The Bad Boys of Eden (2 page)

Chapter One

Six Months Earlier

There are too many people. They are everywhere, crowding the sidewalks, the streets, adding to the already unbearable heat of Miami.

Millions of eyes, all staring at me with disgust.

The rage boils up inside me, but what am I to do? And how can I blame them? No matter the injury done to me, no matter how much I rail at the injustice that people can no longer see past my hideous face… it doesn’t change my circumstances.

I am the same person inside that I always was, for the most part. Though I admit, storms of anger now taint my every thought, every feeling with red, because of what I’ve become on the outside. A monster.

It doesn’t matter. Soon I will be alone. Finally, blessedly and completely alone.

As I stalk down the crowded sidewalk to the office of the seaplane charter company, I try to push away the memory of how I came to be like this—once a rich, successful man on top of the world, now a mangled beast. Though I know I can’t focus on it if I want to survive, still the darkness dogs my every step.

Celeste. A beautiful icy blonde who loved the same things that I did: money, celebrity, and games of dominance and submission. But she loved one thing that I did not—her childhood sweetheart, a grifter more ruthless than I had ever been. I’d been so in love—at least, I’d thought I was—that I’d never seen the trap they’d set coming, the trap that left me bloody, scarred and very nearly broken. It also left me without a considerable chunk of my bank account, though not nearly as much as they’d imagined. I wish I could find more satisfaction in the fact that I’d withheld the enormity of my fortune from her.

The money? I can let it go.

The scars, both inside and out? They changed my life irrevocably. The prodigal son made a fool by love.

Never again. Where I’m going, it won’t get the chance.

A year ago I purchased the small island in the warm waters of the Bermuda triangle sight unseen, with thoughts of opening an exclusive resort of some sort. A fanciful dream made more tempting by my accountant’s promise of lower taxes.

Maybe the fingers of fate prodded me towards that particular purchase, because though the accident has halted those plans abruptly, I have plenty of use for the island.

I need to heal. And a tiny, deserted chunk of land that doesn’t even have a name sounds like heaven at the moment. A place where there will be no one to see me. No one to stare.

No one to make me feel like less of a man.

The plane charter office is much as I expected it to be—a rundown interior housed inside a tiny bungalow by the edge of the water. The door is propped open, to let the sunlight in and, I imagine, the stuffy interior out. Only a handful of people are inside.

The woman behind the counter is young, perhaps mid-twenties—close to my own age. She’s attractive, with skin the color of copper, and long spirals of dark curling hair.

Once, I could have charmed her with nothing more than a slow smile.

Now? She looks up as I enter, and though she quickly recovers from it, she winces once, quickly, when her eyes find the scarred half of my face.

Though it makes my stomach do a slow roll, I ignore it, push it down. Approach the counter that she stands behind.

“Theodosius Vardalos.” Pulling a sheath of papers from the pocket of my jeans, I slide them across the chipped laminate. “I have a reservation for a private charter.”

Her smile is bright, overly so as she scans the papers detailing my reservation. Her smile falters as she reads to the bottom of the paper.

“Mr. Vardalos.” Smiling nervously, she looks at me—and immediately looks away. Staring at her hands, she taps on the ancient looking computer in front of her. “I’m sorry, Mr. Vardalos, but your charter has been cancelled. Your pilot is sick.”

“And I’m sure you have more than one. There must be someone available.” Calmly, I hand her a crisp stack of bills. I won’t entertain this turn of events. I hired this company and paid them a ridiculous amount of money to not only fly me the two hours that it will take to get to the island—alone—but also to procure all the items on the list of supplies that I gave them.

I don’t really care who pilots the plane, so long as they’re competent. What matters is that within the next few minutes I am on that aircraft, sailing toward the blessed solitude that I crave.

Have to get away. Need to get to my island.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Vardalos, but we’re just a small operation here. We only have three pilots total, and the other two are booked up for the day.” She still won’t look at me, and the rage that I am becoming so accustomed to again beats beneath my skin.

I have been attempting to hide my scars, angling my face so as not to frighten her, but now I rotate my body so that I am facing her fully, so that if she looks up she has no choice

Look at the monster, little girl. Be afraid.

Her stare settles on me, and when she flinches I feel the pulse of satisfaction, deep in my gut. I don’t say anything; I know that looking at me is reprimand enough.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Vardalos.” Tearing her gaze away from my disfigured face, the woman looks down at her hands and pushes the money back in my direction. “There are no more options here. We have no one.”

Frustration blinds me with its thick haze, and with it comes a healthy dose of panic. I need to get out to that island,
now
. The thought of being out there, of being blessedly
alone
, is what I’ve clung to since the accident. It’s the only thing that had kept my mind from becoming as mangled as my face. I’ll die if I have to go through this hell for one more day.

“This is unacceptable—” I’m cut off by a clear female voice.

“There’s one more option, if you’re interested. I can fly the plane.”

The quick burst of hope is tempered with incredulity when I turn and find the owner of that voice. A slip of a girl that I barely even noticed on my way into the charter office has sidled up to the counter where I’m standing, a thoughtful expression on her face.

She’s dressed in worn denim overalls and a sleeveless shirt the color of green olives. Her hair is light brown, and pulled back in a way that only makes her innocent looking face appear younger.

She’s a child. She doesn’t look old enough to have a beer, let alone to fly a damn plane. But something about the spooked look in her green eyes, the determined jut of her chin is familiar, and holds my attention.

She’s a pretty girl, but the interest she piques in me isn’t sexual. Maybe it’s the way she doesn’t pretend that she hasn’t seen my scars, but instead studies them with mild curiosity, the way she’d look at anyone else. She doesn’t care about them, I realize. Not at all. But the determined tilt of her head says she is serious about flying my plane.

More than desperation tells me to trust her. I can feel it in my gut. She can take me where I need to go.

“You have a pilot’s license?” Narrowing my eyes, I shoot her my most intimidating stare, the one that once struck fear into the hearts of businessman far more experienced than me.

“I do. And I’ve got more hours in flight than the other three put together.”

The clerk doesn’t disagree, and the girl sounds sincere. I can’t help but wonder why she isn’t one of their pilots…and why this young woman who seems so resolute has so many ghosts in her eyes.

My instincts are telling me to go with her. For once I listen, nodding my head as I make up my mind. “That will do, so long as you can get this particular plane in the air. It has all my supplies.”

For what I have already paid this company, it better.

“The plane is loaded up, but I can’t just let anyone fly it.” The woman behind the counter slaps a hand down on the laminate service, as if trying to regain control of the situation. “There are regulations. Insurance. She was only hired to help the owner with some repair—she isn’t authorized to  fly our planes.”

“She most certainly is.” Without looking at the charter employee again, I draw another thick stack of folded bills from the pocket of my jeans. I don’t count it before adding it to the rest and sliding it across the counter, but it’s probably more money than the small sea plane is worth.

I hear her stutter; I don’t care. Instead, I look the girl over once more.

She doesn’t care about the scars. Have I run into a single old friend or stranger on the street since it happened who didn’t recoil in horror? If so I can’t remember. I’ve either hired a blind pilot, she’s angling for sainthood, or she’s seen worse.

Rattling off the coordinates, I study her intently. Apart from that look in her eye, the one that suggests that maybe she has some demons of her own, she appears cool. Collected.

“That’s where I’m going. Can you get me there?”

She shrugs, nonchalant. “If there’s a lagoon where I can land the plane, then sure. Can’t land a puddle jumper on open water.”

“Don’t you need to see the plane before you know you can fly it?

“Do you need to inspect every different model of car out there to know that you can probably figure out how to drive them?” She grins, the first smile I’ve seen. It lights up her face, chases away the shadows. “I’ll have to find where a few key things are before we take off, but I haven’t met a plane yet I can’t fly. So yes, I’m sure I can do it.”

Momentarily placated, I gesture for her to step outside, following closely behind. Blinded by the late afternoon sun, I shield my eyes, look down the dock to where a small white puddle jumper with sky blue accents is tied up.

“Why do you want to do this? I haven’t even told you how much I’ll pay you.” She doesn’t know my name, doesn’t have any idea who I used to be. For all she knows I could be a dangerous criminal. A killer.

She
could be a killer. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d been fooled by a pretty face.

At the end of the day, I suppose it doesn’t really matter. If my instincts are off, if she’s a shitty pilot, if she wants to murder me and dump my body in the ocean…

I don’t entirely know that I care. Not anymore.

The girl shrugs again, stuffing her hands deep into her baggy pockets. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got nothing else to do.”

That’s not it—or at least, it’s not all.

But her reasons for being here are none of my business. Even though I’m about to put my life in her hands, I’m hard-pressed finding the energy to care.

“Just tell me your name, then, and we have a deal.” I hold out my hand, a gesture that I’ve adopted, though it’s not so common in my home country of Greece. She eyes it warily, then slides her small palm against my own.

A jolt passes through me—that sense of familiarity, but stronger.

“Do I know you?” I query, peering down into her face. The feeling isn’t one of attraction, not at all… rather, the feel of her dry, cool hand against my own soothes me in a way that nothing has since my accident.

“I think I just have one of those faces.” She hesitates, then seems to settle. That jolt that passed between us—that almost familial feeling link—I’m pretty sure she felt it too. “And you can call me Joely.”

“Joely.” An unusual name, yet it fits her. Satisfied I nod, squeeze her hand once more. “I’m Theodosius Vardalos.”

I wait for her eyes to widen with recognition—the society pages used to love to detail my exploits, especially those of a romantic nature.

“That is one mouthful of a name, big guy. I think I’ll call you Mr. V.” She nods decisively, as if satisfied with the nickname, then gestures to the plane. “Your chariot awaits, Mr. V. Please keep your hands and feet inside the plane at all times, no smoking or listening to music the pilot doesn’t approve of, and in the event of a crash landing I’m sure something on this baby floats, so we’re good. Next stop, the middle of nowhere.”

Nowhere was exactly where I wanted to be.

I was going to the island.

Chapter Two

Since the accident I have wondered, quite a bit, about whether I care to keep living. But instinct is just that, and I feel my pulse stutter in my veins when Joely starts up the plane, then cackles with maniacal glee.

Irritated at being made to lose my cool, I shout at her over the roar of the engine as she taxies the small seaplane through the harbor, then lifts us into the air.

“It’s not that safe a decision that you made, you know. Sealing yourself off  up here with a complete stranger. A man who’s twice your size, and probably twice your age.”

Though her eyes are fixed on the expanse of air in front of us, the slight twitch of the muscles in her face tells me she is rolling them.

“Be as big and old as you like, but I’m at the wheel or we crash, buddy.” She flicks a switch, adjusts a knob. “Kinda closes off your opportunity for extracurricular activities like murder or hanky panky. Plus, you’re not that kind of person.”

Her response takes me aback completely, and I find myself at a loss for words, which I never am. When I find my voice, it sounds as mortified as I feel.

“I’m not taking about
raping
you, girl. I am saying you shouldn’t make a habit of volunteering to fly a perfect stranger out to, as you said, the middle of nowhere.”

“I can take care of myself, and you just proved my point. You’re a decent guy. Giant chip on your shoulder, but decent. Anyway, even if you weren’t, you and I don’t go down that road.” She tilts the wheel, and I feel the plane turn in a slow, steady arc. “It isn’t meant to be.”

“How do you know that?” I should be insulted, perhaps, even though I know what I look like now. “Is it the scars?”

“No.” No quantifiers—just
no
. “And I just know.”

I mutter something under my breath about stubborn females as I move to return to my seat behind her, though the words have no heat. She replies, and I have to turn back to catch what she says.

“You’re not a beast, you know. You should remember that before you forget you’re just acting.” Her tone is matter of fact, like she couldn’t care less one way or the other. It’s a refreshing change, after leaving people who were never-ending founts of demands, of needs.

But she’s wrong. I built my empire on charm and sophistication. But now… with my face so scarred…

“I’m not acting. And you don’t know as much as you think, so stop talking and fly the damn plane.”

There hardly seems to be a point in trying to be something more than what I’ve become.

* * *

I wake up when my ears start popping. The roll of my stomach tells me that we’re descending, and I prop myself up in my small seat, surprised that I slept at all.

It couldn’t have been more than two hours, but it’s more sleep than I’ve had at once since the accident.

“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bacey.” Joely calls back from the cockpit. Flying the plane has made her downright perky, and it’s fascinating to watch the absorption play over her face as she expertly maneuvers the small aircraft down through the air. It’s because of this that I don’t look out the window until the plane has coasted to a stop.

Suddenly desperate to experience it up close rather than through a pane of glass, I pry open the door. Toeing off the hand-tooled leather sandals that a former assistant had purchased for me for some warm weather vacation in a previous life, I jump into the water feet first, not knowing or caring how deep it is.

It’s warm, like a tepid bath, and wets my jeans to the knees as I shield my eyes and take a first look at my island.

My sanctuary.

It’s small enough that I can see how far the land extends, even from this close up. And yet there are swathes of sparkling white sand, rocks that slopes upward into a small mountain, the thick canopy of a verdant forest.

Paradise.

The only sound is that of the water rippling in the warm air, and the quiet tick of the plane’s engine as it cools off.

The sun is low in the sky—not long until sunset. The heat is intense, a damp kiss—reminding me of Greece in a way that New York never did.

As I stand there, momentarily overcome, I feel that heat start to melt the ice inside of me.

“I’ll help you get your things to shore.” Joely breaks the silence by plopping into the water behind me. She’s rolled the legs of her overalls up above her knees, and she has my new knapsack strapped to her back, and a cardboard box in her thin arms.

“You’re far too small to be lugging around things like that,” I snap and take hold of the box. I’m more irritated that she’s interrupted my moment of peace than I am that she’s carrying things. “I can manage it.”

She holds firm to the box. I’m reminded of some of my childhood friends, and the way they would glare at their irritating siblings.

“Joely. Let go.” I can’t even remember the last time someone so blatantly ignored my orders. It’s… weird.

“You’re awfully bossy,” she comments, relinquishing her grip on the box so suddenly that I stumble backward a step. “Used to being in charge, I’m guessing. It’s not your most attractive quality, big guy.”

“You have no idea,” I murmur as I adjust the box in my arms. I stand six foot two, and I have a lot of muscle, but damn it, this thing is heavy. She has no business trying to lift it, let alone haul it to shore.

“So is it a rich thing or a Greek thing?” Hooking her hands in the straps of the bag on her back, Joely starts to wade to shore. I resist the urge to dunk her in the water—someone needs to teach her a little bit of respect—and instead decide to shock her.

“Actually it’s a sexual dominance thing.” As I speak I think that this wide-eyed sprite probably doesn’t even know what that means.

But she just shrugs, much the same way as she did when she took in my scars. “Whatever makes you happy, guy. I’m just here to fly the plane.”

Her comment weighs heavily on me as we splash closer to shore… not because there are any sparks between us, but because deep down I wonder if I will ever feel sparks like that again. Not long ago I was what many would consider a playboy…or a sexual deviant. I enjoyed women—as many as possible—enjoyed controlling their pleasure. I would miss that more than I’d ever imagined.

I wasn’t a complete cad. Just a traditional Greek man, like my father before me. I craved passion and experience, but I knew that when I found the right lady, I’d want to marry, have a family.

My future was stolen from me, gone forever now. Anger bubbles up inside of me again, and though I know it isn’t fair, I lash out at Joely.

“Just here to the fly the plane… because you
know
things, or because you can’t stomach this face?” I regret the words as soon as I’ve spoken them. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. Perhaps I’m a beast after all, eh?”

She glances at me from the corner of her eye.

“We all have scars, Mr. V. Some of us are just better at hiding them.” Pausing for a second, she tugs at her ponytail, her expression contemplative. “You’re not even interested in me, big guy, so don’t be so sensitive. I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m not interested either. In
anyone
. And I didn’t just happen to be at the charter office when you needed a pilot. I woke up and knew I had to come down. I wasn’t even planning to stop in Miami before I …but you don’t need to know all that. What you need to know is that you and this island—this entire day seems weirdly familiar and it scares the shit out of me. But I have a feeling you can handle weird, and it’s too late to fire me since I’ve already brought you to your destination in once piece so…” She takes a breath. “…there it is.”

Before I can comment, she’s pushing the rest of the way to shore. I press after her, and we both step onto the sand at the exact same moment.

A sonic boom deafens me and forces me to my knees. The ringing in my ears grows louder and more insistent as I grab for Joely, my instinct to protect her from this, whatever it is.

She’s just out of reach, and she too falls to the ground, though she seems to be moving in slow motion.

The ground beneath us trembles, the sand rising up in a pale arc that slices through the shimmering air between us.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the shaking stops. The auditory assault is over.

When Joely and I stare at each other with wide eyes, push off from where we are both crouched on the sand, the movements are no longer exaggerated.

I swallow—my mouth is dry as dust, though it was fine just moments ago.

“Earthquake?” I finally manage, though even as I say it, I know it’s not true. Before I ever bought this small spit of land, I researched it. The local weather patterns are unpredictable, and severe thunderstorms, water spouts, hurricanes... though not common, they’re possible.

A small earthquake like what we just felt? Not out of the realm of possibility, but as Joely slowly shakes her head, I know, deep down I know, that something very, very strange just occurred.

“We’re in the Triangle, Mr. V,” she says slowly, sliding the straps of the backpack from her shoulders and letting it drop to the ground. I note the way that the sand, the ultimate silence of the island swallows even that noise, which makes me wonder what on earth it was that just assaulted our eardrums. “Other pilots have shared some pretty strange stories over the years.”

“You believe in all that? Ships lost at sea, aliens and UFO’s, magical mysteries?” I knew when I bought it, of course I knew, that the unnamed island was within the perimeter of the area known as the Bermuda Triangle. The so-called disaster zone is encapsulated within apexes at Miami, Florida, San Juan Puerto Rico and Bermuda, and it is undeniably an area of the world with an unusually high incidence of tragedy.

It is also a huge tourist draw, one that I figure a smart business man should capitalize on. Never, until this very moment, have I seriously considered the possibility that there might be something to the stories.

Joely looks at me, takes in my expression. Her face set in inscrutable lines, she wades back into the water. “There are some things in this world that just can’t be explained, Mr. V. Doesn’t mean they’re not real.”

The words are grim, full of... acceptance, perhaps? But she doesn’t give me much time to think on what she means, instead splashing her way back to the plane.

I chase after her—what kind of a man would let a woman haul all of his supplies? Though she doesn’t look at all open to the idea of talking further on the subject, I can’t stop turning things over in my head.

She knows things, she’d said. What does that even mean?

It would be easy to tell myself that she is crazy. But I can barely bring myself to entertain the notion. The fact is, she was there at exactly the moment I needed her, and even she doesn’t have a good explanation for that.

And something just happened on that beach. I might be a skeptic—actually, it’s probably more accurate to say that I’ve never paid any attention to the supernatural at all. My topics of choice were sex, money and power, usually in that order.

But whatever just happened... like Joely, I’m not afraid. I’m... curious. Energized.

I feel truly alive for the first time since that bitch Celeste watched me burn.

Joely and I each take another armful of gear and wade back to the shore. At the edge of the sand I shake off the excess water, dump my cargo, turn back to my pilot.

Rather than stepping back onto the island herself, she hands me the box and remains ankle deep in the water.

“Thank you.” From my pocket I pull out yet more cash. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight of the thick roll, and for a brief second I wonder if this has all been an act, an elaborate hoax to get at what everyone wants from me—money.

My body tenses as my mind flashes back to the fire, the fear, the utter betrayal.

But Joely shakes her head vigorously, again stuffing her hands into her pockets, something I’ve noted that she does when she’s uncomfortable.

“I can’t take your money. I thought I could, but I can’t. I told you; I think I was supposed to be here.” She eyes the sand with distrust and undeniable curiosity sparking in those bright green eyes.

Is she as interested in this place as I now am? Digging my bare feet into the sand feels like home.

“Do you want to explore the island with me as payment?” Even as I say it I know that isn’t what I want. It’s mine. I’m supposed to be here. I need to see it for myself.

Joely shakes her head again. “No payment needed, and I think you came here for some alone time right?”

“Yes.” Seeing that her mind is made up, I slide the money back into my pocket. But something makes me hesitate. We just shared something unexplainable, me and this strange girl who has too much pain in her eyes.

And she doesn’t notice my scars.

“I don’t have everything I need,” I speak swiftly, without thinking. “I believe they shorted me on supplies. I’ll get myself set up and then I’d like to make another run to Miami and back tomorrow. I want you to be the one to pick me up.” I don’t give her a chance to say no. “Where shall I radio you from?”

I have a satellite radio, somewhere in one of these boxes. I have everything that I might need until I can find the nerve to return to the world. But I’m not ready to be completely alone just yet. Not after today.