Hy-Brasil is a mythical/phantom island that is cloaked in mist except for one day every seven years.
If Bleu St. James relied on her first impression of Chris, she might have let him drown. But there was something about him that inexplicably drew her in. Maybe it was something she saw when she stared into his calm face as the plane they were on fell from the sky. Now stranded on a mysterious deserted island, Bleu must not only contend with the elements and find a way to get home, she must depend on a survivalist who also happens to be a hate-filled extremist.
Chris Stokey couldn’t keep his eyes off the well-dressed woman, even though he was taught that her kind was beneath him. Her very presence made him feel inadequate in every way. Yet, Bleu saved his life and he owed her. That meant doing his damnedest to keep her alive. Only, Chris didn’t foresee how alluring he would find Bleu or how badly he would want her to see him, and not the life he desperately wants to leave behind.
This book contains some views and language that may be uncomfortable for some.
Trained in combat, survival, and a member of white supremist group
International flight 4816
Dulles Intl. Airport
Swiss Air, Gate 23
Bleu lifted her wide lens dark sunglasses above her eyes and glared at the two men who sat in the seats facing hers. One of them had just run off a man who looked to be of Middle Eastern descent and now they were discussing the ‘problems’ with the United States, rather loudly. Of course, the problem was everything and everyone else.
She didn’t spare them much more than a glance and was about to focus on the magazine she just bought from the newsstand when one of them spoke to her.
“What the fuck are you looking at, Dark Meat?” The one who’s head was completely shaved except for a long flop of blond hair that covered one of his eyes, asked her.
Bleu smirked as she raised her perfectly arched brow at him. They stared at each other for several seconds before she got bored, lowered her glasses, then stood. She heard Flop-Over say something about hoity-toity dark meat to his friend, a guy who clearly loved tattoos. Their laughter followed her as she found another seat closer to the loading gate. A seat that was out of earshot of Neanderthals.
“What the fuck are you looking at, Dark Meat?” Thomas asked the black woman sitting across from them.
Chris watched her with curiosity, wondering what her response would be. Why he gave a fuck, he wasn’t sure. Yeah, for a darky, the chick was hot. He’d seen a good number of black women he could admit was good looking but he never felt an inkling of interest in them.
But her… Her skin was smooth and reminded him of warmed walnuts. Her hair was sleek and black, cut short all around but it was long enough in the front that she had to sweep it to the side. Her clothing, a very white shirt and khaki long shorts, looked brand new. He was certain her medium sized stud earrings were real diamonds. Even her sunglasses looked like they cost more than his monthly rent. Her scent–Gods probably didn’t smell half as good–was heady.
She probably has a ‘Sugar Daddy’.
She raised her brow at Thomas, briefly allowing Chris to see her dark seductive eyes, then smirked. Chris couldn’t help it, he laughed quietly as Thomas and the chick competed in a stare off for several seconds before she lowered her glasses and stood.
Chris watched her walk…no, stroll away. He wanted to watch her.
Some of them darkies pull you in, Chris. It’s how they were made. To tempt the better races.
Chris closed his eyes in an attempt to purge his father’s words out of his head.
“Hoity dark meat needs to be put in her place,” Thomas sneered as she walked away. “Don’t know if I want to choke her with my hands or my cock.”
“Sara will cut your shit right off,” Chris responded. He sounded bored as if he had little interest in Her. Thomas laughed and Chris absently joined in but he continued to watch the girl.
A few Hours Later
The plane shook violently, jostling the passengers from side to side. Several overhead compartments burst open, spilling luggage onto the passengers beneath it. Bleu glared at the Fasten Seatbelts sign that flashed above her head. She leaned out into the aisle and saw two flight attendants who were strapped into their seats. The looked they gave each other before undoing their seat belts and rushing to assist a couple who had been bombarded with the luggage, wasn’t comforting.
The sheer panic expressed on their faces shocked Bleu into a silent prayer. She almost felt guilty for not going to church in over five years but that feeling passed with the next series of brutal shaking and shifts of the plane.
When the plane suddenly dipped, Bleu saw one of the attendants grab hold of a passenger. The other attendant flew up, crashed into the roof of the plane, then fell to the floor. Until now, the passengers were trying to stay calm, just as the attendant requested. But now, screams and gasps filled the cabin. No one was buying that this was just turbulence anymore.
“Carla,” the attendant’s voice bellowed above the screaming.
But Carla, didn’t answer. She looked unconscious.
Bleu closed her eyes. Her fingers ached from the death grip she had on the armrest of her seat. Her rigid posture was the only tell that she was scared to death. Her breathing was steady and if she had a mirror she knew her face would reflect a calm expression. She’d been trained her entire life to put her best face forward, to never let anyone know what she felt or thought.
What was she thinking right now?
That she and every passenger on this plane are going to die. It was that simple. Bleu had flown a million time before so she knew that this was different. The other passengers knew it too. Oddly, she had the silliest of thought.
You don’t know any of these people you’re about to die with.
With her stoic mask on, Bleu couldn’t help her perusal of the frightened faces of the passengers. They were all strangers and she knew nothing about them, except that she was definitely going to die among them. Bleu ignored the calls for help and the shouts to God as she looked over her shoulder to her left, at the pair across the aisle and one row behind hers.
Why she looked at the two men, she didn’t know. Both had an air of danger about them but with Bleu’s sheltered upbringing, the postman could seem a bit nefarious to her. She grasped on to the fact that these men weren’t complete strangers like the others aboard the flight. Maybe that was why she chose to seek them out.
Bleu recalled the brief, albeit annoying, encounter she had with them right before boarding the airplane.
Now I’m going to die with these Neanderthals, she thought. “Dying is dying,” Nana’s disembodied voice whispered to her. “It makes no never mind who you travel to the pearly gates with. Just be happy you made it.”
Nana, Bleu thought with a sigh as the noise around her increased to deafening levels.
The sound of screams, hushed prayers, and useless instructions filled the cabin of the airplane. The freak storm came about so suddenly, Bleu figured that there was nothing anyone could do. The collective fear on the plane was enough to fuel the jet but sadly it wasn’t capable of saving them as lightning struck the back end.
Bleu covered her ears as a loud explosion overshadowed all other sounds around her. She held her scream in but her breathing picked up.
Is my mask still in place? Will I stay alert? Do I want to?
The solid mass of the man didn’t register as Bleu swam with him in tow. But his weight mattered now as she dragged him, backward walking through the hot sand that burned her bare feet. She ignored her aches and the burn of each heated step as she struggled to get the man to the tree-lined area just beyond the beach.
Bleu wasn’t sure how long it took or how many times she fell on her ass, but she managed to get him close to where she wanted. Exhausted, she took several deep breaths as she looked over the man. Even with his dangerous appearance, he was very attractive. He had short dusty blond hair, long thick eyelashes, a strong jaw, a perfectly straight nose, and generous lips.
What a waste, she thought as she stared down at his chest. His t-shirt was ripped, exposing his body which was a work of art in form and imagery. His entire neck and both arms were covered with tattoos. Just below a design on his neck was a huge winged heart and under that, centered, was the start of a knife handle with a thick long blade that traveled down his stomach. The tip of the knife was hidden under scraps of cloth.
Bleu could appreciate the workmanship of the design, even his beautifully sculpted body was something to admire, but she narrowed her eyes at the two words that stuck out to her above all others.
Sighing, she started CPR. It didn’t take long for him to spit out a gush of water after only a few chest compressions.
The guy was a still a bit out of it but he was breathing, so Bleu focused on looking for injuries. The one to his head looked the worst and it still bled. His leg was a bit scraped up and his hands were bloodied but only one of his fingers was twisted, definitely broken.
She ripped a piece of fabric from his torn t-shirt and took off for the beach. Bleu didn’t know what the extent of her injuries was so she tried to be conscious of her movement and what hurt, as moved as fast as she could to the water.
She stopped dead in her tracks and shuddered when she noticed a large piece of metal floating in the water, forgetting any aches she felt and her task. Images from inside the crashed plane slithered through her mind. Fear and panic wrapped around her, threatening to pull her into herself.
Bleu continued to the waters, drop to her knees at its edge, then vomited all the contents in her stomach. While she battled a bout of dry heaves, several more floating items caught her eye but she kept gaze downward. She refused to look at the plane or what was left of it, as it balanced half on the small island that sat across the water from where she was.
Bleu closed her eyes for several seconds. When she opened them, she cupped her hand, dipped them into the water, then brought it to her lips. She rinsed her mouth. Remembering what she was doing prior to her meltdown, Bleu cleaned the homemade cloth then stood and trekked it back to her patient. His eyes were still closed and considering the kind of person he seemed to be, she figured that was a good thing.
She quickly cleaned his head wound then placed the rag around it. After she was done, Bleu stood and surveyed her surroundings. This place looked like paradise, if it weren’t for the whole horrendous accident. The water was clear and beautiful, the beach was covered in light brown sand, a thick lush green forest sat behind her.
Where am I and What do I have to fear here?
Those were her most immediate questions and just as she asked herself, Bleu glanced down at the guy again.Who, other than him, do I have to fear here?
Bleu St. James
Trust fund kid with her own riches
Copyright 2013. Shea Swain. All Rights Reserved.