Ocean Kills (Ocean Breeze) (29 page)

He sighed heavily, knowing when to give up. “Fine. But you will contact him, young lady. You will apologize for scaring him and put him in his place. You can't leave him in a panic.”

This was a complicated mess. I didn't want to do any of that. It would be too easy to break down and say ‘Yes, take care of me. Help me keep my shadows at bay’. No, I was stronger than that. I’d be nice and tell Callan to forget about me. I was a loner and always would be.

I shot Maurice a smirk. “Fine. You win.” I stood, taking the laptop with me. “I'll go and dump the guy. You deal with the new house guest.”

Chapter Twenty-five: Callan

F
ragments of my brief time with Ocean hammered at my concentration.

Her fight.

Her smell.

Her wounded, blemished back.

At the thought of her beautiful skin marred by that Bazeer scum, my hands curled, causing me to hiss at the ache from my shark bite. I managed to last the entire night—to pop a sleeping tablet and catch some shut-eye before my patience deserted me. I lasted as long as could, but it wasn’t long enough. I needed to know if she was okay. I was fuming that she hadn’t been in touch. 

My first email was full of concern, tenderness.

The second, an hour later, was harsher. Angry.
Demanding
she call me.

The third was full of threats. Telling her how unfair it was to leave me hanging. Was she dead? She could very well be, for all I knew.

By the time lunch came and went, my stomach churned with nerves. My thoughts were completely inundated with Ocean. Ocean.
Ocean.
Even my throbbing shark bite couldn’t stop me from going insane. I’d assessed the situation when I awoke. The wound was gnarly, but I didn’t need stitches. I was lucky.

The fourth email was to Maurice. Short, professional. Requesting her phone number.

The fifth was back to Ocean. Each letter I typed raged with two emotions: one was hot and wild—wanting to tell her I missed her, cared for her. . . wanted her. The other was cold and emotionless; trying to protect myself from a woman who couldn't even bother to let me know she was alive.

And after all of that, no response. So I gave up. I forced all thoughts of the bloody annoying woman away and sulked in my apartment. I was a spare part compared to the amazing capabilities of the KCIA network. It whirred away, working on the missing girls from Aussie, occasionally pinging for confirmation on a thread of code, or to throw some scenario in my face—it barely needed me. It was smarter than I was, and I had a love-hate relationship with it already.

My blood pressure revved as afternoon turned to evening.

By then, I was immersed in finding Bazeer, drowning in smut and horror with every click of my mouse. With every key press, I was drawn deeper into disgusting circles. It sickened me to the depths of my soul.

The amazing technology available to my fingertips gave me access to any mainframe, the ability to delve into any personal detail or private nook. I was privy to bank statements, unauthorized emails, and phone conversations.

My jaw clenched and eyes narrowed as I listened to scumbags discuss women as belongings. The thick Afrikaans accent of Bazeer was as irritating to my ears as a baby screaming. One conversation I eavesdropped on was between Bazeer and another man with an Arab accent.

I replayed the phone audio. Fierce excitement chased away the foul taste in my mouth. After hours of research, I had him.
Finally.

Atsu Bazeer:
Our collection point has been compromised. What is your customer number?

Unknown:
DIU990. My boss purchased filly number’s 2324, and 2325. I want to arrange time to receive package.

Atsu Bazeer
: Fine. Do you wish to collect or have it delivered?

Unknown:
I'll collect. What's the address?

Atsu Bazeer:
Go to the corner of Mahatma Gandhi, and West road, Durham. Someone will collect you. Have your customer reference ready. No one must follow you. No communication devices or weapons, you understand?

Unknown:
How will I transport cargo if I don't know where you are taking me to collect?

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:
[email protected]

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:
[email protected]

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.