Page 3 of Stranded

“I’d rather stab my own eyes out than ever be with him again, understood?” I growl down the phone, the image I’d walked into forever playing behind my eyelids. “Preston is dead to me.”

“You’re being completely dramatic. Nothing is stopping him from following you up there.”

I laugh. “He has no idea where I'd booked to stay as he doesn’t care about me or our relationship. So good luck to him trying to track me down.” I clear my throat. “I’m going to Alaska. Alone. And there’s nothing you or Preston can do about it.” I hang up, feeling a strange mix of exhilaration and dread. I won’t let anyone else dictate my life anymore.

In my handbag is my sketchbook. Whenever I go on vacation, I work on my designs.

I glance at it peeking out from my bag, its pages filled with dreams and visions. I reach in, the smooth leather cover comforting against my hand. As I leaf through the pages, each stroke of color ignites a spark of joy within me that I haven’t felt in a long time.

I pause on the latest design I’d been working on. It’s been months since I sat down and enjoyed drawing a piece. Right now seems as good a time as any.

A lot of women might shatter into a million pieces after finding their partner cheating. But not me. Instead, I feel like an uncaged bird set free.

I’ve been sleepwalking through my life, doing as I’m told and living a reality I don’t want. But his betrayal is liberating. It’s ripped open my future, revealing a horizon filled with opportunities I’ve never allowed myself to dream of. For the first time in a long time, I feel alive. I feel like me.

The captain makes his announcement. “Ready for take-off.”

I smile, sitting back in my chair with my sketchbook.

I’m not entirely sure what I’ll do in Alaska alone in a big cabin, but I’m thankful I’ll have solitude and time to think about my life and the direction it’s heading in. Maybe I’ll finally get enough courage to tell my mom I’m quitting working for Cravath, Swaine & Moore as a lawyer and pursuing a career in fashion design. She would probably disown me.

I’m reminded of my passion as I add some detailing to the ballgown I was sketching. Fashion design. My designs, or my ‘doodles,’ as Preston so callously put it, are a part of me. I’ve suppressed a part of me all these years to fit into the mold of the perfect attorney daughter my mother wanted me to be.

But in Alaska, I’ll be free from such expectations. Free to explore this passion and become who I truly want to be. As the jet engine roars to life, I feel a smile tugging at my lips. Alaska, here I come.

MADDOX

The chill of the Alaskan air cuts through me, but the cold never bothers me. My axe swings down, splitting the wood. I shouldn’t have left this job until the last minute, but I’ve never been good at getting jobs done on time. It’s an occupational hazard of living somewhere where time moves so fucking slowly.

I grind my teeth as it won’t be long until the people renting my cabin will arrive. Ivy St. Clair and her fancy boyfriend will call it home for Christmas. The thought of her boyfriend’s hands on her is like a punch to the gut.

I’ve killed before, and as I look at the axe in my hand, I can’t help but entertain the thought. The image of Preston King with it stuck in his chest gives me a giddy thrill. His blood paints the clean white snow as Ivy watches in shock, and then I’d chase her and make her mine.

I shake off the murderous thoughts, tossing another log onto the pile.

Ivy.

Her name’s been seared into my mind since I saw her photo on the booking site. An obsession instantly ignited. She’s breathtaking, like a dream I didn’t dare conjure. Hair like spun gold and a body to die for. My cock hardens. The cold can’t stop my desire for that beautiful little trust fund brat. My desire for her makes no logical sense. She embodies everything I hate about people born with a silver spoon in their fucking mouth, and yet I’m drawn to her.

I set down the axe and rub my hand across my straining crotch. Up here, especially in winter, it can be lonely. And hot girls like her don’t often pick the wilderness as their vacation hotspot.

I’ve had a few beautiful girls rent the place, and a couple have jumped into my bed. But I’ve never felt so desperately inclined to fuck one of the girls until I saw her photo. And then saw the booking was for her and a guy called Preston.

I wanted to fucking strangle the life out of him, and I haven’t even met them. I fear that I should have canceled this booking. The closer the date gets, the more violent my thoughts get about her boyfriend. And the more perverse my fantasies about that beautiful angel get, too.

I pull my cock out, ignoring the cold sting, and fist it, groaning. The idea of having Ivy, the pretty little trust fund brat, makes me harder than nails, especially after murdering her boyfriend. It would be hot as hell. And the sick and twisted side of me also gets hard thinking about what it would be like to kill him.

Five months, that’s how long I’ve had to nurse this obsession. Now, she’s an hour away from setting foot on my turf. Ivy and that prissy boyfriend of hers, Preston. And I don’t know what kind of shit is going to play out. I know that I have to bring my primal urges under control.

I groan as the image of Ivy bent over while I slam into her sears into my brain. Her boyfriend’s blood is still on my hands as I spank her ass, and she moans my name.

“Hello!” a soft, sweet voice echoes in the wind toward me.

Without thinking, I turn around, my dick still in my hand. And there in front of me, as if I conjured her with my Goddamn mind, is Ivy. Her eyes widen as they drop to my cock. “Oh my God! I must be in the wrong place.” She spins around. “I’m so sorry! I’m looking for the getaway lodge.”

Fuck.

Where’s her boyfriend?

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