by Jade Hart
Ocean cried then. Hot splashes of tears fell against my forearm, her frame shuddering in my grasp.
Hell, if I didn't already feel helpless when it came to her, I sure did now. How was I supposed to deal with this? I hushed her, rocking. “Tell me. Sharing might make it better.”
“Callan, you truly are a cop, you know that?” She sniffed, sitting up in my arms. I didn’t let my grip diminish. No way was I letting her go. “Talking about something doesn't make it easier to bear. Regardless of what your victim training might’ve taught you.”
I chuckled. “Don't be argumentative. Just spit it out. What's going on? I know you feel for me, just like I feel for you. I don't want to stop whatever’s going on between us. Tell me so we can move past it. Together.”
In a flash of strength, she jumped out of my arms and paced. Lifting her hair she bowed her neck, exposing her spine and the multiple marks.
I stood, brushing my thumb across one of the blemishes. It wasn't raised or sharp. They weren’t tattoos, and I swear there were more than the last time in my apartment.
Ocean dropped her hair, mumbling, “I'm dying.”
My entire body seizured. “What?”
“Those marks are a toll of my murders. They began when I was twenty-one and another appears each kill I commit. The latest one was for killing Bazeer, and with it a chill settled in my soul.” She took a shuddering breath. “I’m being consumed by vileness, Callan. I’m not me anymore. Something snaps inside and I want, I need, I crave to be horrible. To make people suffer.” Her shoulders fell as she dropped her hair. “I hate it. I hate not being me, but I can’t stop. I figured out last night I might be suffering split personalities. I’m like Jekyll and Hyde. I’m… broken.”
Her eyes flashed as she spun to face me; the sheet wrapped around her fluttered. “Don't you get it? I don't know what's happening to me. I may turn into the bastards I kill. I may only have a few months left. You can't be with me, Callan, because soon there won't be any of me left.”
Hell no. I was not going to accept that. “What makes you think you’re dying? Who told you that? You look pretty alive to me.”
Ocean opened her mouth, then shut it again, frowning. “No one told me I was dying. It just makes logical sense. I’m cold all the time. My skin is being branded, and my personality has slid into darkness. There is something wrong with me!”
I held up my hands. My arms ached to hold her while she suffered. Keeping my voice low, I said, “There might be a simple explanation. Perhaps there’s a way to reverse the effects?”
She shook her head. “There's nothing. It's not like I can research my condition. There’s no text book telling me what the hell is wrong with me!” Her cheeks flushed. “Honestly, you aren't making this easy. This is the end of whatever this is, Callan.”
Do I tell her what Mr. Kim found? That she wasn’t the only one? Perhaps there was a textbook? All these secrets I kept from her. She’d hate me if she knew. Standing there, when Ocean was in such distress, I didn’t even remember why I wanted to keep them secret. It seemed so stupid to keep her in the dark. I opened my mouth, but she darted to her suitcase and pulled on shorts, bra, and t-shirt. I couldn't tear my eyes from her body. She was so beautiful, strong, and yet so delicate. How could I believe she might cease to exist in a few short months? It wasn't fair. I wouldn't accept it.
“Surely Maurice has figured something out. He'll know what to do.” My voice was desperate as she pulled on socks and brand new Nike shoes. She couldn’t leave, not like this.
“Maurice knows as much as I do. We're helpless.”
No, that wasn't true. “If the symptoms you describe are linked to you killing, then just take the obvious way out. Stop.”
Her eyes flashed to mine with a look of amazement. “If you knew me at all, you’d know that was like asking me to stop breathing. I can’t give up on other would-be victims.”
Ugh, she made me mad. She was prepared to kill herself for others. Didn’t I get a say in this? I wrenched on a t-shirt. If she wanted to fight, I didn't want to be under dressed.
“I want my money back, Callan. I need it to help others. Where did you hide it?”
The card to her new bank account was snug in my suitcase. If I gave it to her now, this was all over. That money was the only thing I had over her. I couldn’t give it to her—she’d leave forever.
“You can't go. Let’s stay. We have five nights. Let's not worry about anything. Let's just enjoy this time together.”
Ocean shook her head sadly. “You don't get it. The same problems will be here in five days. There won't be any solutions, and it’ll be harder to say goodbye as more feelings will be involved.” She took an unusually deep breath.
Something tensed in the room, shifting, pulling toward her. I recognized the same symptoms from when she left me on the couch. No!
I pounced on her before I could think. If she left, she was taking me with her.
“Callan? Let me go.” My inertia crushed her against the wall. She was trapped. “Crap, you idiot, let me go.” She wriggled, trying to squirm free.
“Never.” I kissed her, sucking in her taste, plunging my tongue into her mouth, duelling with hers until her hands fisted in my hair despite herself.
I grinded against her, but still the weird tug in the room remained. She hadn't stopped.
My brain raced. Would I be tugged along if I held on? How did I hold onto a woman who’d disappear in any moment?
My breathing grew frantic; I couldn't stop her from leaving. Panic made me mad and my fingers ripped her shorts zipper. Greediness stole my dignity and I pushed her legs apart with my knee. “I'm not letting you go on your own. Take me with you.”
She struggled, which made it easier to slink my hand into her shorts and cup her.
She moaned, biting my throat. Good God, she was wet. My brain fogged, but I had to focus. I needed her to relax—to surrender. The more she wanted me, the better. My finger stroked her. My cock pulsed with the need to dive into her, to take her against the wall—to brand her as mine.
Her fingernails dug into my shoulders as I pressed two fingers deep inside. No warning, no foreplay. She was slippery with need. I groaned as she melted against me.
“Callan—” she croaked, hips rocking on my hand.
I bit her ear, panting, “That’s it. Forget you were about to leave. You're mine. I’ll protect you from your marks. I’ll keep you safe. I'm never letting you go.” My fingers thrust harder.
Her breath hitched, mouth parted, and I kissed her with everything I had. Her lips were pliant under mine, allowing me to take what I wanted from her.
She was no longer bone and flesh, but liquid and silk.
A feral possessiveness filled me; I increased the tempo of my fingers.
She shuddered, just as a gust of nausea buffeted me. My hand gripped her neck, pressing her forehead against mine. One of my legs twined around hers. I was as close to her as I could get. She was about to come. I could tell by the way she bit her lip, her eyes squeezed shut.
It was now or never.
Her eyes flared open and I drowned in the sea of black. My voice was gruff as I demanded, “Come for me, Ocean.” I grinded against her hip. I was rock hard, so turned on by taking her to the edge. “Don't think. Just let go.”
She whimpered and I captured her mouth, swallowing her cry. She pushed feebly against me, but then tensed. A headache crashed against my temples. I winced as it built to a crescendo.
Ocean shuddered in my arms, her heat rippled with muscle, milking my finger as her orgasm ripped through her. At the same time something grabbed around my stomach, hurling me against her.
I tightened my grip.
She screamed.
The next thing I knew, I was upside down, inside out. Rushing, tearing, splitting in two.
Time ceased to have meaning. Pain was the only thing I was aware of. In my head, ears, eyes. I wanted to die.
I crashed to the floor. It was dark, mus
ty; a smell—urine, perhaps?
Blinking, I promptly threw up. The breakfast we consumed half an hour ago splattered all over a crocheted rug. Crap, I’d never had a headache so bad in my life. Where was Ocean? My entire body prickled with agony.
Ocean stood near by, hands on her knees, a trickle of blood dripping over her upper lip.
Standing, I wobbled, clutching my head to keep my brain from sloshing out my ears. “Ocean?”
She took a deep breath. Her t-shirt strained against her breasts. Another big breath and she straightened, refastening her fly. Then, she froze.
I followed her eyes and my hope at happiness with her exploded into smithereens.
We stood in a gross apartment: the walls were splattered with an unknown substance, the ceilings yellowed with tobacco stains. A Lay-Z-Boy with an ashtray faced an ancient TV, and the only window looked out onto a sterile complex.
A man stood framed in the doorway. Dressed in daggy pajamas and robe, he watched us, wide-eyed.
I gulped. I knew that face. How did we get here? How the fuck did this happen? Terror attacked. I’d lost her. Ocean would never forgive me.
Her gaze shot to mine, disbelief written all over her. “Callan?” Her voice bordered on betrayal and tears. “What is this?”
“Who the fuck are you? How did ya get in my place?” the old man demanded. His eyes fell to the mess I made on his carpet. “Oi, you motherfucker. Clean that up. I'm calling the cops.”
Something chilly filled the air. Ocean's lips peeled over her teeth. She snarled, “You! How dare you still breathe air. How dare you still live and eat and survive after what you did!” The wobbliness of tears gave way to crisp, ferocious anger.
The planes of her face grew sharper; her eyes narrowed and shoulders hunched. In that moment, I was scared of her. Anger radiated. She was a weapon.
Adrian Mathieu didn't move. His haggard face was slack, body riddled with sickness. “What the flying pelicans are you on about, you little bitch? Get out of my house or I'll beat you stupid.” He took a step toward Ocean, wincing as his bones creaked.
Ocean shook her head, furious hate filling her face. She spun to look at me, ignoring the old man glaring at us. The expression in her eyes broke my heart. “You knew where he lived and never told me?” Something shadowed her features, making her look harsh and deadly cruel. “Fok julle naaiers! Jou Bliksem.” Her voice was deeper, but that wasn’t what terrified me. It was the thick Afrikaans accent. I couldn’t believe my ears, but the language she spoke was undoubtedly from South Africa. Holy crap, what is going on?
She waved her arms, spouting more Afrikaans, before finally seething, “You didn’t tell me!” The sheer hatred in her eyes was a knife to my soul.
I let out a noise of panic. The woman in front of me wasn’t Ocean.
She blinked and wrapped her hands in her hair, fighting whatever was possessing her.
I rushed to talk, to distract her from whatever she battled. “Kim only just told me. I asked the KCIA to find him for you. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you getting hurt. I wanted to protect you, Ocean. You have to believe me.”
Her face contorted and body convulsed as she tugged harder on her hair. Small mutterings escaped her mouth as she fought.
I was so helpless. “Ocean. Please—”
Slowly, the shadows diminished slightly from her features. She took a shaky step in my direction. The strain of everything pounded my body. I opened my arms to welcome her. She stepped into my embrace, moaning, “Callan. I’m… I’m scared. There’s something inside me. It—”
Just when I thought she had returned to me, the shadows returned and her eyes glowed black with death. I grunted as one of her fists connected with my spleen.
“Ocean. Stop!” I knew it wasn’t her throwing the punch, but it hurt to think she’d inflict harm on me. Touching her was like touching a stranger. She writhed in my grip, moaning even as she swung again. “Callan…” Her voice was terrified. “I don’t mean to. Help.”
Not knowing what else to do, I kissed her. Hard.
She sucked in a breath and a whoosh of tension left her body. She had tears in her eyes as I pulled away. Trying to distract her from what happened, I asked, “How are we here? What are we doing in Adrian Mathieu’s house? Did you do that?”
Her gaze turned inward, fighting herself again. Crap what was she going through inside?
“This isn’t my doing. You did this,” she hissed. “I didn’t know where he lived. You brought us here. You don't know what you've done.” Her voice was evil, not the woman I knew.
My stomach twisted. I caressed her cheek. “You’re right, this is my fault. But I wouldn’t have told you where he lived until Adrian was in custody. I wanted to protect you, Ocean. I wanted to find the bastard and make sure he’d rot in prison. I didn't want you to be dragged through the court system, reliving your nightmare. I didn’t want you to be in danger if you went to kill him.” I dropped my voice, hoping that she’d come back. “I didn’t want you to be hurt any more than you already are.”
Ocean shut down completely. Shutters clanked closed and she pushed me away. “That wasn’t your call to make. We’re through.” She retreated, each step killing my hope. “Stay away from me.”
I was so messed up with what happened, I didn’t know if it was Ocean speaking, or whatever festered inside her.
My body buckled under pressure at the thought of never seeing her again. She couldn't be serious. “Ocean, fuck. Don't do this.” I swallowed hard. “Don't hate me. I’d do anything for you. I—” The words I love you lined my tongue, begging to be said. But I couldn't do it. I didn’t want to say it like this. Here—with all this fucked-upness around us.
Adrian Mathieu coughed. “Are you two just about done? I feel like I'm watching a fucking soap opera over here. Get the eff out of my house!”
Ocean's dead eyes shot to his. “Your name is Adrian Mathieu and a life in prison is twenty times too good for what you deserve. You deserve to rot in hell, you low-life stinking bastard.”
Adrian gulped, looking between Ocean and me. “Sorry, doll, you got the wrong guy. Never seen you before. And I don't appreciate being threatened in my own home. I suggest you leave before I scream bloody murder and get the apartment security guard in here.”
Ocean growled; it echoed in the dirty room.
I grabbed her, wrapping my arms around her. “Let's go. Leave it alone. I'll call Kim to arrest the bastard. Come on, let's return to Bali.” I didn’t want her to disappear further into the hole sucking her dry. I needed to get her on neutral ground. Shit, I wish Maurice was here to help me with her. I kissed her cheek. “Please, Ocean.”
She wrenched out of my arms. “You have no right to touch me, Bliss.” Spinning to face Adrian, she clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. “You're one of the bastards who stole my family. You mutilated my brother, mother, and father. You killed my dog.”
She took a shuddering breath, her whole body trembling. “You raped me, you motherfucker, and you don't even remember me!”
“Ocean!” I reached for her, but she slapped my hand away. A gust of power wrenched my stomach and she charged. Adrian stumbled backward, tripping in the doorway.
Her hand latched onto an empty whiskey bottle on the dresser by the door. I saw what she was going to do. Shit! “Ocean!”
She ignored me. Adrian scooted on his backside up the dark corridor. Ocean stalked toward him, raising the bottle above her head. Her hair was tangled and wild; she was savage in that moment. It killed me to admit, but I couldn’t distinguish her from other crazy murderers I’d locked up.
“Hey, now. I didn't do those things. I'm innocent—been framed I have,” Adrian pleaded, struggling to get to his feet. The sash on his robe tripped him again, and he collapsed to his knees. “Please,” he begged, as Ocean keened a noise which made my stomach twist. It was a cross between a war-scream and sob.
Her hand lashed out and closed around his throat. �
�You haunted my every minute. You ruined me. You made me what I am. You stole my happiness and gave me a life of revenge. I hate you. I hate you!”
I hurried behind her, clutching her waist. “Ocean, stop this. Come back to me. Don’t let the marks win.” I tugged her backward but she wielded around and shoved. I lost my grip, tripping.
Her face was compressed into hatred. She was a complete stranger. “If you feel anything for me, Callan you will not intervene.” Her face was ashen, drawn, dead eyes cool and calculating.
I held up my hands. Shit, she wasn't here. Her mind was consumed with whatever lurked inside. Some resemblance of the Ocean I knew was in there, but she was frantic, most likely suffering like the eight-year-old she’d been. She needed to do this—put her past behind her. How could I stop her? It wasn't my place.
Nodding, I whispered, “I won't stop you. I understand.”
Her head cocked, blinking. A ray of light broke through the shadows before she was consumed again.
Seeing the small spark of the woman I loved made me take a step toward her, unable to at least try and stop her from drowning in more misery. “I know why you need to do this, Ocean, but is it worth it? Think about your marks. Think about what it’ll do to you.”
Ocean's gaze blazed into mine. “I’ll wear the branding of his death with pride. I’ll embrace the coldness. I’ll adore the emptiness as my family's memory will be avenged.”
That was what I was afraid of. If she killed him, I might never get the real Ocean Breeze back. She chose murder and death over life and love. Even though the realization she might be lost forever brought me to my knees, I couldn’t stop her.
Adrian was back on his feet, walking backward, watching us warily.
It all happened so fast. One moment Ocean was close, the next she flew down the corridor, whiskey bottle held high. Adrenaline fuelled her; she moved with stealth and power. He was a dead man, and there was nothing I could do.
The fraction of a second before she struck, she clipped, “This is for my family. For my childhood. For me.”
I yelled something—I didn't know what, and watched in slow motion as Ocean brought the heavy glass bottle against Adrian's temple in one sharp ferocious move. He slammed into the wall, slithering to a heap, moaning.
