Page 14 of Into the Blue
Someone bangs into my shoulder.
“Well, if it isn’t the fucking tourist. Figure you’d order a tourist drink as well. How’s your leg?” The voice is raw, female.
I open my eyes. A young dark-haired woman stands next to me, her lip curled. She’s wearing a turquoise T-shirt stretched over her full bust, her slender hips clad in denim shorts. She’s actually gorgeous, but it’s hard to notice when she’s glaring at me.
“My leg is none of your business.” I take another sip of my drink, deliberately sucking on the straw while keeping eye contact with her. “And the fucking tourist drink is delicious.”
“You’re on my stool.”
“Am I?” I look around, then return to her. “Don’t see your name on it. But I do know you have a habit of dropping in on people.” I narrow my eyes. Screw this girl. I can’t surf and Dora’s board is damaged, just because she’s got some problem with visitors.
“You’re. On. My. Stool.” She comes closer, her fists clenched. Seriously, what the hell is her problem?
“Find. Another. One.” I push my face closer to hers, then return to my drink, signalling the bartender to get me another.
She obliges, shooting the girl who’s harassing me a sharp glance. Good. Hopefully she gets the hint. I finish my current drink, taking a sip of the new one. I have a bit of a buzz now, and fuck this girl if she thinks she’s going to bring me down. I don’t care if this stool has her name engraved on it. I got here first. Then something hits my injured leg, hard. Pain lances through me and I cry out, unable to help it. A few people around me gasp. I hear someone say, “Leave it, Mish.” My leg is throbbing like fire, and I’m not sure I can stand on it. I realise she’s kicked me.
And I lose it.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I scream. Then I throw my full daiquiri over her.
There are exclamations. People draw back all around us. I think the band might have stopped playing. The girl who kicked me stands there, her mouth open, daiquiri dripping all down her front and on her face, caught in her dark hair. Shit. This might have been a mistake.
I step down from the barstool, holding out a towel the bartender has helpfully dropped on the bar. My leg is still agony, but I can bear my weight, just. I hope that bitch hasn’t popped the stitches. You know what? Fuck her. I drop the towel on the floor.
“There’s your fucking stool.” I sweep past her, intending to make a swift exit. As swift as I can, anyway, on my injured leg.
But she grabs my arm, pulling me back around. I gasp as my leg twinges again, dampness on the dressing. Shit. I’m definitely bleeding. But what this bitch doesn’t know is that I’ve been training in martial arts for a while now, and I’m pretty damn good, even with a buzz and an injured leg. It’s one of the positive things that came out of my relationship with Zach, as he was the one who encouraged me to try it.
I dodge her punch, easily, using her own force to disable her, putting her in a joint lock to hold her in place. I twist her arm, leaning in close. “That’s for my fucking leg.” She groans. I twist her arm again. “And that’s for my board.”
Then someone grabs my hair, pulling me back. Shit. Of course she has friends. I bring both my hands up to the one in my hair, squeezing it as I turn, kicking out with my uninjured leg. The hand in my hair loosens, releasing me.
“Enough!” This is the bartender. She’s come around the bar and is frowning, dragon-fierce. “Get out, all of you. Mish, you know better than this. No brawling in my bar.”
“I’m injured.” I indicate my leg, blood spotting the dressing. “Thanks to her.” I do not want to be turned out onto the street with these two. Mish is being held back by another woman, stocky and strongly built, shooting me daggers from her ice-blue eyes. I guess she’s the one who grabbed my hair. I’m a good fighter, but I won’t stand a chance against two while I’m half-drunk and bleeding.
“Too bad. Get out.”
I guess I have no choice. I hope they don’t hurt me too badly. Bad luck does come in threes, and I guess this is my number three. Perhaps this damn island will leave me be after that. Or maybe this island isn’t magic at all and I should just pack up my stuff and go back to Bali. Check into a hotel on the water, lie by the pool and have spa treatments every day for the next two weeks, hoping my leg, and my heart, might recover.
But the thought of doing that makes me even more angry. I came here for a reason. To heal. Not to be damaged further. There’s a decent doctor here, a well-stocked grocery store. There must be police. I’ll report them for assault. There are more than enough witnesses.
Then an arm comes around my shoulders. “I’ll take her home,” a voice says. “And you might want to have a word with Mish, Indah. We all saw she started this. She got what she deserved.”
“Yeah. Fair call, Axel.”
Axel? Oh no.
I look up into stormy grey eyes. A strong muscular body supports mine.
Axel Black. My host. And now some sort of goddamn saviour as well.
Axel
I’m sitting in the bar, enjoying a drink after a hard day’s work, when Jade comes in. Dressed in black, some sort of shorts jumpsuit, fitted at the waist with a deep V-neck and billowy sleeves. Flat gold sandals with ties that wrap around her slender ankles, and that damn tantalising frangipani scent.
She goes past my table without even noticing me. I guess I look different when I’m not covered with dust. Or having a go at her.
