Ocean Kills (Ocean Breeze)

by Jade Hart

  Atsu Bazeer: The two fillies are not far from that location. You will be taken by blindfold to collect your purchases, then taken to the Durham international airport. There you will be free to make your own arrangements.

  Unknown: Time? Date?

  Atsu Bazeer: 20 July, at four p.m. Don't be late.

  Bazeer hung up.

  He then called an unknown number.

  Bazeer: That bitch Ocean attacked my men today. I want her eliminated, no more excuses. Understand?

  Unknown: Yes, sir.

  Bazeer: Make it excruciating, you hear me? I want her to suffer.

  He hung up.

  Shit!What did Ocean do?

  My eyes locked onto my fake Rolex I bought in Bali. What was the time difference in South Africa? If Bazeer dealt with a purchase collection, I might be able to arrest him before he could find Ocean. Not that she was easy to find. I knew that first hand.

  Energy rippled through me. I found the bastard.

  And now, I desperately needed to get a hold of Ocean. I wanted to know she was safe so I could deal with Bazeer. I logged onto my email and something withered inside me.

  No mail. No message. Nothing.

  Was she worth all this aggravation? Weren't relationships supposed to be easy? Fun? Not full of concern and stress? Yes, the sex had been amazing, but it wasn't enough to chase her. I wanted more. I wanted what my parents had.

  I wanted her, goddammit, and she didn't want me. That cut me to the core. Fucking sap.

  Good sex or no, attraction be damned. I wasn't going to get trampled by a woman who didn't want my heart.

  I typed my final email.

  I was done chasing. I tried. She didn't. I wasn't prepared to be the only one who wanted something to work between us.

  I was finished.

  It was up to her now.

  Chapter Twenty-six: Ocean

  I settled against my pillows and gasped. My inbox was overloaded with emails from Callan.

  Six, to be exact.

  Each one was either a plea to get in touch, a threat to get in touch, words of tenderness, or words of anger.

  But my favorite, and the one that shattered my self-control, was the last one:

  From: C.Bliss@yahoo.com.au

  Date: 19 July 2012

  Subject: No more.

  Ocean,

  I've worked all day and haven't heard from you. You intoxicated me, took me, and left me. The sun has replaced the night, and now it all feels like some fucking dream.

  I know I've threatened you, and pleaded with you.

  I can't stop thinking how the feeling of being inside you was suddenly ripped away. Not knowing where you went. . . if it was deliberate or not. Whether you're playing with me or not. But I do know one thing. I'm honored I interested you enough to spend one night with me. That you saw something in me worthy of granting a small piece of yourself.

  You may be a vigilante — which I do not judge, if it helps keep your demons at bay—but I see you. I see the strong woman you've locked away. I see the caring, the need to help others. And I see how much you feel. You may not even admit that to yourself, in which case you’ll email me and tell me to forget you, and I’ll let you cast me off. I've reached my limit, Ocean. I'm done. If you don't want to be chased, well. . . you just got your wish.

  Just let me know you're okay. Everything else that I want, well, I can't make you do anything, so I won't waste my breath.

  Callan.

  My entire body quaked with nerves; a tingling started in my chest and radiated through my limbs ending with sparks in my fingers. It was excruciating. It was amazing. It was as if life zapped into me, turning my dead cold soul into a sunrise of sensation. How did he do that? And from one email? This man was different. He saw me. He understood me.

  And he'd given up on me.

  I wanted to stay away. But could I after that email? How could I walk away from someone who wanted me for me? Who wouldn't stop me from killing? Wouldn't try to change me?

  I stared at a blank email for at least an hour, pondering how to put into words the feelings that coursed through me. There was no easy way to say what I wanted, as I didn't understand it myself. I was in the dark. I tried to think it through. Did you like sleeping with him? I rolled my eyes. Of course I did; I enjoyed it too much. We had chemistry. Explosive. Hot. So hot I fucking ported, for freakin’ sake.

  And was lust enough? An intense spark that drove both of us? Or were we doomed from the beginning? We were both too strong, too opinionated.

  Groaning, I swiped my hair into another messy plait and ran my fingers over the keyboard.

  From: OBAnon@gmail.com

  Date: 19 July 2012

  Subject: I don't know what to say.

  Callan,

  I'm safe. I'm sorry for causing you worry. In answer to your concerns, I didn't mean to teleport, and I wasn't playing with you.

  I don't know what to say. What you want from me is not what I can give.

  I didn't know what else to write, so I pressed send, biting my lip in panic. Would he send me one in response? Or would he give up and never be in touch again? At the thought of never hearing from him again, a pain akin to that of teleporting shot through me. Dammit.

  I opened up another email. . . to write. . . I didn't know. But my instant messenger pinged.

  Thank you for letting me know you're okay.

  He was online. It was three in the morning in Australia. How are you still awake?

  I can't relax.

  I sat staring at the screen.

  Another message pinged.

  I can't stop thinking about you, Ocean. Even though I wish I could forget about you.

  My stomach decided to squeeze itself to death. A compliment and a complaint. I smirked. I was in way over my head.

  Are you there? Callan pinged again.

  Yes. I'm here. I'm thinking.

  Think here. We can discuss your thoughts together.

  My core grew warm. I snorted. Fat chance of that. There would be no thinking. We both knew that.

  No.

  Where are you?

  At Maurice's. I told you I'm safe.

  You could be safer here. With me. I want you, Ocean. We rushed it last time. I want to get to know you.

  Heat licked through my blood. My mind swam with thoughts of sex and kisses. Something liquid and needy tightened in my belly.

  I wanted to go to him. But I would just port again at the wrong moment. It was too hard. I desperately wanted him, but he was prepared to let me go. I needed to let him go in return. He wanted a love that lasted a lifetime. I didn't have a lifetime. The marks on my back were a testament to my lack of time left.

  I can't. You need to forget about me. I'm not good for you.

  That's bullshit and you know it. You're afraid of what you feel for me.

  So what if I was terrified? Yes, but I chase things that terrify me all the time. Rapists, murderers. But Callan? He evoked a totally different sort of terror. He could give me what I never allowed myself to want, and if he took it away from me—decided to stop loving me? Crap. It hurt to think about it even now, and I still held frost in my heart. Feeling was too painful. I was too fragile for what he demanded.

  Another message: I'm not letting you take the easy way out. I feel strongly for you too, Ocean. Don't throw away what we could have together.

  I wanted to scream at him to leave me alone, to stop tempting me with life and love. To leave me to wallow in my darkness. There was something seriously wrong with me. At times I didn’t have control over my own thoughts and actions, and I wanted him to stay away to keep him safe, but my fingers wouldn't type. I was frozen.

  Ocean?

  Shit. Tears splashed on the laptop as I typed: I'm sorry. I can't be who you want. I’ll never forget being with you. But it won't happen again. I couldn't stop the crushing weight in my chest, the urge to weep and curse.

  It took a never-ending minute before he messaged me again: Come say that
to my face. I dare you.

  I can't! I groaned as I punched the keys.

  Fine. I wasn't going to tell you this, but I found Atsu Bazeer. If I tell you where you can kill him, will you come see me?

  Time froze. What? He found him? How?

  Before I responded, he messaged again: I've already pulled strings to get the entire operation shut down. I tracked down a large plot of land which shows up as his warehouse for girls. The authorities will move in and cease all activities, along with all the other operations, in twelve hours. You have forty minutes to get to a rendezvous at the corner of Mahatma Gandhi and West road, Durham. If my sources are correct, Bazeer will be there.

  I couldn't breathe. How did he do that? He was a lowly foot cop. Where did the authority come from to shut down an international operation? Who did he truly work for? I underestimated him… on more than one front.

  His next message confirmed his underhanded tactics: he was trying to use my urges against myself.

  Don't you see? I’m perfectly positioned to help you catch more assholes. Together, we could make a perfect team. I find them. You, well, do what you do. Then at night we could be together. Don't you want to try at least? Don't you want contact? Love?

  I imagined him angry, shouting at me. He'd cornered me. He painted a future full of amazing possibilities. Of us working side by side. Chasing. Hunting. Loving.

  My fingers flew before I knew what I was doing. Yes. I do want that.

  Ocean. Please. Come tonight.

  Fireworks erupted in my center. Images of Callan tearing my pants off in the kitchen flushed my cheeks. Sex was safe. I could handle that… it was when my mind turned to softer things—to love and tenderness—that I struggled.

  Yes. I'll come. I'll go deal with Bazeer and then come.

  J Finally you agree. What time should I expect you?

  What time is it there?

  3:37 a.m.

  I did a countdown in my head. Scoff some food. Port. Kill Bazeer. Get to Callan's.

  Kill then sex. Could anything be more delicious? Purge the world of evil and be loved and cared for doing what I did best.

  I'll be there by eight. Or are you going to work?

  No. I'll be here. I'll be waiting. I can't wait to kiss you again.

  The anticipation almost eclipsed my urge to kill Bazeer. Almost. Something in me dropped my guard a little, and I wrote back: I can't wait to have you in me again. I expect breakfast.

  And with that, I logged off. I had a bastard to slice. Forty minutes? Shit, that didn't give me a lot of time.

  Slamming the laptop closed, I threw on some black clingy clothing, bolted down the stairs and ran straight into Maurice. The whiplashes on my back twinged.

  “Where's the fire?” Maurice cocked his head. His comb over showed a bright pink scalp, dusty with talcum powder.

  “Callan. Bazeer. I know where he is, but I have to hurry.”

  “I don't follow.” He frowned and pulled a large triple decker sandwich from behind his back. “Here. I had a feeling you’d be teleporting in a rush. I just hoped it was because you realized you wanted to see that policeman again, and not because of a hunt.” His voice was level, but eyes were disapproving. “Don't you feel anymore, Ocean?”

  Whoa. Where did that come from? “Thank you for the sandwich.” I bounced on my heels, taking a bite. “Of course I feel, Maurice,” I muttered, between mouthfuls, stuffing ham, bacon and lettuce down my throat as fast as possible. “I just have responsibilities. You know that.”

  Maurice clamped small hands onto my shoulders. “I didn't want to say this, but—” He didn't continue. His eyes glossed.

  I swallowed. “Maurice? What's wrong?”

  He straightened his back. “Your eyes are black, my dear, no longer sprightly and blue. Your spine is graced with ten marks. Don’t look at me like that. I counted when you arrived, whipped to a bloody pulp, from South Africa.” He didn’t give me chance to tell him that he was wrong on the tally. “With every kill you’re becoming colder. Less and less like the funny, witty girl I brought into my home.”

  I didn’t think he’d noticed. I was a shell of the girl I used to be. At least I smiled then, laughed even. Now, I was somber and focused. Nothing mattered but the hunt. Was I cold? Yes, absolutely.

  He let go of me, wringing his hands. “You need to stop, Ocean. What happens when your back is full of marks? What does that mean? Do you die? Do you become one of the men you hunt? If Callan is the one who can draw you away from the dark, then grab him, child. We have no idea what will happen when you’re branded completely.”

  Arms wrapped around me; he rested his head on my shoulder. “Please think while you're gone. Don't throw away something that might save you. Promise me.”

  My chest squeezed. He never told me I was changing—that my personality died with each kill. What if I could never get back the Ocean I was before I slaughtered? Was there enough of me left to love Callan like I wanted to?

  Bazeer. I had to go. I needed to kill him. But would another kill ruin me? I couldn't disappoint the women he hurt. I owed them revenge. There was no decision to make—this was my fate. “I have to go, Maurice.” I kissed his head. The look in his eyes made me tense. “Don't look at me like that. You know my choice. This is my choice.”

  “And what of the cop? He doesn't know you aren’t whole anymore, does he? He doesn't realize he has lost you before he even had you.”

  My heart thudded. Callan. No, he didn't know. I was broken. Unfixable. Sniffing back emotion, I muttered, “I have to go. I'll be back soon. I love you, Maurice. Please don't give up on me.”

  Maurice nodded sadly. “Fine. I won’t argue.”

  Prismatic colors fractured my brain as I gathered energy to port.

  Maurice shouted at the last minute, “Don’t forget your machete! Be safe, Sweet Girl.”

  Shit. Callan had my machete. I checked my watch. Thirty minutes before my date with Bazeer. A diversion to Bondi wouldn’t be too detrimental.

  Chapter Twenty-nine: Callan

  I couldn't wipe the stupid grin off my face. I won. I managed to get Ocean to admit she did want what grew between us. Sure, I used a few underhanded tactics. Bribing her with Bazeer wasn't exactly great behavior, nor describing a future where we worked side by side, but it was enough to finally batter at those gates around her heart.

  And I liked it. Way too much for my own good. My entire body was warm and heavy at the thought of spending days, weeks, years in her company. The spark and passion—the life in her ebony eyes—could be all mine. Mine to protect. To adore. To reawaken to some sort of happiness. I wanted to know the woman she hid. I wanted to take away her pain.

  The blackness in my room was filled with fantasies of what I’d do to her when she appeared. I looked at my clock for the fortieth time. It was only 3:47 a.m. It seemed forever since I received her last message. At this rate, 8:00 a.m. was centuries away.

  Anticipation was sweet, causing my heart to race. I was so lucky. Not only was she fascinating, intelligent, and unique but she was stunning too. My cock grew hard at the thought of being inside her again.

  A bang came from my lounge. I sat upright in bed, ears straining. Did a cat jump in through my balcony?

  My arms locked, holding myself upright, staring into the night. No other sounds drifted down my corridor, but I didn't relax.

  My hackles rose. Something was out there. Shit, and my new P99 was locked in its case in my kitchen. Awesome place to keep it in emergencies. Ah, but I do have one weapon.

  I reached for Ocean's machete. I kept it beside my bed. Grabbing the sheath, about to tug the steel free, a silhouette appeared in my doorway.

  I froze.

  “I was looking for that,” a sultry voice said.

  Holy crap, she was here. In my room. Unable to contain my grin, I deliberately placed the machete next to me on the bedspread. “Well, you'll just have to come and get it, won't you?”

  Ocean took a few steps toward me.r />
  I swallowed, bunching the duvet in my hands to stop myself launching at her. God, I wanted to kiss her.

  “You don't seem to be sleeping.” She stopped beside the bed. Her body was encased in tight spandex material giving me a view of her incredible figure.

  I couldn't speak. What was wrong with me? My body throbbed, having her so near. My brain scrambled.

  She crawled onto the bed. Her glistening mouth and cascading dark hair were pure temptation. “I need that to kill Bazeer.”

  Yep, she shouldn't have gotten so close, or said that. I reached out and grabbed her. She gasped in shock as I dragged her up the bed and into my arms. Be gentle. She’s injured, don’t forget. Plus, I was bloody injured. We were a right pair.

  She struggled as my lips latched onto hers, my tongue stealing the words she undoubtedly wanted to throw at me.

  Then she wasn't struggling anymore. She fought to get closer, pulling her legs up, settling into my lap. Her hands dove into my hair, pulling me harder against her mouth.

  I groaned, grinding against her ass sitting in my lap. I was already on the verge of coming. She was too potent. She intoxicated me. I had no self-control when it came to her.

  Her teeth nipped my bottom lip, making my breath hitch. I fondled her breast through the tight material and was instantly rewarded with a hard nipple. Holy crap, what did I do to deserve this woman?

  Somehow she wiggled in my arms, tugging the duvet off me and kicking it down the bed. She straddled me. Her mouth was on my neck, her hands on my shoulders, pecs, everywhere at once.

  “I have to go.” She kissed me again.

  “No. Stay. Someone else can take care of Bazeer.”

  She didn't reply. Instead, fast hands grabbed my cock through my boxer shorts—the only thing I slept in. “I want you,” she whispered. Kissing me hard, she fondled me.

  All my dreams had come true. She was in my bed. She wanted me. I didn’t want to rush it though. I wanted to savor getting to know her. To lie beside her till daybreak talking—to learn her quirks, her habits.

  I tried to trap her hand, but she shifted, pulling me free from my boxers. Holy fuck, she was fast. Primitive chemicals took over my gentle side and the urge to claim her was too strong. I wanted to touch her. To lavish attention on her. To make her as needy for me as I was for her. But her hand clamped around me and my thoughts scattered. I pressed my forehead against hers, breathing hard. “Ocean. Stop. You're gonna make me—”