mad. “Eve.” He rises and steps forward. “You have one more day, then you will be coming upstairs with me. If you are still thinking of running, forget about it. I’ve secured the lighthouse. A spot for you at the very top. There is no other way out but with me.”

He slides a hand into the pocket of his jeans, producing a set of keys.

He’s locking me away in the tower and throwing away the key.

Literally.

Without another word, he turns on his ridiculous loafer-clad heel and leaves me to my misery in the basement.

The food sits at my side for the next few hours. A potato and a small bowl of something that looks like lumpy stew. If I eat, I have to relieve myself.

The first time with the bucket was humiliating enough to want to avoid it at all costs. I’m guessing my tower prison will also have a bucket.

Maybe chains . . .

Maybe not.

No way down, and the light oscillating all night long, stealing my sleep.

The light . . .

If I can sabotage the generator, the lantern room will have no power. No power means no light. No light would surely prompt someone to come out to the island, wouldn’t it?

Gosh, I’d even be happy to see Errol at this point.

The old diesel machine runs twenty-four-seven, surely it will run out of gas soon enough. The exhaust is vented out of the basement by large piping. I guess I would be either high as a kite or dead from carbon monoxide poisoning by now if it wasn’t.

I scan the old engine for something to break, tamper with, or...

Then I see it.

The kill switch for the machine. A toggle in the center of the aged beast. If I can just?—

Shuffling forward, I reach out, fingers straining for the small metal flip switch. The machine hums against my shoulder as I contort myself, gaining inch by inch.

My fingers swipe past the tiny lever, not affecting it at all. “Dammit.”

The metal around my wrists bites as I push harder, shoulders curled in and chin tucked to my chest, desperate to reach.

The cool, hard switch brushes over my finger. I groan, willing my body into a pliable, boneless form. The generator rumbles against my right side. Holding my breath as if that will wring out the last of my bones’ resistance, I take one last pass at the switch.

Metal hits the pad of my middle finger. And... it gives. Falling with my hand.

The hum fades out, and the small generator room stills with the silence.

I jerk back up, shuffling away from the machine like I’m about to be busted.

Like the noise I barely heard in nine months living upstairs will suddenly be missed.

My wrists burn from the force of straining against my bonds.

I rub them the best I can. The chain rattles as I soothe the angry red skin with a wince.

Now I just need the light to stay out until someone notices tonight.

Fingers crossed.

Nightfall descends and the waters outside are dark.

So far, so good.

I attempt a bite of cold potato, my belly aching from emptiness from the days I’ve refused to eat.

The mouthful is bland but not unwelcome.

I swallow it down and pluck up the small enamel mug of water accompanying the food.

Not trusting the contents of the stew, I push the tray away and lean against the wall.

Come on, Emmett. See the dark little island.

Please realize something is wrong.

Please.

“What did you do?” A voice hisses through the silent darkness. I jolt from a restless sleep to look up at a hunched grey figure looming over me.

T.

“What did you break? You think this is a game, Butterfly?” He leaves my space, checking the generator over.

No. No, the failed light was my only hope.

I sit up, holding my breath. Praying he doesn’t find the toggle. Doesn’t know how to restart it.

He squats, tapping his phone before light streams through the small room, illuminating the old generator. He runs a hand over its many parts before flicking the toggle up and cranking the old diesel over. It groans to life.

I huff out a sob.

The small, defeated noise is drowned out by the reverberating rumble of the machine. I slump back to the stone floor, curling in on myself.

That’s it.

My hope, snuffed out. Unlike the long, bright beam I’m sure is now swinging around the top of my entrapment. Something slides over the rough floor.

The tray of food. A fist grabs my hair, tugging me from my protective position.

“Ahhh. Stop!” I scramble to my knees as he hauls me up by my hair. “Ow, please, I’m sorry!”

“Get up! NOW!”

I wobble to my feet, trying to curl away from him, keeping my head against his fist. Gasping, I sway on my feet as I search his pale eyes in the dim light.

“Please.” I try for a thread of humanity. “Please, let me go home.”

He leans in closer, a rough hand sliding around my arm, too tight. His fist releases my hair, but he pulls me close. “You are home.”

My chin wobbles.

His breath hits my face. His nose almost touching my own.

Repelled, I cower with a whimper.

He shakes my arm, rattling me in the process. “There is nothing else left for you now, Eve.”

“I don’t believe you,” I whisper, sucking back the sob wanting out of my throat.

“Why would I lie to you, Butterfly? I love you.”

“You’re a psycho. Who does this? This is not love. Nothing like it.”

“My methods may not be conventional, but my motives are as pure as it gets.”

I—

I can’t respond.

We stand too close, breathing into each other in the dark. Lost between hopelessness and rage, I’m frozen. He searches my face with those pale eyes I have grown to hate.

This man I hate.

Heat slithers down my spine, and I shudder at the proximity.

He sniffs, tossing his head to the side before hauling me by the arm toward the spot where my bonds are tied down. He unlocks the chains, then releases them from the handcuffs.

Where he stole them from, who knows.

With the cuffs remaining on my wrists, T drags me from the generator room. Closing the door, he mutes the hum of the old machine as the light above us swings around and into the night.

The cool ocean breeze plays with my messy hair. I stand rigid, taking in the sight of the island I’ve been shut away from for days. The grassy area that meets the beach. The tree line marking the border of the forest I love. The shacks...

The—

Greenhouse.

A sob tangles in my throat, transforming into a boulder blocking my airway.

Cal.

Callum.

Above, the night’s dark blanket is studded with brilliant white stars. Their shimmering points unwavering. The moon, slowly rising in the east, is a giant orange pocked globe. She’s magnificent.

And Cal isn’t here to sit and watch her rise with me.

Cal isn’t here.

“Inside.” His voice breaks, as if the beauty of this place is a stark reminder of his black fucking heart.

Reluctantly, I move toward the front door. It’s hanging open. When I step over the threshold, what I find takes my breath away. Everything is trashed.

What the hell?

The furniture is turned over, books scattered over the floor. It’s like someone raided it, looking for something. Or had a monster meltdown.

“What happened?” I utter.

“Eyes on the stairwell,” T grinds out.

With his hand shoving me up the twisting treads, I take the steps one at a time. When I reach the first floor, I expect our room to look much the same as the living area. To my surprise, it’s untouched.

“You’ll be back in your bed soon enough, my precious girl,” T whispers, his hot breath hitting my neck. I wince, tugging forward in his grip.

“Not with you,” I hiss.

His grip tightens. “You’re mine, Butterfly. I have waited long enough. Been more than patient. You will give me what I want.”

We ascend the stairs to the lantern room. I focus on each tread to stave off the rising panic. When he leans past me and shoves the door open, I stop in my tracks.

Rough hands smack into my back, and I stagger into the once-pristine lantern room.

Now, the glass enclosure is boarded halfway up, only letting the beam skim over the top. Way past my head height. The lamp rotates blindingly, and I raise my hands to protect my face.

“I thought of smashing this old giant. To take the last piece of him in this place.” T glances at the light before it comes around.

I spin back, horror etched all over my face.

The door slams. Something on the other side rattles like a lock being clicked shut.

Then another.

Fists pounding against the wooden door, I slide to my knees. The wail that leaves me carries on the breeze, echoing over the Atlantic.