53. Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Three

L aura

The clash of metal striking wood echoes through the clearing as Invictus meets Varro’s wooden staff. Despite the well-trodden snow on the ground and the thick late-spring flurries that fall around us, sweat trickles down my spine, muscles burning from the exertion of our training session.

“Good!” Varro calls out, his eyes gleaming with pride. “Your form is improving, Laura. And your strength. Invictus is heavy for you, but soon you’ll be wielding that sword like a true gladiator.”

Panting, a grin spreads across my face. “Thanks. Though I think I prefer the spear. It’s lighter and there’s less chance of accidentally lopping off my own foot.”

Varro chuckles, lowering his staff. “True. You’ve shown great progress with both weapons. A few more weeks and you’ll be ready to take on an entire legion.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” I quip, wiping my brow with the back of my hand. “I’d rather stick to hunting the occasional rabbit.” Before he can comment, I beat him to the punch by admitting, “And missing. I know, I know. ”

A comfortable silence falls between us as we catch our breath. My stomach tells me it’s almost time to start dinner, but I stand here, surveying our sturdy house and looking beyond it to the stormy sea.

As I enjoy the sound of gulls calling to each other over the water, I realize it’s moments like these that make me forget about the outside world, about the life I left behind.

Maybe it was dumb luck or perhaps it was fate, but I’d been waiting for my life to start. I worked crappy jobs, dated people I knew wouldn’t work out, just passing time until the day I could find the Fortuna , which happened to be the same day I found Varro. Here, with him, I’ve found a sense of peace I never knew existed.

Suddenly, a distant rumble breaks through the tranquil evening air. My head snaps up, eyes scanning the horizon.

“Did you hear that?” I ask, tension creeping into my voice.

Varro nods, his posture instantly alert as his eyes dart to Jenny. “It sounds like Jenny, but she’s right here. It’s coming from the direction of the compound.”

Heart racing, I strain my ears. The sound grows louder. It must be a boat engine. Excitement flies through me as I envision our rescue, complete with loving phone calls to family and a warm cup of coffee— several cups of coffee. Then my fantasies dissolve as reality returns—stark and foreboding.

“It can’t be Garrison, can it?” If he’s waited all this time to return, I doubt it’s to rescue a woman he abandoned six months ago. Has he come back to… kill me?

“Whoever it is, we need to be cautious.” Varro’s voice is low and serious. “Let me look from the roof; maybe I can see something.”

He climbs to the top of the stone wall and perches on his knees, looking toward the compound. My heart is beating so hard it’s pounding in my throat.

“Three men, looking for something.” He’s still as a statue, his voice barely a whisper. If we can see them, they most probably can see us, too, if they look this way. “They just went into the compound.”

He climbs down and grabs my shoulders. “You’re in danger. I don’t know who these men are or what they want, but my mind is screaming warnings. I doubt they came in peace. Run to the little cave near where the seals sunbathe. You can crouch there and hide. Don’t come out until you hear me call you.”

“Fat chance, gladiator. It’s you and me together.” Interesting how my voice sounded full of confidence, yet my insides are quaking with fear.

When he argues, I press a finger against his lips. “We don’t have time to debate, my love. I’m with you. Always. Now, what’s our next move?”

We consider the choices and decide to stay here, defending from our home rather than being on the attack in the compound where there are dozens of hiding places and a hundred things that can be used as weapons against us.

We step into the cottage, muscles tense and senses on high alert. Varro grabs his spear—a sturdy branch topped with Rick’s diving knife—while I clutch Invictus, its familiar weight offering little comfort.

My phone tells me an hour has passed, the tension mounting with each minute. Every so often, Varro urges me to run and hide, but I have no intention of abandoning him, though I love him even more for wanting to protect me.

Finally, we hear voices approaching our cottage.

“I’m telling you, they have to be here somewhere. They never returned to the States,” a gruff voice carries on the wind. “The ship is wrecked, and the compound was abandoned, but someone’s been living on this island, draining the fuel and food.”

It’s not Garrison’s voice. My blood runs cold as I realize these are strangers, and they’re looking for us—well, looking for me. No one in their right mind would dream a frozen dead body came back to life.

Varro and I have made dozens of trips back and forth to the compound, both in Jenny and on foot. The path is well trodden and leads straight to us. Before the men come any closer, we dart out of the cottage and hide on the far side of the structure.

“Varro.” My whisper is urgent. “What now?” He’s fought thousands of sparring matches and battled in arenas all over Italy. He can strategize far better than me.

He nods, eyes never leaving the direction of their voices as he thinks. “When they come into view, I’ll confront them. You stay hidden, ready with Invictus if things go wrong.”

“Looks like we found at least part of the crew,” one of the men calls out.

Clearly, they’ve caught sight of the cottage. Varro steps out, makeshift spear in hand, before they conduct a thorough search and find me.

“What do we have here?”

I listen, heart pounding.

“Who are you?” Varro demands, his slightly accented voice carrying the authority of a seasoned gladiator.

“Name’s Merrivale. I’m looking for Garrison and his crew. You one of his divers? The mechanic?” He glances around, his two men equally wary. “Where are the rest of them? They’ve got to be here. One thing’s for sure, that damaged boat didn’t get them off the island.”

“There’s no one here but me. I never met anyone named Garrison.”

Merrivale’s face darkens. “Bullshit. I know they found the gold. My inside man emailed me just before he went radio silent. ”

Inside man? Was it one of the divers? Tony the mechanic? Did these thugs come here to steal the gold I spent more than a decade searching for?

My mind reels. It’s been months since Garrison and the men left. Why doesn’t the whole world know about the find by now?

“Gold? There’s no gold here.” Varro’s voice is no longer full of confidence. It’s desperate because he’s scared—for me. One of the robbers rounds the corner of the cottage and, before he can lay a hand on me, I step around him and scurry, still clutching Invictus, to stand next to Varro.

“Garrison abandoned us. We’re the only two on the island, and Garrison absconded with the gold. He’s from Florida. Look for him there.”

Merrivale’s hand twitches toward the gun at his hip. “Listen, sweetheart. I’ve been waiting months to get the seed money so I could start salvage operations now that I know the gold is here. I’m not leaving without it.”

Tension crackles as we face off against Merrivale and his men. Varro shifts slightly, readying himself for a fight. I may not have gladiator reflexes, but every muscle in my body is on high alert.

Now that I’m face to face with Merrivale, I can see that he looks just as unpleasant as his voice suggested. He’s almost as tall as Varro, but in terrible shape. His protruding belly hangs over his jeans like a sack. Everything he and his men wear is camouflage, even the guns strapped to their sides are painted sandy brown and khaki green.

He slides his sunglasses down his nose and peers at me with piggy little eyes before smirking at his men.

“Last chance,” Merrivale growls. “Tell me where the gold is, or things are gonna get real unpleasant.” How is it that by this one glance, I know for certain this man would kill both of us to get what he wants? And how do I know he wouldn’t hesitate to have some “fun” with me before he dispatches me ?

Time seems to slow as I weigh our options. We’re outnumbered, outgunned, and cornered. But as I look at Varro, seeing the fire in his eyes and the set of his jaw, I know we won’t go down without a fight.

“There is no gold,” I repeat, raising Invictus. “Leave us the fuck alone.”

Merrivale laughs at my threat as he draws his gun. “Look, boys. The little lady brought a knife to a gunfight. Drop the sword. And you…” he waves the pistol at Varro, “drop that pitiful spear.”

We’ve been together for six months. I’ve talked about guns when we tell stories at night and I relate the plots of some of my favorite movies. Varro must understand that the unassuming camouflage-color item in Merrivale’s hand is one of the amazing killing weapons I told him about because he moves like lightning. His spear is a blur as he uses it to knock the weapon from Merrivale’s hand. The gun skitters across the ground as all hell breaks loose.

Merrivale’s men charge forward, wielding machetes they must have brought, expecting to hack through thick grasses. I dodge a wild swing from one attacker, Invictus singing through the air as muscle memory from our training sessions kicks in.

The clash of metal and grunts of exertion fill the air as we dance a deadly waltz. Varro is poetry in motion, his years of gladiatorial combat evident in every fluid movement as he fights both a man with a machete and Merrivale who has pulled a short, sharp knife from his belt. But we’re outnumbered, and fatigue is already weighing down my arms and shoulders as I thrust and block the heavy machete and the burly man wielding it.

A sharp cry escapes my lips as the man I’m fighting lands a glancing blow to my arm. Warm blood trickles down my skin, but there’s no time to assess the damage. Gritting my teeth, I press on, desperately trying to keep my attackers at bay.

“Laura, duck!” Varro shouts.

I crouch just as his spear whistles over my head, catching the man in front of me straight through the heart. He must have died instantly, because he goes down without even a howl of pain. Now, at least our numbers are even.

I turn to see what’s happening behind me.

The second goon is scrambling to retrieve his machete, which is on the ground about ten feet away from him. His right arm is cut badly and bleeding, and there’s another one on his thigh I can see through his ripped pants. It’s soaked in blood and dripping on the ground as he drags that leg.

Merrivale’s knife is also on the ground. But the man is relentless, pressing his advantage with savage fury. While Varro was distracted helping me, Merrivale managed to retrieve his gun and point it at Varro’s chest. The metallic click of the safety being released sends ice through my veins.

Varro leaps to avoid the shot, but he’s not quite fast enough. The crack of the gunshot is deafening in the late evening air.

I gasp as Varro stumbles, his face contorted in pain. The bullet has found its mark, tearing into his side. He falls to one knee with an anguished grunt.

“No!” The scream tears from my throat as I watch Merrivale raise his gun for the killing shot.

In that moment, everything crystallizes. The speared man is at my feet. On pure instinct, I put my foot on his chest, grip the shaft, and wrench the spear from his chest. With every ounce of strength I possess, I hurl the spear toward Merrivale. It flies true, a prayer on the wind, carrying with it all my hopes and fears.

I hold my breath as the spear finds its mark, burying itself deep in Merrivale’s back. He makes gurgling sounds as he topples forward.

For a heartbeat, silence reigns. Then, with a guttural roar, Varro surges to his feet. In one fluid motion, he retrieves the spear from Merrivale’s back and points it threateningly at the last man standing .

“Drop your weapon,” Varro growls, his voice laced with pain, yet unwavering.

“Fuck you.” The man advances, menacing his machete. When he takes a step toward Varro, the man I love summons his last reserves of strength and hurls the weapon, felling the last of our attackers with deadly precision.

As quickly as it began, the fight is over. Panting heavily, I rush to Varro’s side, my hands shaking as I assess his wound.

“Are you okay?” I ask, voice trembling.

He nods, grimacing as he presses a hand to his side. “It doesn’t feel like a mortal wound. I’m still standing and my guts aren’t falling out.”

Relief washes over me and I almost laugh. “I’m so, so glad your guts aren’t falling out, gladiator.”

I gently pry his hand away from the wound. “Let me take a look at that.” The bullet has grazed his side, leaving a deep, angry gash which is bleeding steadily. Thankfully, it doesn’t look life-threatening. “We need to clean and bandage this.”

“It’s nothing. I’ve had worse scratches from you in bed.”

“Remind me to define the word macho for you later. Right now, you’re going to quit arguing and let me tend you.”

After hurrying into the cottage, I grab our makeshift first-aid kit. When I tell him to sit so I can nurse him, he yanks the supplies away from me.

“Let me care for you first, love.”

His wound is clearly worse than mine, but I don’t waste precious moments arguing, knowing it will do no good.

He gently wipes the blood from my arm, using what is almost the last of our antiseptic on the cut across my biceps. Then he wraps a bandage around my arm .

The expression on his face is so tender, so fond, I imagine he would tend to me with cartoon Band-Aids if we had such a thing. Although I didn’t think it was possible, my love for him swells even bigger at this sweet treatment, feeling as though it will burst my heart. The wound isn’t deep and has already stopped bleeding.

“Now, my love, let me tend you.”

With trembling hands, I clean the wound with boiled water and a strip of clean cloth. Varro remains stoic, not even flinching as I work.

After dousing him with antiseptic, I wrap a bandage tightly around his torso. “We don’t have Mickey Mouse Band-Aids, but this should make it better.”

Leaning forward, I press a kiss on the spot directly over his wound. Perhaps the star-struck look on his face is similar to the one I had only moments ago when my beloved gladiator tended me as though I was the most precious thing in the world.

“Thank you, Laura. I never dreamed how good it would feel to have a woman want to nurse me.” He snatches my hand and kisses my knuckles.

“What are…’Mickey Mouse Band-Aids’?” He asks, quoting the unknown phrase carefully.

“I’ll explain later, my love.” I say with a laugh.

“Now, I need to take care of… the mess.” Varro spears me with a look of steel.

It’s only now that we’ve dressed each other’s wounds that I can pay attention to all the emotions roiling through me. They’re so intense they make my knees weak. We made it. We survived.

But as the adrenaline fades, the reality of our situation sets in. Three dead bodies lie just feet outside our door. One of them is dead by my hands.

“Varro.” My voice is a cracked whisper. “I killed a man. ”

“Yes, my darling woman, you killed a man. I know how you feel about this, but it saved your life, saved both of our lives. Will your God punish you for this?” His brow creases with worry. He so clearly doesn’t want me to face my god’s wrath.

Thou shalt not murder. It’s a commandment, pretty huge. But years of Catholic school taught me the difference between killing and murder.

“No, love. This was self-defense.”

Still, I go around the far side of our lovely little cottage and heave, although I haven’t eaten since breakfast and nothing comes up but bile. When I return to Varro, he has a bottle of clean water he’s refilled from the spring. As he hands it to me, he tells me to go into the house and pack while he cleans up the mess.

“I’m going to take Jenny to the compound and make sure there aren’t other invaders. Stay inside. You don’t need to see this.” His face is filled with compassion.

“Pack?” Of course we need to pack. We can’t stay here. Haven’t I told him a thousand times how I can’t wait to be rescued? Can’t wait for coffee and steak and a freaking bathtub? Yet now the thought of returning to civilization terrifies me. How will this amazing gladiator, so sure of himself, the master of this environment, handle cars and planes and computers?

And how on Earth will he handle the onslaught when news of his origins hits the media?

Perhaps I’ve been standing here dithering for too long, because he interrupts my reverie with, “Pack, love. We’ll sleep here tonight. After I… remove these bodies, we’ll discuss what to do next.”

He gives me a meaningful look and continues, “But we both know you don’t belong on this island, and we both know…” His long pause makes my stomach cramp. “We both know I don’t really belong anywhere.”