The Sirens of Catalunya

An erotically charged thriller about an exceedingly talented man who, along with the women he's forbidden from loving, winds up in the crosshairs of a malignant foe who will stop at nothing to harm them...

Before the fateful day when his longtime friend thrust the weight of the world onto his shoulders, Izzy was living an uncomplicated life which featured nothing more exciting than attending every concert he could while trying to keep his recording studio afloat. Overnight, he found himself as the manager of an impossibly talented band comprised of three beautiful young women who were on the brink of achieving life-changing fame and fortune.

After spending the better part of the following decade shepherding their rise to international stardom, Izzy finds himself increasingly struggling with the fact that he cares far more deeply for the alluring young women than he should. Certain his attraction could only lead to ruin; he forces his feelings down deep while focusing all his energy on safeguarding the women he's grown to love.

Everything changes one terrifying evening when the band's plane crashes deep the Great Smokey Mountains. Suddenly petty arguments with the label, or fending off handsy fans, fade into the background as Izzy and the band fight for their survival. As the conspiracy which caused the crash is slowly unraveled, Izzy finds himself dealing with the dual challenges of defending the women he would die to protect while keeping hidden his forbidden desire (a task made harder by the forced proximity thrust upon them as they run for their lives).

The last thing he expects is to discover that his feelings are not quite as unrequited as he had always assumed.

Author's Note:

I've split this novel into four sections for publication here. All sensuality (on page or otherwise) takes place between characters who are eighteen or older.

One

"Don't worry... 'bout a thing... because every little thing's... gonna be all right!"

Inigo 'Izzy' Catalunya nodded his head in time with the music coming from the obviously bored ensemble playing the same thirty-minute set for the third time since their shift had begun. He watched the guitarist with a shrewd eye; unable to prevent himself from noticing when the artist flubbed the second bar of the bridge. A quick look around as the band reached the end of the tune allowed Izzy to take in the luxurious resort located at the southern end of Riviera Maya. The sun was blistering despite the rain which had awoken him several hours prior, and the ocean was just close enough for him to hear the crash of the surf and feel the sea breeze on his face.

The resort was intentionally uncrowded, the designers having made the conscious decision to offer a modest number of cabanas (available for sky-high prices) rather than the more common approach of profit via oppressive capacity. This suited Izzy and his charges just fine, even if it did mean that the band he had been watching was playing for an audience which could be counted on one's fingers (most of whom were far more interested in imbibing mass quantities of fermented sugar rather than watching live music).

Izzy was dressed in a flowing Hawaiian style shirt and loose-fitting cargo shorts topped by a faded, wide-brimmed canvas hat. The ensemble did an admirable, if not wholly effective, job of concealing his bulk. He was not a small man, standing a bit over one-hundred-eighty centimeters, and he had spent more of his thirty-seven years than not failing to keep his mass under one-hundred kilograms. His outfit was unremarkable in the tropical environment, but Izzy was still sweating buckets thanks to the fact that the only changes he would have made to his clothing before facing a snowstorm was swapping his flip-flops for hiking boots and (possibly) grabbing a jacket.

He doffed his hat and made an effort to re-tie his long brown hair into a ponytail that didnotlook like a man-bun while still allowing his neck to enjoy the breeze. He managed to tuck most of his mane into his hat and proceeded to the bar to collect a soda. He honestly would have preferred to stick with water, but an experience from a regrettably memorable trip to Monterey in his mid-twenties had left him forever wary of unbottled liquids in Central America. The bartender once again tried to tempt him with a cocktail, or even a beer, but he politely refused.

Izzy retook a seat near the stage as the reggae band gave way to a more traditionally calypso group. He appreciated the constant offerings of live music, even if the performer who was a permanent resident in his soul commiserated with how miserable a gig playing for disinterested tourists must be for those on stage.

Moments before Izzy reached the point where he would do permanent damage to his teeth, so hard was he grinding them in response to the breathtaking lack of voice talent on the band's lead singer, he spotted a familiar figure hurrying in his direction with a worried expression on his face.

Leaping from his chair, Izzy raced to meet Oscar, his longtime associate. As he reached him, Izzy anxiously hissed, "What's wrong?"

The look in the diminutive, but sturdy, man's eyes only heightened the dread which was rapidly expanding in Izzy's gut as he replied, "Sofi just called me. They think they saw a guy in a tree outside their private terrace. They think it'shim."

"Oh, fuck," Izzy spat as he hurried in the direction of the resort's most exclusive cabanas at a high rate of speed. As he jogged across the pool deck, he patted himself down briefly before extracting his phone. As he did, he saw that he had multiple missed calls from his charges. He cursed himself for his proclivity for live music, as his imagination exploded with all manner of possible disasters which his lack of awareness had likely caused.

Oscar fell into step beside him without difficulty even though Izzy had a dozen centimeters on him (and the latter was moving surprisingly quickly for so large a man). Oscar was the type of man few people could overlook, due in large part to the fact that only a natural disaster could prevent him from spending at least an hour a day in the gym. As he caught up, Oscar huffed, "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to rip that mother-fucker's throat out."

"Ok," the smaller man replied evenly. "Any thoughts for how you'll dispose of the body?"

"Who gives a shit? Listen, I need you to wait outside once we get to their cabana. Don't let anyone in. Including, and most especially, the miserable bastard who likely caused this shitshow."

Oscar nodded, their relationship being sufficient that he had no need to ask for clarification as to the specific bastard to whom his boss referred. As they approached the structure in question, Oscar peeled off and made himself inconspicuous in the thick foliage. Without even slowing, Izzy pulled a keycard from his pocket and unlocked the door to the cabana.

As the door opened, he heard a panicked scream from inside and he broke into a run. Reaching the main living area, he spotted a woman with long dark hair clad in a very skimpy bikini racing into one of the bedrooms.

"Liv!" Izzy shouted. "It's just me."

The door opened and he spotted a pair of large, soulful blue eyes peering out at him suspiciously. At length, she replied in heavily accented English, "Are you alone?"

"Of course," he replied quickly. "Oscar's outside. He told me what Sofi said."

Liv exited the bedroom and walked quickly over to Izzy. She was the youngest of his charges at twenty-five and was of average height. She had a slim build, with one notable exception, and her dark brown hair reached nearly to her waist when worn down. He did not fail to notice the way that she positioned herself so that his bulk stood between her and the cabana's rear, where the supposedly private patio was located. Nor could he fail to notice the frankly pathetic job her bikini did of obscuring her bustiness. He pushed that observation down, hating himself for making it in the first place.

He looked in the same direction as Liv and said, "What's going on?"

She stood on her tiptoes and looked over his shoulder, pushing her famous endowments into his back (a move that neither the wisps of Lycra comprising her top, nor the thin layer of polyester that was his shirt, did much to dampen). "He is still out there, as far as I know. Ali wanted to take her top off to entice him to come closer..."

Izzy's eyes grew wide with terror, and he pleaded, "Please tell me you talked her out of it."

"It was actually Sofi," Liv replied worriedly, her accent fading the longer she talked. "But she remains convinced it will work. However, she had not yet revealed her tits as of a few moments ago when I came inside."

"Sofi's out there with her?"

"Yes. But she came in and put more clothes on a little bit ago. That is what I was doing when you..."

He gave her an apologetic glance. "I'm really sorry for bursting in like that."

"You know we always want you here, Izzy. You're one of us."

He grimaced inwardly, his gut roiling with self-loathing, but he managed to set that aside. He said, "Why don't you go get dressed. I'll see if I can spot this asshole."

She hugged him tightly from behind and hurried into her room. He groaned softly at the realization that she had not bothered to close the door before she whipped her bikini top over her head in advance of hunting through her suitcase; her dizzyingly large, and alluringly jiggly, breasts on full display for anyone in the living area. He was momentarily transfixed at the sight; his mind simultaneously screaming at him to both flee with all possible haste, and to never move from that spot.

She glanced up and said, "Everything ok?" He nodded dumbly, to which she just smirked and gestured to the left with her head before saying, "The others are out there."

"Right," he muttered as his feet finally started moving him in that direction.

The moment her nude perfection was torn from his view, he felt a wave of shame crash metaphorically into him. He shook his head angrily and hurried toward the terrace, his responsibility for protecting his charges overriding his urge to punish himself for abusing their trust.

He reached the sliding door to the terrace and peeked through the filmy curtain. Outside, he spotted Ali and Sofi laying on loungers and looking like they did not have a care in the world. The former was a taller than average woman of twenty-seven with an athletic build and long, blonde-highlighted brown hair which was currently held in place via one of the variety of incantations human females learned in their youth to place their hair out of harm's way. She wore a bikini which matched Liv's in all but color and left nothing to the imagination. The latter was a petite woman of twenty-six with shoulder-length brown hair worn in a high ponytail. She wore cutoff jean shorts and a midriff-baring T-shirt bearing the logo of a band with whom Izzy had performed in his youth. Both had very light skin which stood in stark contrast to the fact that he knew with certainty that they had spent the last three days doing little besides sunbathing.

He knocked quietly on the glass, prompting Sofi to look around slowly. Her eyes widened briefly, and then he could see her sigh in relief as a small smile crept across her face. He beckoned her inside and took a step back, lest their quarry get spooked. She waited a few moments before announcing the need for more booze and standing up. She proceeded through the door and immediately raced to Izzy, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you for coming!" she yelped.

He chastely hugged her in return, wrapping his arms around her but keeping his hands hovering centimeters from her bare back. Sofi was significantly shorter than either of her companions at one-hundred-fifty-seven centimeters, leaving her high ponytail of brown hair level with Izzy's chin.

He whispered, "You know I'll always be there for you. All of you. I'm just gutted I didn't notice my phone ringing. I was sitting by the pool, listening to..."

"I know," she replied playfully. "Live music. We knew you could not resist getting your fix." He merely shrugged helplessly in response, prompting her to add, "Maybe we should thank this asshole when we catch him. He might have saved you from a terrible sun burn."

Izzy's features hardened and he growled, "I think I know exactly how I want tothankhim."

"No," Sofi replied firmly. "You arenotto get yourself arrested for beating someone up. Especially when all he is doing is looking."

"He's doing far more than that."

"Thousands of people look at us every day, Izzy. Many of them likely have lust in their hearts. That does not make them evil."

He muttered, "I disagree," bitterly. After all, he seethed inwardly, why should he not hate the masses for engaging in the same repugnant act he loathed himself for doing.

Sofi stepped back and pulled her midriff over her head to reveal yet another color of micro-bikini. She shoved her cutoffs down and kicked them onto the couch before saying, "I'm going back out there. The guy is in one of the taller palm trees at two o'clock as you face the door. I suspect you have all the time in the world to capture him. There are no branches, or whatever you call it on that kind of tree, within eight meters of the ground. I cannot imagine how he managed to get up there."

Liv poked her head into the room. "Should I go out as well?"

"You go out there with tits on display like that, and the poor bastard will faint dead away and fall out of the tree."

Liv stepped fully into the room. Izzy made a valiant effort at not looking in her direction, as he had little doubt she was still topless, but he failed miserably. Liv smiled shyly at them and said, "If you think it would help?"

"No!" Izzy growled, far louder than he intended.

Liv's smile faded and she seemed to fold in on herself as she murmured, "Oh. Ok."

He groaned. "I'm not upset at you, Liv." He stabbed a finger toward the sliding door and added, "This is all that shithead's fault. You can dress however you like, wherever you like. But foryou. Never forhim."

After a pregnant pause, Liv said, "I will go get my swimsuit back on."

Izzy protested, "I thought you were changing becausehewas making you uncomfortable."

She smiled brightly. "That was before you were here!"

She scampered back into her bedroom as Sofi slid back onto the terrace, leaving Izzy alone with the knowledge that he was almost certainly even more of a miserable bastard than the man currently peeping on the three young women who trusted him implicitly to protect them, and whose trust he so frequently found himself abusing.

Two

"A most excellent good morning, sir!" the chipper desk clerk boomed without relaxing his effusive smile. "How may I be of service to you?"

"I need an axe," Izzy snarled. "Or a machete. The rustier the better."

The resort representative's smile faded, and he glanced around furtively before whispering, "I'm sorry?"

"I don't much care what it is, so long as I can use it to chop that sick, twisted, sonofabitch's head off."

The clerk's features went flat, and he firmly said, "We aim to cater to all our guests' needs, señor. But we cannot condone..."

"What?" Izzy snapped when it became clear the clerk had no intention of finishing his sentence. "Out with it."

"We cannot condone murder, sir."

"Do you condone a stalker getting onto the property and accosting some of your guests? Is that what you condone? Because that's what fucking happened."

"I'm sorry?"

"You fucking well better be," Izzy exploded.

The clerk's features hardened, and he said, "And what isyourcabana number, sir?"

"Forget it!" Izzy snapped before walking away angrily.

He stalked back in the direction of the cabana, furiously trying to think of an alternative to chopping down the tree containing the Peeping Tom. He had left Oscar in a position from which both the stalker and the door to their cabana could be surveilled inconspicuously and gone in search of the means to permanently end the invasion of his charges' privacy. This task was all the more critical considering the sinking suspicion in Izzy's gut that the man in the tree was the same man who had been growing more bold in his stalking over recent months. What had started as uncomfortably lurid comments on social media had grown into worryingly specific requests for totems which frequently included details he could only have known if he was keeping them under near-constant vigil.

Izzy rejected immediately any notion of contacting the authorities. He knew they would be able to easily retrieve the offender, but he also knew that such action would almost certainly become fodder for tabloids, and their online successors, within hours. He knew that he must think of a way to, not only put a stop to the current peeping, but also permanently end the threat from the stalker. This task was made all the more difficult because he had promised he would not place himself in legal jeopardy in the process.

As he walked, he spotted one of the resort's many foot paths which led toward an area not intended for guests. They were designed to be inconspicuous, but they were not hard to spot as they lacked the opulence of the guest areas. He proceeded down the path to find himself in an area obviously used by the groundskeeping staff.

"Jackpot," he muttered as he started rifling through an open storage locker.

He came up empty in his search for an axe, or a rusty machete, but he did find a medium sized bow saw which was likely used to prune smaller trees around the property.

He shrugged. "I guess that'll do," as he scooped it up. For good measure, he added a coil of sturdy looking rope before rushing back toward the scene of the crime. When he had the tree in question in sight, he paused next to the alcove where Oscar was keeping watch.

"Head inside and let them know they can stop distracting him."

Oscar nodded and said, "Ok. You want help with him after?"

"I think I've got it. Just wait by the door. And don't let anyone in."

"Got it," the smaller man grunted before hurrying off.

Izzy strode boldly up to the tree and stood beneath the man who was obviously aware of his presence, but only willing to occasionally tear his eyes from the sight on the private terrace.

Shaking the saw threateningly, Izzy growled, "Are you going to bow to the inevitable, or do I have to cut it down?"

"You wouldn't dare," the man yelped in an unsettlingly high voice.

"Are you fucking kidding?" Izzy huffed. "I'dmuchrather cut the damn thing down and have you break every fucking bone in your miserable fucking body when it crashes to the ground." He placed the saw against the bark of the tree and added, "What's it going to be, numb-nuts?"

The man declined to answer, instead focusing back on the terrace.

Moments later, Izzy heard Oscar's voice call out, "Hey, Izzy said to tell you...Oh my God!I mean... I didn't see anything!"

He heard Sofi cackle and say, "What is wrong, Oscar? Never seen a girl in a bikini?"

"Izzy said you can go inside now," Oscar announced after a noticeable pause.

"No!" the man in the tree screamed.

Izzy glared at him. "Show's over shithead. You going to climb down, or would you prefer the massive pain and suffering route?"

He waited several long moments, causing Izzy to shrug and start sawing. At last, the man groaned, "Fine. I'm coming down."

Izzy stood clear in case the man slipped, not wanting anything to come between the stalker and the harsh reality of the unforgiving earth. Regrettably, the descent was uneventful. Once the man was within arm's reach, Izzy gripped his belt and yanked him to the ground. The stalker was just a few centimeters shorter, but notably thin. Izzy lifted him clear of the ground, likely giving him quite the wedgie, and shook him menacingly.