I swallowed back the memory. That wasn’t who I was anymore. I hadn’t been that man for a very long time. Jethro shifted beside me, hinting that perhaps the flush of memory from my past had done more than just infected my mind but my outward appearance too.
I had a habit of smiling sharper and acting crueller whenever I remembered what I was capable of when I’d used empathy in ways it shouldn’t be used.
“Sully Sinclair,” I said. “Hawk told me you’re in the business of creating custom yachts?”
“Are you in the market?”
I glanced at Jethro who stayed to the side, allowing me to direct this conversation even though, up till now, I hadn’t really considered making a high-end order for nautical equipment. Eleanor and I had discussed many ways to deliver unforgettable experiences for our troubled husbands and wives who stayed on Rapture, but I hadn’t gone much further with the idea.
Ah well, I supposed now could work. The sooner I spoke to him, the sooner I could claim my wife from Nila Hawk and return to our quarters for privacy. “As a matter of fact, yes. I own a few islands in the Pacific, and my clients are used to a certain level of luxury.” I smiled curtly. “Let’s just say...I like to keep them happy.”
In legal ways this time, instead of illegal.
“So you’re after smaller vessels?”
“I’m after quite a few. Large and small. If you have time to discuss.”
Eleanor should be here.
Rapture was her business venture, not mine. She’d been the one to turn a leased atoll into a highly profitable operation. I didn’t want to step on her toes by ordering ‘toys’ as Jethro called them without her approval.
Jethro touched my shoulder. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to discuss business. I’ll come find you later, Sullivan.”
I nodded as he vanished amongst a group of masked women.
Once I made eye contact with Mr Prest, he sighed and held out his hand. “I can spare ten minutes.”Chapter Seven
THERE WERE MANY THINGS I loved in life.
Sully’s gravelly voice in the morning as we rolled out of bed and into Nirvana, usually ending our early swim with a quickie before breakfast. Skittle’s gentle feathers as she fluffed up in the crook of my shoulder. The juice of a lychee as I bit into the sweet fruit. The sunrises and sunsets that never failed to splash the horizon with every colour humans could name and many more that we couldn’t.
I also loved the sounds of so many different animals. From the squeaks of otters, to the snuffles of pigs, and the click of fish grazing on coral beneath the sea.
But there was a special kind of love for the velveteen softness of a horse’s nostrils.
Hot air cascaded over my fingers as the dapple grey huffed, scenting me and hopefully accepting me as a friend instead of foe. “She’s gorgeous.” I grinned, glancing at Nila as she undid her mask and dangled it from a fingertip.
“Her name is Warriors Don’t Cry. Moth is her stable name.” She drifted forward, grabbing a handful of oats from a large bin by the tack room. “She was a gift from my brother-in-law, Kestrel.”
“That’s an interesting name.” I laughed as Moth gobbled up the oats from Nila’s palm and blinked innocently for more. Her huge wise eyes framed in the thickest, blackest eyelashes.
“It’s the family tradition of Hawk sons. A bird of prey is given as their nickname. Kes preferred his nickname to his real name.” She threw me a grin. “I guess I can understand why.”
“What was his real name?”
“Angus.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Well, it’s not going to win any sexy awards, but Gus is kind of cute.”
Nila cocked her head. “Never thought about it that way. I always just thought of him as Kes. Our son is named in his honour.”
I wanted to ask what happened, but the hushed way she spoke of him hinted he was no longer alive, and the tragedy still carried pain.
She strolled down the stables, laughing under her breath as a big black beast popped its head over the partition and whinnied. “Yes, Wings. I didn’t forget about you.”
I waited while she scooped up another handful of oats and fed the glistening ebony horse.
“He’s stunning, too.”
“He belongs to Jethro. Has a mind of his own and is steadfastly loyal to one person, but he tolerates treats from all of us.” She scratched his forehead. “Don’t you, grumpy pony?”
He snorted and disappeared back into his stall, biting his hay net with attitude.
Untying my own mask, I rubbed around my eyes and forehead where the material itched. “Do you ride every day?”
“We try to.” Nila grinned, leading me back the way we’d come. Our heels clacked on the cobblestones as our dresses swished in the hay. “Our children were practically born in the saddle, so they have demands.”