Sunset Flare Read online

  Was this a joke?

  Her heart stopped pumping at the sight of a metal chair bolted to the floor, and thick chains hanging over it from the ceiling above. Her head turned to a metal table covered with sharp objects and her stomach lurched.

  “What is this?” she asked, but she suspected she knew the answer.

  Gunner remained quiet, forcing Izzy to forcefully repeat the question. His silence curdled in the pit of her stomach, tumbling around with the arising panic. Now was not the time for him to seal his lips. He’d opened this door, showed her this atrocity, and he would give her answers.

  “Bringing you in here was a mistake.” He gripped her arm, backing out the way they came, but she wasn’t ready to leave.

  “A mistake you can’t reverse. What is this?” Her stomach threatened to heave at the sight of the stained floor. Was that blood?

  “It’s a torture chamber,” Gunner said finally. She had to swallow the bile creeping up her throat.

  “Robert tortured people here? Or had people tortured?” Izzy couldn’t see Robert physically carrying out the dirty parts, but she could envision him watching, taunting, and threatening all the way through. “To death?” The question came out in a whisper.

  Gunner’s stoic stance answered her.

  “What does ‘terminate’ mean?” She turned to him. “Death? It means death, doesn’t it?”

  “Listen, I think you should talk to Marc about this—”

  “I’m asking you. You brought me in here.”

  “I am not the person to give you the answers you seek.”

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but no one is giving me answers. You don’t care about me. I’m nothing more than the girl who pushed you into wanting to punish me. Successful. This is terrifying. Now you want me to walk away and beg my family for answers they will never give me? I don’t accept it. Tell me what you know, Gunner.”

  He sucked in a deep breath through his nostrils and his chest rose, holding the air for a moment before he huffed it out and said, “There is no record of anyone in this...room.”

  “Torture chamber,” Izzy substituted.

  “As we cross reference the files mentioning termination, we find the ones deceased.”

  “But you’ve marked a lot of files terminated.”

  “Izzy...”

  “What?” she shouted. “What can you possibly say to make this better? You can’t. This is awful. This is—” Her reflexes gagged. “I’m going to be sick.”

  They made it to the bathroom in time for Izzy to bring up her lunch. Her breathing stopped and her mind went numb. No air. No breath. She sat on the floor, pressing her back against the cold porcelain bathtub. She pulled her knees to her chest, feeling her heart speed to an uncontrollable pace.

  Her life had been spent walking, sleeping, and living in her luxury suite just above a torture chamber.

  “Izzy? Izzy!”

  She heard Gunner’s voice somewhere in the distance, felt his hands grab her shoulder, his fingers squeeze her skin, giving her a little shake, but the idea of that room clouded her mind, the reasons why it was there demanding answers she could never get.

  “Dammit, Izzy, breathe.”

  Izzy inhaled. The air came rushing back into her lungs. The cold dampness only making the torture room more real.

  She dropped her head into her hands, squeezing her fingers into her head. Why had she pushed him?

  “Un-cuff me,” she demanded. He heard the weakness of her voice pushing out like a scared child. This discovery tilted her whole life...again. She thought nothing could be worse than discovering her uncle had raised her as his own when her real father wouldn’t claim her, only to learn about this.

  To her surprise and relief, the cuff fell free. Izzy automatically rubbed the pink area around her wrists. She didn’t feel pain or discomfort anymore, only numbness.

  “There’s no record of anyone ever being in the room.”

  “Yet. There’s no record, yet. You’ve spent one day down here and you saw the stains everywhere.” Her stomach lurched.

  “It could be paint.”

  “I have to go.” She stood.

  He touched her arm, gently, in an almost caring way that lightened the blow of the night...a little. “You should talk to your family.” A hint of compassion came through in his tone. But she didn’t need his compassion...his pity.

  She stepped away from his touch. “You should mind your own business.” A small laugh at the ridiculousness of that comment escaped her. “I say as you’re digging around in my life.” Shaking her head, she walked past him, and then stopped in the middle of the room. She eyed the closed door, taking in the scratches and splits on the old wood’s surface, tallying up to nothing in comparison of what lay beyond.

  Secrets. Torture. Death.

  Unable to stay any longer, Izzy ran up the stairs, not stopping until she burst out of the library and into the bright hallways of the resort.

  To the right stood the doorway to her suite, her safe haven, her getaway from others—the spotlight, everything—but where below the worst secrets were hidden. She couldn’t go there, not now. Turning in the opposite direction, she decided to find anything to distract her mind.

  Chapter Nine

  GUNNER COULDN’T CONCENTRATE on his task. After Izzy had left he’d collected and sorted the heaping papers from the floor. The misplaced pages weren’t as tangled as he’d first assumed and shortly after aligning them properly, he poured himself a coffee with a shot of whiskey to take off the edge.

  Leaning his hip against the counter, he looked over the mountains of papers remaining. A good week or two, minimum. Rubbing his hand over his face, he took a deep breath, trying to scrub away the guilt munching at him over the events no amount of reading would help him escape.

  The truth behind the door hadn’t been his to reveal. Now, her traumatized expression haunted him like a miserable joke.

  Damn it.

  He didn’t want all this. For the love of his sanity, he simply wanted to live in his cabin without all this drama.

  He slammed the coffee mug on the counter sloshing the contents out around it. Both hands followed, leaving a pathetic sting on his palms.

  Wasn’t that the truth. He’d rather be at home where he’d lived alone for years, where he felt safe, and had built a life he’d accepted his remaining days would be spent. But now, now, Anton had promised he could walk free. In two weeks, maybe one, he’d have permission to walk away with no ties to the mafia. Anton’s deceased brother’s would no longer carry a vendetta with him and he would be free.

  And that scared the living shit out of him.

  He couldn’t be certain freedom was the right path for him. Or if he even wanted it. What the hell was he supposed to do with freedom? It had been so long; he wasn’t sure what living a real life felt like anymore.

  Izzy’s reaction to the room had been real. Deep down he knew his motives for showing her had been selfish. He’d been aspiring to catch a glimpse of the real Izzy Caliendo. But who she revealed hadn’t been the person he’d been expecting.

  She’d surprised him. The humanity lost on his ex-wife, Izzy unveiled. Most Caliendo women weren’t surprised over the grueling activities that lay behind closed doors, and, with the help of an unlimited credit card, simply turned a blind eye. That didn’t seem to be the case with Izzy. Now, guilt seeped into his thoughts, into his work...into his bones.

  For a brief moment he’d witnessed the walls of her faux personality crumble down around her, exposing compassion, empathy...even an affectionate heart. Where he’d been anticipating his ex-wife’s reaction, needing it as a reminder to keep distance from associating in any way with this family, he’d hurt an innocent, caring woman instead and all for his own selfish needs.

  He pushed away from the counter, grabbing his jacket from the chair. He scribbled a note for Anton, who was still holed up in the closed room, and left it by the old man’s briefcase.

  If the event
s of the night had been a test of her humanity, Izzy would have passed. She dressed, acted, and sauced her tongue like a Caliendo princess, but her heart blossomed like a flower and he owed her an apology.

  Abandoning his post, he first knocked on the door of Izzy’s suite, but the darkness beyond the windows indicated no one was home. He didn’t know Willow Valley, wasn’t even sure how to get there, but he planned to search every inch of it to find her. He checked into the resort’s nightlife first, which, thankfully, led him to a quiet bar at the edge of the beach with the cute little Caliendo blonde sitting at the bar.

  The warm summer breeze gently guided him inside the open cabana. The metal chandeliers highlighted the tables alongside the beach, crowded with over-happy, tipsy tourists. Wood beams lined the ceiling and the smell of grilled food reminded him he was starving. A few couples sat on either side of Izzy, along the live-edge bar, but, lucky for him, a single seat remained empty.

  With her backside facing him, her waves of hair spilled down the white material of her clothes like the water beyond them. As he approached, the sight of dust and dirt marks stained her cover-up.

  She hadn’t changed her clothes. He’d bet his life her regular day didn’t include her stepping into public looking like Cindersoot.

  Gunner reluctantly slipped onto the stool beside her.

  She scowled at him. An ice-cold scowl, not that he expected any less. “What do you want?” Without waiting for his reply, she lifted her drink to her mouth, letting the glass linger against her lips. “I would ask how you found me, but being your here with Anton and sorting out coded files, I’m sure I don’t want to know.” She shot back a mouthful.

  “There are only so many bars on the premises.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her slight side-to-side head movements, the curve of her cheek drawing in as if she were biting the inside of her mouth.

  She lightly tapped the glass against her lower lip, her eyes fixed on the alcohol bottles lined behind the bar. But her eyes exposed how far into her own world she was. “I don’t need any more of your judgement.” Looking away, she swallowed another mouthful of the amber liquid and sucked in a deep breath.

  “I’m not judging you.” Although, he had. She consumed the alcohol like a pro. She obviously wasn’t shy to the liquid promise of escape.

  He could relate. Often at night, he’d sit on his porch, staring at the brush around him, quite the way she did now without really seeing what was in front of her, and letting the liquid assist in forgetting the looming problems.

  She let out a low, humorous laugh, waving her hand in the air, motioning for a refill. She rolled her glazed-over eyes to him. “You judged me the second you saw me. Everyone does. Don’t feel bad. I don’t care. But tonight, I’m not in the mood to defend myself...” A serious look stole her laid-back features. “...or to play the part. I would just like to sit here. Alone.”

  “At least let me buy you a meal to soak up some of the alcohol you’ve consumed.” Gunner waved at the bartender, blaming himself for her predicament. Whether she drank on a daily basis or not, this downslide was on him.

  “Who says I’ve drank enough to need it soaked up? You?” She poked his arm, clearly defining her drunken status. “And your non-judgement?” She poked him again.

  He grinned.

  He wasn’t sure why or where it came from, and instantly wiped it away. Or so he thought.

  “Is that funny to you?” she asked. “Is my misery entertaining you?”

  “No. Let me buy you supper as an apology for today.”

  “An apology for which part? Where you handcuffed me to a chair or introduced me to the room of torture?” Her question resounded so loudly, people from every direction looked over at them. Their assumptions undoubtedly heading down an entirely different direction than the actuality. He figured clarifying wouldn’t make their situation better and stayed quiet.

  Izzy on the other hand, didn’t let their assumptions go unnoticed. “What?” She twisted around to face the couple behind her. “You only wish stud muffin there would handcuff you and take you into his torture room.” She doubled the embarrassment by pointing her fingers at the man to make her point.

  Good lord.

  Gunner mouthed them an apology before waving at the waiter again.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting us food.”

  Her shoulders rose as if she were gearing up for another argument, but then the defeat and a sigh escaped her. “Fine.” Turning back to the bar, she shouted a name. Service appeared in a snap holding two shots.

  Gunner threw his back, needing the liquid to calm his unsteady nerves. Being in crowded areas, people lurking in the dark, eyes he couldn’t make out and possible dangers, put him on edge.

  You’re a country away. They think you’re dead and Tito is dead...you’re fine.

  His reassuring internal pep talk alleviated his nerves as much as their walk to the beach. At Izzy’s persistence, she carried the food away from the food hut and to a couple of loungers alongside the shoreline.

  Luminosity from the resort conveyed a soft glow around them. Their only source of light.

  Izzy sat cross-legged on one end of the turquoise lounger and Gunner on the other end with a buffet of food containers between them. For a woman so quick to decline his food offer, she swiftly filled up her plate and dug in.

  A tense blanket of silence fell upon them, soothed only by the lapping waves. Laughter from the tourists reverberated down the sandy path from the bar and grill.

  Gunner ignored the oddly strange feeling of not being stuck in his cabin, alone, and surrounded by miles of brush. How normal he felt at this very moment. He feared revelling in what might never be, still reluctant to believe the freedom Anton offered. No one ever walked away from the mafia.

  Letting himself indulge in the normalcy of a life he’d once lived only to go back to his birdcage...he knew he wouldn’t survive.

  Izzy began closing the container lids, drawing his attention back to her. For being famished, he’d hardly eaten a bite.

  She tucked the leftovers in a bag sitting on the sand beside the lounger. Sipping the end of the water she’d ordered, the time approached for him to enforce his apology. He owed her that much after today. He probably should apologize for her phone and pushing her in the pool, too, but the fact that both those incidents made him smile made him think that part of an apology wouldn’t seem sincere.

  “I’m sorry about today.”

  Arching her shapely eyebrows she sent him a mystified look. “When you handcuffed me to the chair? Or handcuffed me to you? How about when you called me a popsicle? Then insinuated that I like sex. Or were you insinuating I’m a tramp?”

  Where to even begin?

  “I’m not sorry I handcuffed you. You needed to be handcuffed. You lack discipline, and are short of knowledge. If your primed and pampered outfits or your lack of respect and responsibility is any indication, you’re spoiled to the point of not knowing the difference.”

  Izzy’s mouth dropped open. “Is this part of your apology?”

  He hadn’t even touched on the “tramp” comment, yet.

  Muttering a curse at forgetting how to carry out a normal conversation, he answered, “No.” But it came out stern and he found himself inwardly cursing himself again.

  Why the hell had he followed her out here?

  She threw her feet over the side of the lounger, reaching for her sandals. “Let me save you the trouble. I don’t care what kind of guilt trip you’re on after showing me the torture room, but your apology means nothing to me. You mean nothing to me. So stop and let’s pretend none of it ever happened.”

  “I shouldn’t have exposed the room to you in that manner.”

  Izzy didn’t maintain her composure well. She stood abruptly, snatching their garbage in the process. “I don’t think you get it.” Flames of anger torched her eyes. “I don’t care. I. Don’t. Care. How else would you like me to spell this out? You punis
hed me because I didn’t bow down to you like an obedient slave. Own it. That’s the man you are. Don’t try to be someone else because you think I might go tattle to Marc—”

  Gunner stood. “You think this about Marc?”

  “Or Anton?”

  “You think I can’t live with the consequences of my actions?”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’re living with lots of consequences to your actions and they’ve turned you into a jerk.”

  “I don’t need this shit,” he growled.

  “Good.” She thrust the bag of food into his arms. “Take this with you when you leave. I’m going for a swim.” She waltzed past him.

  A swim? At this late hour? And drunk?

  Not your problem.

  But against his better judgement, Gunner followed.

  Sauntering under the moonlight, she pulled the cover-up over her head and tossed it behind her. Her suit left little to the imagination. Thin strings tied across her silky porcelain backside and at the sides of her bottoms. Curvaceous hips swayed with each step along the marble pathway, passing each pool and sign restricting night-time swimming.

  Gunner scooped up the piece of white material while never taking his eyes off her.

  Hot damn, she was sexy.

  He followed her past a wooden sign engraved with a notification that the area was off limits after nine in the evening. Not surprisingly, she ignored it.

  Beneath a rosewood arbour draped with vines and white flowers, they stepped into a concealed tropical paradise. Leaving behind the light of the resort, only an afterglow reached over a seven-foot tall fence highlighting an in-ground hot tub nestled in the center of the private space.

  Izzy paid no attention to him, as if she’d thought he’d left. She manoeuvred into the shadows as soft music feathered around them and bubbles fizzed in the water.

  Stopping at the stairs of the hot tub, she looked at him. “If you plan on joining me, that’s fine, but don’t stand there like a peeping Tom.”

  Watching her step into the steaming pool of water, conflict pulled him two ways. One: he felt obligated to confirm her well-being. Two: this evening had gotten way out of control, drinking at a bar, eating at the beach, and now contemplating reasons not to leave which had nothing to do with his obligation.