Griff
Standing outside the coffee shop, Ryder was laughing his ass off. "Why didn't you just take it?"
Ten hours ago, I might have laughed, too. But now, after two hours of ribbing followed by eight more of travel, I was in no mood for his bullshit. "Take what?"
He nodded toward the black duffel now slung over my shoulder. "The bag. What else?"
I gave him a look. "So, you were watching the whole time?"
"Hell yeah, I was." With a grin, he looked toward the ferry dock, where some jackass had tried to make off with the only bag I'd been allowed to bring.Shit.Beyond the basics, I didn't even know what it contained. I just knew that its contents had to last me the whole month.
Considering the size of the bag – large, but not gigantic – it was a grim prospect.
Ryder was still talking. "What you should've done was kick his ass and been done with it."
I considered the guy at the dock.Forget ass-kicking.A good strong tug would've done the trick – until the guy screamed holy hell for the cops, and I ended up in the slammer.
I glanced around. Did this place evenhavecops? I knew cars were banned, so how would a cop get around?Likely by horse.But when I tried to picture it, my head throbbed like a mother – and trust me when I say, the steady clip-clop of hooves wasn't helping.
As if to drive the point home, a horse-drawn cart clattered past, laden with boxes – mostly from Amazon, judging from the logos. I stared like I was glitching.What the actual fuck?
When the delivery cart disappeared into the crowd, I turned back to Ryder. "I'm laying low, remember?"
He shrugged. "Yeah, so?"
"So 'ass-kicking' isn't laying low."
"Hey, it'syourloss. I would've paid good money to see it." His grin returned. "Tell ya what. If you kick his ass now, I'll spot you a grand."
I wasn't interested. "Too late. He's gone."
"So find him. I've got the cash in my wallet."
Knowing Ryder, he probably did. To him, a thousand bucks was pocket change – and it showed. Even in that navy polo and dark jeans, he looked like a vintage rich guy slumming it for fun.
One thing was for damned sure. Ryderwasn'ta guy who blended. Dressed casually or not, he had that polished look of old money, complete with a pedigree and a personal trainer named Sebastian or something equally ridiculous.But I knew better.
Ryderhadno pedigree, and his only trainer was his own ruthless drive to outmatch the competition, including those he might call friends.
Yeah, even me.
This, to my supreme annoyance, was how I'd ended up here in the first place.What the hell had I been thinking?If I were smart, I'd blame the whiskey and be done with it. I'd pull the plug, call it good, and take the next ferry out of here.
But quitting wasn't my style, and hell if I'd start now. So instead, I adjusted the strap of the bag and gave Ryder a hard stare. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
He put on his innocent face. "What, a guy can't check on his friend?"
Some friend.As I reached up to rub my aching head, I muttered, "If anyone needs an ass-kicking, it's you."
"Aw, don't be like that," he laughed. "And to answer your question, I'm here to give you the tour."
I took a long, irritated look at my surroundings. Around us, slow-moving tourists milled along the sidewalk, and I spotted no less than three fudge shops, all packed with customers from ages eight to eighty. Bustling or not, I knew the size of the island.It wouldn't take long to get the lay of the land.
I shook my head. "No need."
"Why not?"
"Because the island's not that big."
