Free BILLIONAIRE Island: Idyllic Mischief by Savannah May Page B

heated up and the tone of Tolar's rage raised unpleasant images of her past that she couldn't push back out. He was drunk, that much was for sure, irrationally mad and spoiling for a fight. It made her shiver and wish for more covers to stave off the chill on her skin. Every growl of menace brought pictures and words back to mind that translated into shivers and quakes in her body as though it were her own husband raging for nothing and abso-fucking-lutely refusing to listen to any reason.
    Oh no, no. The sound of the door smashed back on its hinges and Tolar was taking it down the hall.
    “You will not making a fucking fool of me in front of everyone I know, this entire fucking island knows what you're doing and who you're fucking.” He was outside Indie's door and her heart was bashing out through her lungs making it impossible to inhale. Breath caught her throat, painfully stuck by lungs trying to push back the other direction. She cringed back into the pillow willing the door not to throw open.
    “Do you hear me?” Tolar bawled. Sasha was taking the smart route and remained in the bedroom, not engaging now he was out of her face. Although that had the effect of temporarily enraging him further. “I said are you fucking listening? Because I do not have to put up with this from niggers who should know their place.”
    The house went deathly quiet and Indie lay like a corpse, frozen in shock. Again. Worse this time. Did he mean Sash, his own wife in that heinous slur? His own little girls? Of course, who else was he trying to slam in the middle of the night? Indie knew how that went, how the booze made them scrape the very bottom of the barrel in the frantic search for the upper hand. In the still aftermath, Tolar had gone down the stairs and was tossing glasses around. The clatter of breaking glass broke through the night as he swore violently at his friends for drinking all his liquor– where was a fucking drink?
    As Indie lay in a clench on her sore side, body clawed with all the tension she'd let go only hours before and feeling utterly alone in the world. Sadness wrapped around her tighter than the sheet and as she focused on pushing it back, the door crept open. A chink of light on a dark curly blonde head. Amber stole silently into the room and slipped under the bunched up covers beside Indie. She put her arms around her and she burrowed in tight. Moments later the door opened again and a second, smaller, darker tousled head joined them.
    When Indie came to next morning, the girls were gone and the sounds of giggling replaced the smashing glass downstairs.
    “Come on you, it's past nine. We're going for a ride.” Sasha strode into the room and threw back the white linen drapes across the wooden shutters, already dressed in skintight riding pants and heavy boots.
    “We are? You know I don't ride.” And I've barely recovered from yesterday's sporting exertion. Her biceps and butt cheeks screamed out with every small move as she tried to rise out of bed.
    “Well you can learn. Or you can watch me today if you're tired. I want to show you my dressage.”
    Reluctantly Indie left the small security of the bedroom and went downstairs. As Sasha's guest she felt she had to do whatever her hostess requested. Tolar was nowhere in the house. Unusual that he'd moved from his central position on the outdoor sofa, ordering the servants about, waiting for his buddies to arrive and drink all his liquor. His absence was obvious from the lack of tension in her friend, her little girls and the servants. And he wasn't there when they returned back from the long excursion high into the hills in the interior where the swanky riding club was located. They had eaten a huge Sunday lunch in the country club dining room, surprised by the sudden appearance of Patrice which Sasha feigned shock at very badly.
    “I really must start bringing a book,” Indie said “And stop talking to myself while she disappears with her lover and leaves