That Which Binds Us Page 13

  You moved on, Nina. And so have I. Stop clinging to the past.

  I have nothing to offer you anymore.

  Was he right?

  He takes the tray and sets it by the door of the cellar. I see him go up the stairs. “’Night, Ben.” He turns and looks at me for a second, a hint of regret shadowing his face. I almost invite him into the bedroom—almost.

  “’Night, Nina,” he says quietly.

  T W E N T Y

  Ben—Present

  Isla Culebrita, Puerto Rico

  THE NEXT MORNING, I wake up early. I’m stiff from sleeping on the hard stone, and it takes a minute of stretching and cracking my bones to feel normal. I’m only twenty-nine, but sleeping on a floor like this makes me feel like I’m sixty. I stand and fold my blanket, just like I do every morning. It always smells like mildew in here, no matter how many times I clean it. The mold has probably oozed into all the cracks and crevices, just from the sheer age of this building.

  I make my way down the stairs, ducking into Nina’s room as I head down to the cellar. She’s still asleep, and I can’t help but smile when I see her sleeping soundly. I make myself a quick cup of coffee using the water heater and instant coffee. I offered some to Nina a few days ago, but she insists she prefers green tea. If we ever get off this island, I plan on buying her a large box of the best green tea from China that I can find.

  I don’t eat breakfast. I almost never do. Instead, I grab one of the protein shakes I keep around and down it in four gulps. It tastes like sugary crap, but it’s loaded with the protein and calories that I need in a place like this. When I’m finished, I quickly freshen up in the bathroom, being careful not to wake Nina.

  As I trod down the stairs and onto the sand, which is still mostly shaded due to the position of the morning sun, I start out with a slow jog, running along the shore until the beach curves to the right. I follow it around for about half a mile, and then I take my usual route through the small forest filled with palm, agave, and banana trees. It’s a lush forest, reminding me of a mini rainforest with its thick coverage and humid air. The island is probably only about two square miles, but the beauty is packed into each corner of the land.

  Sweaty and panting, I break through the other side of the forest and take a seat on the beach opposite of the lighthouse. This beach is different from the one near the lighthouse. It’s the beach the tourists come to when they visit the island. White sand, clear water, remote location… I come here most days to get away from the stifling tension. It’s crippling. It feels like either my chest or my dick is going to explode at any given minute with Nina. I can’t explain my reaction—it happened suddenly, like a firework crackling and fizzling out in the wrong place, causing a forest fire. Until yesterday, I thought I was alone in my fantasies. Turns out, Nina probably feels the same way. Which is… so so fucked up, considering what I did to her.

  Once my breathing slows and the sweat begins to dry, the sun begins to beat down on my skin. I’m trying my best to prevent a sunburn here, but considering gingers rarely dodge the sun’s harmful rays unscathed, I make my way back through the shaded forest. On my walk back, I pass by a grove of trees bearing what looks to be tiny bananas. I know these bananas. Small, yellow, and delicious as fuck. I pick a few ripe-looking ones off. If I recall correctly, they’re sweet like apples, and they’ll make a delicious addition to our usual breakfast of oatmeal and evaporated milk.

  I walk straight into the cellar and begin to prepare a meal that’s semi-gourmet. I like to cook. I don’t get much of an opportunity because of my crazy hours, but Rhonda taught me to cook well, and I find it relaxes me. I’d probably be a chef if it weren’t for my job.

  My job.

  Everything got so mixed up when I saw her. I didn’t have a plan that night, but it’s obvious to me now that she needs to go back. I trust that she won’t tell anyone the truth. Now that we’ve spent a few days together, I know she would never purposely out me. Or maybe I don’t care anymore. I’m so pissed off at myself. I was so worried two years ago when they put Deirdre in Kandahar—everything I’d worked for, everything I’d done to improve the station and the reason we were there—and here I am fucking everything up here. For a woman. We always worked as a team, and I just… abandoned them. I’d earned a lot of respect at Langley, and these past few days have blown everything out of the water.

  I clank around a little too loudly, thinking of everyone at the station without a leader.

  I’m their leader, and I left them.

  My father’s words echo in my mind.

  Useless.

  However, on top of the self-loathing, I feel… free. Over the last couple of days, I’ve replayed my next conversation with Sandler over in my mind about fifty times. When I do talk to Sandler, if he doesn’t kill me first, I’m putting in my resignation. My guys deserve better anyways. They deserve someone who wouldn’t abandon them.

  But before I do that, I need a few weeks to think about my life and what I want to do. I got into this business so young. I never really thought about what else would make me happy.

  Nina would make you happy.

  The thought pops into my head quickly, but I shove it aside. There’s no use in even thinking about Nina. She has a future. I took it away from her, but I’ll be damned if I don’t die trying to give it back to her.

  For a few days there, when Nina asked to leave, I thought I’d spend my existence here, starving and alone, as punishment. What I’d done to her—to everyone at my station by disappearing—made me want to fucking die. The guilt ate at my insides, gnawing through my belly at every opportunity. But Nina gave me hope yesterday. Hope that one day, I might find something that makes me happy. Not content, but truly, cheeks-hurting-from-laughing-so-hard happy. Now my goal is to talk to Sandler and explain my situation. Like Nina, I need a few days or weeks to chill. I need to have a really, really solid excuse for doing what I did, and I haven’t come up with anything good enough yet. Or perhaps I’m just using that as an excuse to spend more time with her.

  As I walk up the steps to the bedroom, I see her standing next to the bed in some sort of yoga pose. It’s a nice pose—I can ogle the backs of her thighs as she lowers her head between her arms in some sort of downward thing. I wonder what it would be like to touch her there, the velvet, fleshy skin with just enough muscle tone to really dig my teeth in… Gracefully, she stands up and closes her eyes, bringing her hands into a praying position in front of her chest.

  Even though she’s wearing my boxers and baggy t-shirt, she looks stunning. Long, wavy auburn hair. Strong legs, thin waist, curves… the face of a pixie angel. I think about thirteen-year-old Nina. She was scrawny, tall, with braces and a nose that didn’t quite fit her face yet. She was beautiful then. She is bewitchingly stunning now.

  “How long have you been there?” she asks suddenly, breaking me out of my spell.

  “Just a second. I have breakfast. And I come bearing bananas.”

  She smirks at me and reaches out for her bowl. Her face is scrubbed and shiny, and I catch a whiff of mint. She’s down to the bare essentials—makeup-free and natural.

  Gorgeous.

  “Mmm, these bananas are amazing,” she mumbles, eating while she stands. I vow to pick bananas every single day. She closes her eyes and I have to look away. The effect her pleasure has on me is unsettling. She seems to notice my reaction, because suddenly, she’s watching me with mixed emotions. Her eyes blink quickly, and a pink flush rushes to her pale cheeks. “Thanks for breakfast,” she utters, sitting down in the desk chair. “I was starving.”

  “No problem.”

  She watches me curiously as we eat. “So,” she starts, her mouth full. “Tell me about your life. What’s new in the last seventeen years?”

  I take a large bite and chew, leaning against the opposite wall. “What do you want to know?”

  She shrugs and sets her empty bowl down. “Do you have a girlfriend? A wife? Kids? Pets? What do you like to do when y
ou’re not working? Throw me a bone here, Ben.”

  My mind conjures something dirty at that last sentence. I’m terrible. “Well, do you want the full version, or the abridged version?”

  She rolls her eyes, and I can’t help but smile. Her constant derisiveness is half-irritating, half-adorable. “What do you think?”

  So, I fill her in. I tell her all about Rhonda and Montana. I tell her about training with the CIA. I gloss over Syria, Lebanon, Mexico, and Kandahar, telling her as much as I can. I tell her a little about my job, and what it entails. She doesn’t even flinch when I discuss the worst part—potentially killing innocent witnesses. She knows by now that that should’ve been her. I tell her about my small apartment in San Juan, about my friends back at Langley, and my plan to resign from the agency at some point. I leave out the fact that they might kill me first. Them, or the loads of enemies I’ve made over the years.

  “And were you ever married?” she pries, sitting cross-legged and resting her elbows on her knees.

  “No. I was never even close.”

  “Hmm,” she mumbles, cocking her head to the side. “But you date a lot of women, yeah?”

  I swallow. A lot of women is an understatement. I like sex—love it, even. I like the feel of a woman on top of me, under me, next to me… there’s nothing fucking like it. Though I’ve never had anything serious, I am always respectful and up front about my situation. I lay everything out on the table. There are no games. Just sex. And lots of it. It’s been weeks—seven, to be exact—since I last had sex. Looking at Nina, I am more aware of it than ever.

  “You could say that,” I answer, giving her a droll smile. I love the way those words cause her chest to flush. “And you? Tell me about Nina Cosway. What have I missed?”

  She sighs and traces her finger along her knee. I follow her movement, and I can’t help but lick my lips and reposition myself to distract my erection. Like I said, I find myself thinking about sex all the time with her.

  “After college, I worked at The Stanley Hotel,” she starts, her voice lazy and slow.

  I burst out laughing as a buried memory comes to the forefront of my mind. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You were terrified of The Shining. As I recall, the one time we watched it caused you to sleep with your light on for months.”

  The sudden memory surprises me, and her too. She watches me with wide eyes. “You remember that?” she asks.

  I nod. “Yeah. You made me check under your bed for weeks. And that one Halloween—seventh grade, maybe? —there were those girls in our class that dressed as the twins, and you nearly shit your pants.”

  She bursts out laughing. “Oh yeah, I forgot about them.” She gives me a sentimental smile and continues her story. “I worked at that hotel for three years. I never meant to get into hospitality permanently, but the pay was good and the job was easy. Plus, it meant that I could travel the world and work anywhere once I’d gained enough experience. I started working at the St. Regis in Aspen when I was twenty-six and, from there, transferred here a year later. I was on track to transfer to Bora Bora later this year.”

  I nod. “Bora Bora. Nice place.”

  “You’ve been everywhere, huh?”

  I shrug. “Not everywhere. But I do get to travel a lot. The money is nice, so I tend to indulge when I have time off. What do you do for fun?”

  She looks away. “I like to paint. I had my own showroom in Colorado, but then I got the offer to work at The Stanley, and I sort of gave it up until I moved here. Now I paint all the time. Rachel is trying to convince me to do another show here.”

  I study her, taking in this new information. She’s so bold and extroverted, but she has this quiet, artistic side. It’s really astounding, and I would kill to see her work. No pun intended.

  “You should.”

  Neither of us says anything. We both know that in order for her to show her work, she needs to get off this island first and say goodbye to me.

  “Anyway, I live… lived… with Rachel, this crazy girl from Long Island, and I was dating Garrett, the hotel manager, very casually.”

  I note the past tense usage. Crossing my arms, I ask the one question I need to know the answer to. “Casually?” I try to hide the vitriol I feel at hearing about this Garrett guy.

  “Yeah. Casually. We fuck and hang out. Nothing serious.”

  Her words cause my insides to slide against each other uncomfortably. She looks down and bites her bottom lip. I see her take a shallow breath.

  “But you wish it were more,” I add, hoping I’m wrong about my assumption.

  “I did want more,” she says quietly. Then she looks up and meets my eye. Her eyes are emboldened, like she’s having an epiphany. “The time apart has helped. It’s been two years of fucking around, and he never wanted to commit. So, c’est la vie, Garrett can go fuck himself.”

  I arch an eyebrow and try not to laugh. ‘C’est la vie,’” I repeat, winking. Her revelation pleases me.

  Her eyes find mine, bright and twinkling, and I resist the urge to grab her and kiss her. I’ve got to get a fucking handle on myself. Just as I’m about to take the tray down to the cellar, a whirring boat motor catches my attention. Nina’s head perks up, and she runs to the window.

  “Coast Guard,” she gushes, and I feel my breakfast churning in my stomach. Is she happy to see that they’re here? Her voice sounded almost relieved. The thought torments me. And then I’m horrified at the notion of them finding Nina.

  I have to hide her.

  “Nina,” I say roughly, walking over to her. “I’m so sorry.” I clamp her hands together and lead her out of the bedroom.

  “Ben,” she whimpers, looking over her shoulder at me. “I promise not to say anything.”

  I nod and shove her forward and down the stairs to the cellar. “I’m sorry,” I repeat, like a robot. My job is taking over.

  Separate the job from the emotion, Adler.

  Don’t show her how much this affects you.

  She doesn’t say anything as I handcuff her to one of the pipes behind the freezer. I make sure it’s one of the low ones, so if anyone flashes a light in here, she’ll be hidden by the freezer. She’ll be unable to stand. She doesn’t say anything as I tie a bandana around her head, covering her mouth. She just looks at me, her expression shocked and hurt, and she closes her eyes and leans against the stone. I see a single tear drip down her face.

  My prisoner.

  Again.

  T W E N T Y - O N E

  Nina—Present

  Isla Culebrita, Puerto Rico

  I DON’T KNOW how long I’m down here for. My wrists are starting to sting. Ben cuffed me too tightly, and the bandana is causing my cheeks to throb. The ache of Ben’s betrayal hurts the most, causing me to close my eyes and swallow it down until it engulfs me. It feels like someone’s punched me in the chest and I have to force myself not to cry.

  Be a big girl, Nina.

  I wasn’t going to say anything. I was never going to say anything. Of course I wasn’t. In fact, when I heard the boat motor, the first thing I was going to offer to do was hide. But Ben took it upon himself to act first, and his lack of trust stung. Hard. He didn’t even give me the option, which is what hurt the most. Taking a steady breath, I listen closely.

  The boat’s motor stopped about an hour ago. I thought I heard voices at some point, but now they’re becoming clearer. I strain to listen.

  “…warrant to search the place,” a man’s voice yells.

  My body stills. Fuck. Fuck!

  I crouch down as low as I can get so that I’m completely hidden by the giant freezer. Hopefully they won’t actually come down here…

  The door to the cellar opens. I hear Ben’s voice first.

  “Just your standard storage room,” he says, his voice perfectly even.

  “Jesus, you have enough food to last months, man,” one of the guys says. “Planning on staying for a while?”

  I can feel Ben smile. I bet he’s
just charming the pants off all of them. “What can I say, I’m a bit paranoid about a zombie apocalypse.”

  One of the guys chuckles. “Do you watch The Walking Dead?”

  “Oh man, that show is fucking whack,” another guy says. How many men are there? Suddenly, light floods the room. “Mind if I take a look around? It’s protocol.”

  “Yeah man. Go for it.” Again, Ben’s voice is perfectly calm. I’d be shitting myself.

  I hear a couple of different sets of footsteps. My breathing halts. If they find me, Ben is screwed. If they find me. I close my eyes and keep completely still. I feel a whoosh of air—someone passed right by me. My heartbeat is so erratic, I’m afraid they’ll hear it. Thump, thump, thump.

  “Be careful near the freezer. I have kind of a rat problem.”

  “Jesus,” one of the guys says under his breath. “All good. Kingsley, let’s go.”

  The light switches off, footsteps fade, and I’m left to my own thoughts once again. I try to get comfortable, switching positions every so often because my ass keeps falling asleep. You’d think the extra cushioning would prevent that, but I guess not. I’m hungry again, and I really have to pee. Ever since my food embargo and subsequent fever, I’ve been drinking a normal amount of water, which is good… except for situations like this.

  Panic prickles on my skin. What if they take Ben, and I’m left here, trapped, alone? They didn’t find me, but they could take him in for questioning, or they could tell his boss that he’s here. You never know in Puerto Rico. The system is just as corrupt as the bad guys sometimes. What if I’m stuck here? I eye the metal pipe. It’s sturdy. I couldn’t pull it from the wall. I could very well die down here. I’m not claustrophobic, but that familiar, panicked, thorny feeling erupts on my skin. I haven’t heard anything in what feels like hours. My bladder is throbbing.

  I scoot over to one side and relieve myself. I’m literally pissing my shorts, and I can’t believe Ben hasn’t come down yet. He must know that I’m bursting—I pee like ten times a day. When I’m done, I curl up on the other side, getting away from the pool. Fucking great.