Dom Wars: Round 6 (14 page)

Steve’s face sort of fell before he mumbled, “Well, I’d gotten a little turned around, what with the back pack. I tripped a few times and…misplaced my compass.”

Preacher stared for several moments, then let out a single chuckle. “So you
accidentally
found us.” His head went to barely shaking. “You are one. Blessed. Dude.” Preacher’s slick forehead furrowed then. “Are you aware that Jase Duff has killed several people on this island?” Judging by Steve’s sudden white face, I’d say that was a negative. “Killed?” Like he wondered if Preacher was using the right word, or if he’d meant in a metaphorical sense.

Preacher filled him in, sparing not one gory detail. Meanwhile, Steve began to look around, realizing maybe for the first time, the shit he’d just stumbled into. Literally.

Preacher met my gaze over Steve’s head before continuing his line of questioning. “When did the feeds go out, Steve?”

He struggled to gather his thoughts, his mind no doubt trapped in the holy land of
fuck me
, his shiny chubby face all pinched in confused terror. “In the middle of the second day. You had just gotten to the flag with the-the candy bar.”

“Poisoned candy bar,” Preacher said.

Steve gasped in shock, his mouth remaining open. “They worked trying to restore the feed for hours,” he whispered. “It was…” he paused, his eyes remaining wide as he stared into the space before him “and still is, costing Gladiator a fortune every minute it’s down.” He met my gaze head on, continuing in that shocked whisper. “They’re having to issue refunds.” Steve licked dry lips then seemed to need a drink instantly. He spun to his stocked house behind him and presented his ass while he fetched something from it then turned with a sparkly new canteen, unscrewing the lid for five seconds. Holding up a finger, he guzzled loudly, whatever was in it. Maybe grape Kool-aid judging by the purple tint on his tongue as he gasped and continued, “They sent a repair team, and lost them a couple hours after they arrived. When Danielle came to me with all this, and asked me to help her get here, well I could hardly say no.”

“And where is Danielle now?” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. I
knew
she was no good, but how no good was the question. Would she be helping Jase? What was the point of coming here, if so? Shit, the airplane. A fucking ride out.

“Where? Oh, she stayed with the plane. She was feeling a little ill.”.”

Preacher and I met gazes, before he said, “If Danielle is part of Duff’s plot against us, we have to assume she’s here to help him in some capacity.”

“What?” Steve looked from me to Preacher. “Help Jase? No, never, she would never do that. She was
very
genuine in her concern.”

Preacher clapped a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder, making him jump. “Steve. I like you. But I’m going to ask you to shut up now. If I need something from you, I’ll ask. If not, don’t talk. Jase Duff plans to torture and kill every person on this island. I think Miss Danielle has been working with him to accomplish that. I also think that she’s brought this plane here to give them both a ride out, after. I know there is money involved. What I don’t know is, how that money is involved.” Preacher shook Steve’ shoulder a little. “And what else I need to know is
where
is the fucking plane?”

His mouth worked a few seconds. “It’s…in a cove. Near that compound.”

“A cove?”

“Of water. It’s one of those water planes. Danielle gave me the coordinates to where you guys were and—.”

Preacher held up his wrist. “See that?”

Steve stared. “See what?”

Preacher tapped his wrist, annoyed. “It’s what’s not there, Steve. What you were using to track us. We took them off. Your coordinates were leading you to a pile of watches on the ground.”

Steve’s eyes grew slowly wider with understanding. “So you
weren’t
taking an extra long break,” he muttered.

“Well if we just go for the plane,” Tara said. “We could just leave.”

Preacher readily agreed. “We head for the compound, find the plane and go from there. But let’s not be surprised if Danielle isn’t with the plane,
or
the keys.”

“Well a little optimism wouldn’t hurt us,” Steve said.

Preacher gave Steve a murderous look and Steve zipped his lips with a finger. Preacher got in his face then. “Steve. You need to know that if you’re with us, I will require instant and immediate obedience from you. I am the Top fucking Dom in this operation.” He eyed each of us. “Are we clear on that?”

Fuck yes I was clear. Gladly clear. One thing I’d come to learn as a Dom was sometimes submitting was the greater and smarter thing to do. “Clear here.”

“Clear here,” Steve said.

“You know I am your servant unto death.” Becca bowed in deference and Tara cleared her throat with a little nod.

I took Tara’s hand with a wink and kissed her cheek, and whispered in her ear, “Sometimes submission is the dominant thing to do, love.”

Preacher released Steve and looked around. “My guess is, Duff has the ability and equipment on this island to track us as well.” “Oh, he did. They gave him the equipment for it, Danielle said so.”

“So he’s been watching us too.” Tara’s whisper trembled and she held her stomach and abruptly turned and emptied it.

I hurried to her and held her hair back, fear and fury biting in my muscles. “You okay?” I whispered, stroking her back.

She stood and nodded. “Sorry, my stomach has been messed up, I’m fine.”

“I know sweetheart, I understand, trust me.”

“We ready to move out?” Preacher regarded us, his tone much softer, reminding me that beneath all that bite was a good man. A Godly man. He nodded at Steve’s pack then. “And unless you have an automatic weapon in there, that mountain of racket stays.”

Steve saluted, appearing relieved to submit to that order. Tara got busy getting ready to go. I watched her for a few seconds push through whatever had a hold of her. For the first time I was grateful for that façade she was so good at resurrecting in a moment’s notice. Anything to protect her—even a fucking mental defense from a past trauma, I’d take it. Just so she was safe.

Preacher led and the rest of us followed. After a few minutes, I wondered, “How long have you been here, Steve?”

“I’m not sure exactly.” The elephant puffing on the inhaler popped into my mind again with his answer. “Maybe two hours. Why?”

“I’m just surprised we didn’t hear a plane come in.”

“The jungle,” Becca said. “Remember how close we had to get before we heard the roar of an entire ocean.”

“Remember too,” Steve gasped. “We came in one of those water planes. And you know,” he wheezed, “I had thought, what if the landing strip wasn’t safe? Miss Danielle wanted to use the landing strip, at which point I told her it was likely unusable after so long. And she…”

I waited a few seconds. “She what?” I demanded, wondering if he were about to voice my suspicion.

“Well I found it odd that she didn’t want to use a water plane but then she later agreed.”

“She wanted to get as close to Duff’s location as she could, no doubt,” Preacher said. “Which must be the compound if that’s what you landed near.”

“I’m impressed you know how to fly a plane, Steve,” Tara said.

“What? No,
I
didn’t fly it.”

Preacher came to an abrupt halt and turned. “You said it was just you and her.”

“Well I didn’t think the pilot counted.” Steve’s voice squeaked.

“That means either it’s a three man operation, which I doubt with Duff, or we have another possible casualty waiting to happen.”

Becca wiped her arm across her brow. “Well this tells us the woman has a way to contact Mr. Duff. Did she have any communication device with her?”

“Only a cell phone. And a set of walkie-talkies. For the two of us. That…she didn’t give me.” Steve’s tone sank with dread as he realized his grave misjudgment.

There was no point in rubbing in his extreme naivety at this point. We continued walking again and about thirty minutes later, Preacher paused just inside a tree line, his arm held out, lowering to a crouch. We all followed suit and I realized with a mixture of dread and relief that the compound was spread before us. The entire view was dappled with sunlight and dancing shadows, all of which my instincts interpreted as an armed and deadly Duff, waiting to kill.

I made out the extremely faint sound of a stifled hum, just enough to camouflage the silence at a time we could really use it. To the left, a pair of long, low buildings provided what must have been living quarters for the crew. In the center, a series of smaller buildings, some with attached cages and enclosures must have been the work areas. And on the right, a low hangar sat empty next to a narrow strip of cracked asphalt.

I watched carefully for any sign of Danielle or anyone else, and spotted nothing. A stray breeze flapped a small piece of sheet metal against one side of the hangar, then nothing again.

Preacher looked at Steve. “You remember where you came in at?”

Steve studied the area then pointed to the other side of the compound. Great.

“We’ll go around the compound and find the plane,” Preacher said.

And that was that.

Another thirty minutes led us to the tree line before the ocean. We took a short break and Preacher scouted the vicinity while I guarded the group.

Preacher re-appeared from behind us. “Coast seems clear. But I don’t see a pilot in that plane.”

“Maybe he’s sleeping in the backseat,” Steve said.

Preacher looked at the plane and nodded. “Maybe.” But highly doubtful his tone said.

“So who’s going?” I asked.

“We all are,” Preacher said. “If he’s there, we leave. If he’s dead, we’ll assume no keys and the women and Steve stay while we go fetch those keys.”

I nodded in relief at the idea the women would stay. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

We all made a run for the cove and splashed our way to deep enough water and swam to the plane.

“Hang back,” Preacher said to the women when we were a few yards away. “Bane. We check the plane first.”

I’d been thinking that very thing the entire time we swam. It was getting easier to trust his instincts when seeing they always matched mine.

We swam along the floatation pads, peering into the windows, unable to see. “You take this side,” Preacher whispered, “I’ll take the other.”

I nodded.

“Wait for me.” He went under water and swam to the other side, surfacing slowly like a ninja would. He gave me a single nod and we both climbed quietly on the floating pads and carefully peeked in. Empty.

We opened the door and searched for keys. None.

“Can we hot wire it?” I asked.

Preacher looked all around, then inspected the dash. “Maybe. Fucker took out the radio. Tell them coast is clear.”

I opened the door and waved them in and they wasted no time boarding.

“Are there keys,” Tara asked, the second she could.

“Not that we can find.”

Becca spoke in her native tongue to Preacher and he answered likewise. Whatever he said threw her into the seat, exasperated.

“I’ll get it wired, don’t worry.” Preacher yanked at a panel that exposed wires. I dug the small knife out of my pocket and handed it over in anticipation of him needing it. He took it without word and found the small knife, stripped a few wires then began touching them together. My heart thundered in prayer as the engine whined and groaned a few times.

It suddenly sputtered to life and I gasped in relief.

“Fuck yes,” Preacher said.

“You know how to fly?” I asked.

“I’m sure I can,” he looked around. “I’ve flown before.”

I nodded and turned to the three behind me. “Get your seatbelts on.”

The plane began to sputter and then died. “Shit,” Preacher reached for the wires and went through the same process several times. I looked at the gauges and my heart sank at seeing the gas.

“No fucking gas,” I whispered.

Preacher glanced at the gauges and slammed a hand on the dashboard. He suddenly froze and stared through the windshield.

I jerked to see a shirtless man on the beach, waving a giant gas can at us. He spread his arms wide and flew around like an airplane before howling in laughter and disappearing into the tree line.

“Motherfucker,” Preacher muttered, looking around inside the plane. “Communication, look for anything that can be used for communication as well as weapons.”

We all got busy digging around the plane. “Is this a weapon?” Tara held up a flare gun case.

“Hell yes,” Preacher said. “Keep digging. Anything you find, put it on the floor here.”

One flare gun and three flares. That was it. But that was better than nothing.

“We can take the knives and leave them the flare gun.

“No, you take two so you can be
sure
we won’t need it,” Tara said, her voice quivering.

“We have knives and the physical advantage, we’re leaving the flare gun.” Preacher’s tone was final. Then he proceeded to show all of them how to use the thing. It was simple.

I held my breath, praying Tara wouldn’t choose now to be insubordinate or panic. Becca grabbed her hands in hers. “We will do as the men say, God will honor that obedience,” she nodded firmly.

Tara looked at Becca who assured her with brisk nods then she relented with a pitiful look at me.

I reached a hand behind her head and pulled her mouth to mine, kissing her. “Thank you baby,” I whispered, then pulled away when the need to break something flooded my veins. “Let’s get this over with, I’m fucking ready to go home already.”

I refused to look again at Tara who nodded incessantly and muttered about needing me to help her learn Gramma’s cooking.

Preacher looked at Becca. “If we don’t come back in thirty minutes, go back into the jungle and hide until a rescue team gets here. Thirty minutes. Steve, you have your watch?”

“I do.”

“I entrust you with the women’s safety. Thirty minutes from now, you escort them into that jungle, do you understand me?”

“I will do my very best,” he nearly yelled. I looked at him and decided it was in an effort to hide his obvious fear.