Callum
“I don’t care if you have to call in the goddamn coast guard, you will find her!”
Fucking imbeciles can’t do their damn jobs if their lives depend on it. And they do. If she’s not found, I’ll bury every staff member on this island.
“I am powerful and I deserve power-filled things,” I say under my breath, as I repeat the verse that I learned from my therapist when I was eighteen years old. It’s the only useful thing that old wench gave to me. Because, I am powerful, and I do deserve power-filled things.
“I am powerful and I deserve power-filled things.”
“Callum, you have to get control of your emotions, or you will do yourself more harm than good.” Trudy, my thirty-five-year-old therapist says. Her legs are crossed properly, giving me no view of what’s beneath her slate gray skirt.
Coming here was supposed to help me; instead, it’s made me realize that I’m beyond help.
“I’m not scared of my emotions. I’m more concerned about the harm they will bring to others, instead of myself. I have this rage inside of me that screams revenge on those who wronged me.”
“Those thoughts are normal. You’re not crazy, Callum.”
“Wow. Never said I was, but thanks for clearing that up.”
“You know what I mean.” She giggles.
Is she flirting with me? I think she is. “I don’t know what you mean. Care to elaborate?”
“Let’s just move on. Have you memorized the chant I taught you?”
“Mmhmm,” I grumble, my eyes sliding from her face down to her chest where her nipples pucker against her thin shirt.
“You are not a victim of your past. You are powerful and you deserve power-filled things.”
Smirking, I look her in the eye. “You’re right. I am powerful, and I will have power-filled things.”
I slide my wheeled chair closer to her, my hand sweeps up her leg and separates her thighs. They uncross and both feet plant to the floor beneath her.
“Callum. This is very unethical. You need to stop this.” She pinches her legs together, squeezing my hand between them.
“Maybe crazy is the word we should use,” I whisper, watching my hand as I pry her legs apart. Her white cotton panties are exposed beneath her skirt and there’s a small wet spot on them that has me grinning. “Trudy,” I tsk, “I’m beginning to think that you don’t want me to stop.”
Her chest rises and falls rapidly when I sweep her panties to the side and puncture her pussy. Wetness pools around her entrance and my mouth falls open at the sight in front of me.
“Do you feel powerless, Trudy?”
My fingers slide in deeper, working her G-spot. She lets out a breathless moan. “Yes.”
“That’s because I have all the power here. Never forget that.”
In a spurt of anger, I tear open the door to the hall and walk with heavy steps to Bella’s room.
“I want them everywhere!” I blow out at Peter, who’s working on the installation of the cameras. “Every floor. Every exit, entrance. I want to see the fucking dock if I need to.”
Kicking open Bella’s door, that wasn’t even latched, I storm into her room. “Bella,” I holler, knowing it’s pointless.
There’s no way she got off this island. She’s here, somewhere. Byron is guarding the cellar. At least, he better be, or he’s out of here. I told him that this shit stopped when Bella arrived and it was recently brought to my attention that he’s been carrying on as if he’s at one of the main resorts.
I tear through the room, pulling blankets back, tipping her dirty hamper to see if she changed out of her dress—which is not inside—scope the balcony and look around the visible grounds from her room.
“Fuck!” I shout, heading back out of her room.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and give my head of security, Anders, a call. “Anything?”
“Nothing, sir. It’s like she just…vanished.”
“I want security heightened. Get at least three more guys here. With them and the new hire, you dumbasses better make sure this shit doesn’t happen again.”
I end the call and walk back down the hall to my room with long strides.
My light was on.
It hits me. I never forget to turn off my lights. Peter said he wasn’t inside. It had to be her.
“Motherfucker.” I stick the key in the lock and turn it so aggressively that it sticks and I’m forced to jerk it out.
I slam the door behind me, rattling the old clock on the wall. I don’t even need to flip on the light to see because the closet door is wide open with the light on.
She was definitely here.
