MERMEN (The Mermen Trilogy #1) (6 page)

“Sorry,” she said. “I crossed the line, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” He smiled.

She shook her head at herself. “I’m sorry. I’ve spent so much of my life thinking about how people’s connections mold their lives and who they are, I’m hardwired now to try to figure everyone out.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “And what have you figured out?”

She placed her hands in her lap and stared at them for a moment with tired eyes. He suddenly wondered what she might be like when she wasn’t feeling so weak.
I bet she’s a handful.
Something he liked the idea of, to be frank.

“I think,” she said, “that you are possibly the most misjudged man I’ve ever met.”

He laughed. “Really now? Why’s that?”

“Because your face is the least beautiful thing about you.”

What sort of bloody line was that? “What game are you playing, Miss Stratton? You don’t even know me.”

She huffed and then looked up at him with such intense emotion it halted his breathing for a moment. “No games, Mr. Doran. I happen to be exceptionally good at reading people. And I might not make it to morning, so I thought I should tell you the truth since you asked.”

Roen’s heart pounded and his body filled with a wave of indescribable, overwhelming emotion, somewhere between anger and excitement. Who the hell was this woman? And why did she have such an effect on him? It was like she’d just reached right inside and started stirring him around.

Because she’s yours. Claim her before someone else does.

Roen froze, unsure if he’d really heard the voice or if it was his own thoughts bubbling up to the surface.

“What did you just say?” Liv asked, clearly alarmed.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes. You did,” she argued. “You gave me that weird look again and said that I belong to you.”

No, he hadn’t. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just met you, and I’m not the sort of man who wants to own anyone. I rent at best, but never own.”

Yours. All yours,
said the voice.

“Stop,” he said.

She blinked. “Stop what?”

Jesus, I’m losing my mind.
“I’m not interested in you.”

Her jaw dropped. “You think I was just flirting with you?”

No. But he had to say something. Because something was…wrong. Very wrong. “If I want a woman, I tell her.”

She scowled. “I wasn’t flirting with you, you idiot—are you all right?”

Suddenly, they both saw a flare sail through the early evening sky.

“It came from the shore,” he said. Likely close to the spot where the helicopter had gone down. His crew probably assumed he was somewhere on the island. If they could even see the island. He still didn’t understand how this damned place wasn’t visible until they were right on top of it.

He blew out a breath. Lucky for him, he was in great shape due to his daily, two-hour workout regimen of weights and cardio. Because now he would have to carry Liv back to the beach and hope his people were still there in an hour.

His phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket. He quickly dug it out, seeing it was his ship’s captain.
About time.

“Hello?” Roan said, but no one replied. “Hello?” Roen repeated several more times.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing with that?” said a strange male voice from behind him.

Roen swiveled on his heel, finding the man he’d hit over the head earlier, accompanied by nine others. Unfortunately for him, they were all taller than his six-six height and probably double in muscle mass, which said a lot. Roen was no scrawny runt. Not that size could trump the razor-sharp machetes each man carried.

“I’m guessing you’re not here to offer us welcome mai tais,” Roen said, while quickly assessing each man, trying to determine what he was dealing with.

You’re in deep shit. That’s what you’re dealing with.
The colossal men with long hair—some with dreads—wore nothing but black cloths around their waists. Some had elaborate black tribal tattoos—fish scales, sea monsters, tridents—over a good portion of their excessively ripped bodies. And from the ferocious look in their light eyes, they were not the sort to shy away from a little bloodshed.

“Sorry,” said one of the men toward the back, “you missed cocktail hour.”

Roen cracked his neck. “So then why the fuck are you here?”

The man who’d attacked Liv scratched his bearded chin. “I asked you a question, pretty boy. Who said you were allowed to make calls from our island?”

The men exchanged glances, grinning at each other.

Pretty boy
? Last time he’d checked, he was anything but that.
A good-looking asshole maybe.
Either way, who were these guys? Perhaps mercenaries paid to protect this island from intruders.

In those outfits? Not likely.

“Who’s asking?” Roen said, hoping to get some sort of clue as to what they wanted and intended to do—kill them, take them as prisoners, or send them on their way.

“My name is Shane,” he answered with an evil gloating grin. “And you?”

“I’m the guy who has no issues with you,” Roen said, “but could change his mind.”

Shane glanced down at Liv. “Go ahead. Change your mind. Because someone attacked me, and you’re now in possession of our property.”

So Liv hadn’t been exaggerating. They truly believed she belonged to them.
We’re definitely not being sent on our way.

Suddenly, that strange voice inside Roen’s head began clawing at him, demanding blood.
She is yours. Not theirs. Don’t let them take her.

This time, Roen didn’t fight it. In fact, he felt empowered by it. “The woman is with me,” he growled. “So take me to whoever’s in charge, because I’m not about to let anyone touch what’s mine.”

Shane chuckled. “You think you’re in a position to make demands?”

All right. Shane wasn’t the true leader; otherwise he would have said so. His ego would have demanded it. Roen also knew that men like these—thugs—only respected one thing in life: power.

“Yes, and I’ve got a ship full of armed men,” Roen bluffed, “who are now on your beach and would agree with my right to demand.”

“You have men? On our beach?” Shane asked, seeming amused.

“Not for long,” one of the long-haired assholes said before they all burst into laughter.

“Anyone want to take an evening dip?” another said, roaring hysterically.

Christ
. Roen wasn’t sure what they meant, but these bastards were mad. Completely mad. But he couldn’t let that rattle him.

“If you clowns are finished, I’d like to speak to the poor bastard who gets the honor of calling himself your leader,” Roen said.

The men fell silent.

“I think your words are naively tough for a man in your position.” Shane stepped forward as if he was about to take a swing with his machete, when one of the others pulled him back.

“No. Let’s give the landlover what he wants. Let him meet with L’isle,” he said.

Shane grinned. “This piece of shit isn’t worthy of L’isle’s time. But”—he looked at Roen—“leave the woman, and you can go back where you came from. With your
men
.” He grinned smugly, clearly knowing something Roen did not.

The group of thugs chuckled again.

Roen shook his head. He didn’t want to fight ten guys who happened to be larger than him, but that was Roen’s Achilles’ heel: He’d rather die than let anyone step on him. Living one year in group homes after his mother died, where he’d had his ass kicked every day by the other boys, taught him one thing: Backing down only invited more sadistic bastards to knock you around, kick you in the balls until you cough up blood, and hit your nose so many times that even four surgeries couldn’t completely put it back straight.

Roen clenched his fists. “As I said, she’s mine. So you have two choices: touch her and die. Or touch me and die.”

The men burst out laughing, but Roen didn’t give a damn. No, he wouldn’t win this fight, but he’d take at least one of these skirt-wearing fuckers with him. If anything, he might be able to provide a distraction to allow Liv to escape. The blunt, ugly truth was that no one would give a shit if he died. But Liv had an entire family waiting to see her again. Simply put, her life mattered more than his.

Roen almost choked on his uncharacteristically selfless thoughts.
Hell, Roen, something is very, seriously the matter with you.

Shane crossed his arms, snickering. “All right, tough guy. You’re obviously lost and arrived on our island by mistake. But you’re in luck; we happen to be feeling generous today. Prove she’s yours, and you may take her.”

“What proof do you want?” Roen scoffed.

“Call her. Make her crawl to you and kiss your foot.”

Roen wanted to kill the guy for merely suggesting it. “I think you can go and f—”

“No. It’s okay,” Liv interrupted. Her fearful eyes blinked at him, then quickly swept over the savage faces standing around them. “I’m yours. I don’t mind proving it.” Her voice was low and scratchy. Roen knew it wasn’t meant to be sexy, but it still came out that way.

You’re a sick bastard,
he thought to himself.

Liv slowly moved to her hands and knees, her gaze fixed on Roen’s eyes. He knew in her weakened state, doing this took everything she had. But in the short time he’d known her, he’d already figured out she was a fighter.
And clever and sexy.

Liv began crawling toward him, and with every inch, Roen’s blood simmered hotter and hotter. Partially because it pissed him off that these men wanted to humiliate her, but also because seeing the top of her full breasts pushing against the confines of her tattered T-shirt, her pert ass pushed slightly into the air, made him see images of her crawling toward him on a bed. Naked, sweaty, and ready.

Roen pushed back the lustful thoughts. This wasn’t the time or place. However, as Liv bent her head down and kissed the top of his foot, the softness of her plump lips jarred him.
Jesus, fucking hell, woman.
If kissing his foot felt this good, he could only imagine how good her mouth would feel on the tip of his—

You’re a dirty bastard, Roen. A coldhearted bastard.

Roen was only vaguely aware of the men around him, who watched with a predatory fascination as Liv leaned back and raised herself onto her knees, smiling up at him. “Was that good?”

You have no idea.
It was quite possibly the most erotic thing a woman had ever done to him. And he didn’t even have a foot fetish.

“Not good enough. Have the little whore suck your cock,” said Shane.

Roen’s and Liv’s heads swiveled in shock.

“You’re a disgusting pig!” Liv barked.

Shane flashed a sadistic smile. “As I thought. You’re not his.”

Liv hissed, “Just because I’m not in favor of public blowjobs doesn’t mean—”

“Liv,” Roen cut her off, “we both know that’s not true.”

Liv’s nostril’s flared with outrage.

Roen leaned down to Liv, who remained kneeling at his feet. “Liv,” he whispered, placing his hand on her cheek, pretending like he was going to talk her into their contemptible request. “You were right. You are good at reading people.”

Liv’s confused expression indicated she was probably wondering why he’d just said that.

Roen quickly kissed her lips. “Now, I want you to do me a favor and run like hell.”

Roen turned and lunged for Shane, knocking him to the ground. The men descended upon him and threw him to the ground. Roen swung, making contact with one, but it did no good.

“No!” Liv screamed. “Don’t touch him!”

Why the hell hadn’t she run? Roen only caught a glimpse of her tortured expression, her hand reaching for him, before one of the men kicked his head.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Stop! You’re going to kill him.” Liv watched in horror while ten extremely large men kicked Roen’s ribs, back, and head with their bare feet.

Weaker than hell, she managed to stand and throw herself at one of the men, but he flung her back, sending her crashing into a tree trunk.

Liv gulped for air, the skin on her back burning, while they laughed and carried out the vicious assault, thoroughly enjoying the sound of cracking bones and the sight of Roen bleeding. She didn’t know the man, but no one deserved to die like this. No one.

As soon as her breath returned, she screamed, “Roen! Roen—oh God. Roen!”

One of the men, a blond with a long braid down his back and a giant sea serpent tattooed on his chest, looked at her. “His name is Roen?”

“Yes.” She nodded frantically. “Roen Doran.”

His green eyes lit up. “Fuck.” He turned to the other men and started pushing a few back. “Stop, you fucking idiots! He’s Roen Doran.”

The nine other men froze, shock in their eyes. Shane stared down at the bloody heap on the ground, stepping away as if Roen carried Ebola. “This guy? It’s not possible.”

How they knew Roen or why it resulted in their sudden fear of him didn’t matter. They’d stopped kicking.

“Yes! He’s Roen Doran. I swear it,” Liv said.

Shane shot her a worried look. “How did he arrive here?”

“His ship. It’s a few miles offshore.”

The group of men exchanged uneasy glances.

“We have to get him to the great hall before L’isle sees this,” one of the men said.

Shane nodded. “You do that. But don’t give him too much water. He’s not one of us. Not yet, anyway.”

Oh shit.
They planned to make Roen one of them? What the hell did that even mean?

“Put this one in a cage until the claiming tonight.” Shane jerked his head toward Liv.

Liv held up her hands as the blond approached her. “Sonofabitch, you fucking touch me,” she growled, “and I swear I’ll kill you.” Yeah, that was a pretty empty threat given she didn’t possess a really, really big army or elephant tranquilizers.

The blond guy with the braid cocked his head and flashed a set of pristine white teeth. “I like feisty women with dirty mouths. Maybe I’ll put my name in the hat for you.” He plucked her off the ground by the arms and began dragging her by the wrist through the forest, while the others lifted Roen and disappeared in the opposite direction.