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He grins. “Good, the headstones look forward to meeting you.”

I laugh as I walk back to my car. What a weird yet interesting man.

Chapter Six

Cipher

The carousel’s motor is not that complicated, or at least it shouldn’t be. The issue is that Clay and Ares got to it first. So by the time it came to me, the belt had been prodded at by multiple people who had no idea what they were doing, and now one of the bolts is stripped.

I have the housing off and the motor is laid out on my workbench. All the components are separated in the order I pulled them off, which is the only way I can do this without losing my mind.

The actual fault is straightforward—the motor coupling has worn unevenly. It explains the sound Nixie described. I already have a replacement; it came with the carousel, and I stored it for when it was needed.

Picking up the old coupling, I turn it in my fingers, checking the wear pattern and noting that the matching gear inside the motor housing has some surface scoring. I will need to address that as well before I put it all back together, otherwise I am simply fixing the symptom and leaving the problem behind.

The shed door opens, but I don’t glance up. People come and go; if they need my attention, they will speak up. I keep my eyes on the scoring and reach for the fine file on my left.

The footsteps cross the shed floor and reach my side in about four strides, but I still don’t look up. I have the file angled how I need it, and the scoring is shallow enough that I want to take it slowly. “Give me a minute.”

No one answers, which tells me exactly who is here.

“I mean it, one minute,” I growl.

Footsteps shuffle beside me, then a hand grabs the back of my jacket. I’m lifted off the stool before I can process what is happening, and the motor housing swings past my eyeline as the workbench drops away. I grab for the bench and get two fingers on it before the momentum shifts me away.

“I have the housing open,” I protest.

But I’m already over his shoulder and he is striding toward the shed doors.

Hitting his back with my fist achieves absolutely nothing, because beating on Cave is like striking at the structural supports of a building. “Put me down. I have components laid out in order.”

But he doesn’t listen, so as he walks through the shed doors, I grab the frame with both hands and hold on. He takes another step, and I lose my grip, and we are outside in the sunlight.

“Cave!” I snap.

He keeps walking, but this time his hand comes down hard on my ass with enough force that the sound echoes around us.

I still, reeling from the shock, hanging there and running through my options. I can keep fighting, which never helps, or wait until he puts me down, then I can go back to doing what I was doing. He stops beside the old, rusting car that sits behind the shed. It has been there since I have been on the island.

The paint is almost entirely gone, but what’s left sits in patches that are mostly brown. The wheel arches are eaten through, and the back window frame is open. I have looked at the engine and concluded that restoring it would take parts which are hard to find and more hours than I have. So for now, it just sits here.

Cave sets me down on my feet, and I straighten my jacket and glare at him.

He stares back at me unblinking, his amber eyes void of emotion, which most people find deeply unsettling. The first time he stood in front of me like that, I had to control my breathing as I waited for what happened next. Now I simply give him a pointed glare and wait, because Cave always comes here for a reason, and eventually it will become clear.

He reaches out and takes my jacket between his hands, then walks me backward, one step at a time until the backs of my thighs hit the car. I should have known.

“Cave,” I warn, my voice deepening.

He tilts his head, and then puts his hand flat on my chest and pushes me to sit on the hood of the car. The alternative is resisting him, and I have established that is not a productive use of my time.

The metal is cool under my hands, and rough with rust where I press them flat and watch him standing over me. I feel something, and I have stopped pretending. A pull that starts somewhere low and moves up through my chest when he is so close and looking at me like I’m the only thing he can see.

He leans down and glides his mouth up the side of my neck, and I moan because it feels so good. Cave’s hands tighten around my hips, and he flips me over in one movement, so I’m now face down on the hood. He works my belt, and when I reach down to help him, he slaps my hands away, so I place them back on the hood.

He takes his time with my belt, button, and zipper, dragging it out. But the longer he takes, my brain wanders back to the carousel, to the parts I just left on my workbench. My brain never shuts off, at least not until he pulls my pants down and they drop to my ankles. The cold air hits the backs of my thighs, and his hands touch my skin, his warmth traveling everywhere he touches.

Cave’s mouth finds the back of my neck, his teeth grazing my skin right at the base, teasing me as I tremble. He pulls the back of my jacket down and strips it from me, along with my shirt. My nipples pebble in the cold, as he resumes kissing and nipping my frigid skin.