Page 20 of Totally Wrecked
Okay, Rex, fucking enough!
Fucking. Enough.
It’s been so long since a woman got me worked up. Not really surprising, considering everything. I stretch out my right hand and flex it, the missing two fingers, a daily visible reminder of why I should keep my distance from other people.
Apart from Gray and Leander, that is.
Gray enters the pilothouse, ruffles Keyara’s hair, and hands her a juicebox. Gray is my best friend, my second-in-command, and the person I trust most in the world. We were in grade school, then high school together. Then the US Forestry Service.
I give him a nod.
“What’s eating you?” he says. “You look like someone pissed in your coffee.”
“Swear,” pipes up a small voice.
Gray digs in his pocket and hands Keyara a coin. She grins and tucks it in her pocket. This is why she likes coming out with us; she earns a fortune. Gotta bring a lot of pocket change if Keyara is on board.
“Well? What’s up?”
“I’m not interested in egos,” I tell him.
He raises an eyebrow. “The TV stars? You should be used to prima donnas by now.”
That’s true. We do take a lot of rich vacationing assholes on excursions, but still. I rest my elbows on the ledge above the wheel. I gesture to Harvey, who is standing at the prow taking selfies and doing his best ‘king of the world’ bullshit.
“He’s definitely a dick of the first order, and I’m not so sure about Action yet.”
“Swear.”
Really? For ‘dick’? I probably shouldn’t argue about cuss words with a nine-year-old.
I toss her a coin.
Gray rubs his fingers together. “Ker-ching.”
I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or Keyara, but if it's to me, he’s right. We need the money, and getting chartered by the film company gives us a nice bonus, thanks to Leander’s big brother Malcolm. It’s been six months since we took over the lease on Nikau's boat, and the cash isn’t exactly flowing in.
“My brother’s production company is coming to Samoa, and needs some charter boats. Are we in?”
“Fuck yeah, you know Nikau and Nanda are struggling. What’s the gig?”
“Have you heard of a reality show called ‘Champion of the World?’ We need to get contestants and a crew to the outer southern atolls. I’ll make sure Malcolm pays us big time.”
Malcolm came up good. We’re making bank on this ten-hour round trip to deliver Harvey “People’s Choice Award” Bannister and Brooke “Real-Life Action Hero” Jackson to some desolate island.
Real-Life Action Hero.
That catch-phrase of hers makes me sick. There are people who are real-life heroes, and they are not these pampered reality stars who wow the world by doing a bungee jump. What a waste of time, money, and effort. If you want a hero, find someone who will dig trenches for twenty-four hours non-stop. Dig, dig, dig, or that fire will reach the school, the town, the farmstead. Ah, but that doesn’t get you on the cover of a magazine, does it? If you want a hero, look at Alicia, Hutch, Stephan, and Carlo.
The Hollywood world is fucking bogus, they can all just fuck off as far as I’m concerned.
“Brooke’s cute,” Gray says.
I look at him. “The fuck?” I give another coin to Keyara before she can say anything, and look at Gray. That’s a very out of character thing for Gray to say. “You got the horn for some Hollywood?”
Gray shrugs, pushing hair out of his eyes. “You want coffee?”
“Fine, don’t say then. And yes.”
