The Edge of the World

Chapter Ten

Tatum glared at Ian, confusion twisting into apprehension the more he shouted and shook her. She didn't enjoy being manhandled for a myriad of reasons, and her mind became mottled by past traumas.

"Get your hands off me," she snapped, uncaring about whatever triggered him. He stood too close to her, his jaw so tight she wondered if it might lock. Her demands remained ignored, and he continued to accuse her, shake her, while insisting she answer for something she had nothing to do with.

"You stayed behind on the beach after I left," he said. His voice trembled, and his eyes flashed cold onyx. "And lo-and-behold, the signal is gone again. Just like before. God dammit, why are you doing this to me?"

"I haven't done shit to you, but if you don't step down, I might change the scenario. I didn't touch your signal! Not yesterday or today, so get the fuck off me!"

She shoved at his arms, but the lithe, lean man stood immovable.

"No? Who did it then? There's only you and I on this island. I need to go home, and we both know being found is the last thing you want."

She paused her struggle against the iron-tight grip he had on her, peering into his face through rage coated eyes. "Why would I want to prevent you from being found, doc? Tell me," she urged, even though she was certain what his next words would be.

"You murdered your husband, didn't you, killer? Now you're sabotaging all my efforts to return to my family. My life!"

She froze up inside, hard emotions gumming in the back of her throat. Tatum couldn't fathom why his opinion of her mattered so much. She did murder her husband, but she would never hold Ian back from returning to his college, mother... and, of course, fiancé.

He stepped towards her, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her shoulders and his face lowering until they were nose to nose, making it impossible for her to look away.

"You will not prevent me from getting home. I don't care about whatever barbaric American punishment you have waiting for you. I won't let you stop me."

She shook her head, blinded by the hurt his accusations caused, and screamed over his abominable words. "How many times do I have to tell you to get your fucking hands off of me?"

Gritting her teeth, she took the pain he just fed her and launched it through her fist into his solar plexus, the impact making him exhale with an audible, "whoosh," and he stumbled backwards, his Vans unable to gain traction on the icy ground. He fell hard, and he raised up on one elbow, rubbing his battered chest.

She approached him, still sore from his allegations and needing him to remember their relationship. He was the doc, and she was the killer. She made the fucking rules, not the other way around. She was better off being the one he feared rather than believing they could be friends in this place. It had been an embryotic thought similar to that, which led her down the road to being Tony's wife. Tatum always made herself the fool while searching for something she couldn't have.

She crouched beside Ian, holding his stare with one she hoped was as icy as the wintery skies above them.

"Keep coming at me like that, doc, you're gonna end up hurting my feelings," she said, her drawl thick with sarcasm.

His eyes narrowed, and he was breathing as if he'd run ten miles. He spoke then, his voice so low that she had to strain to hear him.

"You think because I don't have tattoos on my neck or blood on my hands, I can't handle myself?"

Before his words fully absorbed, he moved fast, wrapping his arms around her and tackling her to the ground. The movement took her by surprise, making her realize too late she'd underestimated his intentions.