1

Lexi

Iwake to the sound of waves breaking in the distance. My eyes flutter open, but the world spins around me and I hammer them closed again.

What the hell?

Sucking in a deep breath, I try again, this time blinking a few times until the room gets clearer.

I’m lying on a couch, in an open concept room, covered by a soft and cozy blanket. My body feels heavy but warm and relaxed and though I’m still exhausted, my body aches like I’ve been asleep forever.

“She’s awake,” a man whispers from a few feet away. My head twists toward him and my body stiffens.

Where the hell am I?I don’t recognize anyone.

I clutch the blanket at my chest and manage a few words, “Where am I? Who are you?” My voice is hoarse and croaky, and I cough to clear it.

One of the men takes a step forward. He looks closest to my age, the other two look at least ten years older. He’s dressed dark, in jeans and a black t-shirt with tattoos strung up and down both arms, and his stance is somewhere between a cop and a superhero—both imposing and protective.

“You’re on Mango Island, just south of Miami.”

“Mango Island?” I ask, running through my quick knowledge of geography. Mango Island doesn’t ring a bell.

“Yeah, it’s a private heap of sand,” an older guy answers. He’s wearing what looks like a motorcycle vest and has a short, salt and pepper beard that covers his face. “We found you washed up on the south side last night. Your lips were blue. You’re lucky we found you when we did. We weren’t sure you’d make it. Your boat sink?”

I shake my head, sending the world spinning again. “No.” I squeeze my eyes shut to right the dizziness. “I… I…” My mind circles for an answer, but no memory fills in the blanks.

“You what?” the younger man asks. He seems genuinely concerned, enough so that it scares me a little.

“I can’t remember,” I say faintly, feeling the weight of what they’ve just said. I almost drowned.

“What do you mean you can’t remember?” the oldest of the men barks and I startle, twisting a corner of the blanket between my fingers, as I try to get my breath under control. I keep forgetting to breathe.

“Calm down,” the third man says, pushing past the other two toward my couch.

I’m not sure how fast I can run on weak legs, but I don’t like not having a way out. I scan the room for an exit strategy, but I’m cornered. There’s nothing but a few small windows on the other side of the room and a door that’s right behind them. They’d surely be able to stop me.

The third man settles his large body down next to me, maple syrup and whisky on his breath as he speaks.

“We didn’t notice an ID on you, or any baggage. You were only wearing the life vest.” He picks it up from beside the couch and studies the construction of the orange and black floatie like it has some kind of answer. “It’s a top-grade vest. I’m guessing you come from money, sweetheart.” He doesn’t say it in a way that makes me feel he’s after the money I may or may not come from, rather in a way that he’s studying the only piece of a puzzle he has. I hate being called sweetheart, it’s patronizing. But his voice is gentle, and the word feels more like a term of endearment than an insult.

“What do you think, Hawk?” the man says, looking at the youngest of the men. I make a mental note of his name. I might need it for the police later.

Hawk blows out a breath and shakes his head. “The current is powerful this time of year. She could have floated onto the island from any direction. I can’t say for sure Kane.” Hawk, Kane, and...Grumpy?

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” says the oldest and clearly the gruffest of the men. This guy is different. He looks like he could be my father, if my father were six foot five, built like a brick house, had tattoo sleeves, a peppered beard, and a look in his eye like he’s ready to kill. I don’t trust any of them, but I especially don’t trust him. Bikers give me the heebie jeebies.

“Do you guys have a phone I can use, or…?”

They look at each other, their eyes telling a story only they understand. My stomach sinks. This is just like the crime dramas I’ve seen on TV—minus the lost at sea part. Then again, I think I did see one where the girl was on some island and the men made her their servant, until finally a tourist boat washed up five years later and she escaped.

I suck in a ragged breath.

Kane stands up abruptly, looking back at me. “We have a radio, but—” The oldest one smacks him. I haven’t caught his name yet.

“We don’t have radio access right now, and there’s a storm coming in soon. We’ll let you know when you can call for help. In the meantime, we’ll keep you safe.”

I quietly shutter at the thought of these threekeeping me safe. They look like they could crush a bag of rocks with their bare hands.