Outlaws, Matt Rogers [best ereader under 100 TXT] 📗

‘They’re not you.’

‘I’m flattered.’

Conversation petered out, merely because Donati sensed under the surface that King wasn’t going to budge. If he needed to leave, that was a talk for another time. Nothing would change now by drawing out the confrontation unnecessarily.

So Donati turned back to the dossier in his lap and continued flicking through it.

King glanced down.

He hesitated.

Donati’s finger had come to rest on a surveillance photo of a woman in her early twenties in secretarial garb. Eastern European, naturally beautiful. She was crossing the street, her long blond hair rustled by an invisible breeze, her eyes squinting against the glare of the sun.

Donati was fixated on the photo.

With a strange look on his face.

King said, ‘Who’s that?’

Donati flinched.

12

Slater woke with the rising of the sun.

Alexis was already up, pottering around the open-plan kitchen. Most of the villa consisted of one main space, with a bedroom, kitchen and dining room all rolled into one. She wore nothing but her lingerie from the night before, and instead of getting out of bed he lay back and watched her carry a steaming kettle to the shelf of mugs above the sink, admiring how gracefully she moved. That was new, and strange. There had always been the incessant urge to act. Lying around in bed used to be a foreign concept. The old him would have been halfway to the gym by now.

She noticed he had his eyes open, and cocked her head from across the room.

He smiled. ‘What?’

‘This is a pleasant surprise.’

‘What is?’ he said, but he knew.

‘You’re… not doing anything.’

‘Maybe I’m tired from last night.’

She narrowed her eyes mockingly.

Again, he said, ‘What?’

‘We’ve been together for two months,’ she said. ‘I know you don’t get tired.’

That made him laugh.

She offered a smile. ‘Poor me, right?’

He held up his hands like a criminal caught in the act. ‘I’m here to please.’

She sauntered back to bed with a mug of brew-filtered coffee in each hand. He watched her plant one toned leg in front of the other in a mesmerising pattern. She passed one of the mugs across, and lingered over him for a second too long. He reached up, placed his palm on the back of her neck, and drew her in.

They kissed, long and slow.

Nowhere to rush to.

Nowhere to be.

He drank in the taste of her, the warmth of her lips on his. Breathed her scent. He was truly comfortable, and he couldn’t remember feeling like that around anyone. His time with Ruby had been a whirlwind of foreign sensations. He’d never had the time to get to know her, to learn to co-exist with her in mutual harmony.

With Alexis, he did.

And he couldn’t be happier.

She parted first, and tucked her feet underneath her butt, levering herself up into a seated position so she could take a sip of coffee. Now post-dawn, the first rays of sunlight came filtering in through the big windows, drenching everything in gold. Slater remained sprawled on his back. The mug insulated the boiling water enough to let him rest it on his chest. He sipped at it, too, and they both embraced the quiet.

In the quiet, Slater could think best.

He could empty his mind only the way a practiced meditator could.

She noticed him withdraw into himself.

She said, ‘Are you deciding?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m just… being still.’

‘You haven’t done that before, have you?’

He said, ‘All the time. I’ve been meditating for over a decade. But… never actually surrounded by stillness.’

She said, ‘Go down to the shoreline.’

He hesitated. ‘Now?’

‘Yes. Go sit out there, on the beach. Find somewhere real quiet. Somewhere you won’t be disturbed. Sit there for an hour. Maybe more. I think, when you’re that still, and you come out of it… you’ll know what you want.’

He took a moment to digest her words.

Then he said, ‘I think you know me better than anyone.’

She said, ‘I love you. That’s why.’

He sat up, drawing closer to her. She placed a hand on his giant shoulder and kissed him, a little softer, a little more gentle.

Then she said, ‘Go. Decide.’

He peeled the covers off. Stood up, slipped into a pair of athletic shorts, and went to the front door of the hut, still barefoot, still shirtless. The sun hit him, highlighting every nook and crevasse of his musculature. Highlighting the jagged scars, too.

He turned back. ‘I love you, too.’

She nodded slowly.

She knew.

They both did.

He left the sanctuary of the villa and stepped out into the sand. It was fine and white and slipped between his toes. He made his way down to the shoreline, where the golden hue was seemingly stronger, and sat down a few feet from the gently lapping waves. There was no one else on the beach. Not this early. He was alone with his thoughts and the sun and the sand and the quiet breeze.

He shifted to a comfortable position, straightened his back, rested his hands in his lap, and closed his eyes.

Reality fell away.

It wasn’t some fantastical sensation, complete with hallucinogenic visions and spiralling thoughts. No, it was just quiet. A total, complete quietness, something that could only be achieved by learning to not think. Which was awfully hard to do in the modern world. Thoughts came racing in, seemingly faster and faster with each passing day, and it took serious discipline to force them aside and simply exist.

Now, Slater existed.

Eventually his sense of time fell away too. Time is noticeable when you have a reference point. When you can compare what you did ten minutes ago to what you’re doing now. Slater couldn’t. It was all the same — closed eyes, dark vision, the calming sound of nature all around. There was nothing else.

He didn’t think. Didn’t feel. Didn’t let his mind wander.

Didn’t do anything at all.

It could have been an hour, but it might have been two or three. There was no way to know for sure, but he knew to open his eyes. A faint command from an unconscious region of his brain told him to bring