by Kade, Teagan
Table of Contents
Title Page
COPYRIGHT
VIP SIGN-UP
ALSO BY TEAGAN KADE:
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE
Teagan Kade
* * * * *
Published by Teagan Kade
Edited by Sennah Tate
Copyright © 2019 by Teagan Kade
COPYRIGHT
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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ALSO BY TEAGAN KADE:
LONG SCHLONG SILVER
LIFE SUPPORT
TROUSER SNAKE
THE ROYAL TREATMENT
BALLSY
HOT PANTS
SAVAGE
VICE
RECKLESS
PUCK BUDDIES
FERAL
WINTER MIRACLE
ADAGIO
BRUTE
BLAZE
HUSTLE
LAWLESS
LONG GAME
DEDICATION
This one is for Joel (AKA Mr Tickle)
CHAPTER ONE
ARCHER
“What’s up, motherfucker!” Robbie enters the lifeguard tower with his usual enthusiasm.
I thumb towards the beach where hundreds of Spring Breakers are gathered. “Perhaps you should be down there.”
Robbie takes hold of my shoulder, pointing towards the azure water of the Atlantic. “Everyone knows the action’s out there, brother.”
He’s not wrong. It’s barely ten AM and we’ve done thirty preventions and three rescues. I shake my head. “Fuck Spring Break. Seriously.”
Robbie picks up a pair of binoculars. “Come on now. This is Miami—sun, sand and sex, and plenty of the latter.”
I face him smiling. “Oh, so you found some poor girl to handle that inch-long appendage you call a penis?”
He laughs. “Two girls, actually. Sisters, I think—Greek or blood I have no fucking idea only that those Bible Belt types are freaks between the sheets. Besides, aren’t you confusing inches with feet again?”
I look down to his pants. “How about I kick you in the balls? That’s a foot for you.”
“Hey, at least my dick doesn’t sleep in a matchbox with a cotton swab for a pillow.”
“At least the condoms I use don’t look like the thumb of a latex glove.”
“Your dick disappears when you breathe in and out, bro.”
“Heard you had sex with a shower head the other night,” I counter.
That gets him. He holds his chest in laughter, trying to keep the binoculars fixed to his eyes. His expression turns serious.
I pick up my binoculars and scan the water. “What is it?”
“Out back, far left.”
There’s a guy struggling in silence, his head bobbing under the water. “On it.”
I race out of the tower towards the sand, doing my best to cut a path through the human thicket of intoxication.
A girl with duct tape over her nipples jumps out in front of me with her lips puckered together. “How about you save me, handsome?”
I push her aside and keep powering towards the water, grabbing the nearest surf ski and throwing it past the first breaker.
It doesn’t take me long to get to the victim, but I’m just in time, reaching into the water and dragging him onto the board.
The idiot’s still wearing his shirt, shoes… skin pale as a sheet of paper.
I yell at people to clear a path, bringing the board onto the sand and dragging the victim past the wash.
I check his pulse as a crowd starts to gather around us. He’s unconscious.
Phones come out.
Fucking great.
Robbie will be on his way down with the kit, but there’s no time to waste.
I clear the guy’s mouth and prepare my CPR shield just as a group of guys busts through the crowd.
One of them shoves me back into the sand. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Another, with a fanny pack over his shoulder and an Angels cap back to front, steps between me and the victim. “None of that faggot mouth-to-mouth shit, you hear?”
Are these guys serious?
I stand brushing sand off myself. I’ve got to remain calm. You can’t take the risk with social media these days. Everyone’s got a camera. Everyone wants to be a star. “If you’re his friend, you should know he’s probably going to die without treatment, so either you stand aside and let me work or you explain to his parents why you’re bringing him home in a wooden box.”
The guy’s the dictionary definition of a ’roid junkie, a water-filled human balloon of testosterone and jungle juice, but he stands aside.
Thankfully, Robbie and Beach Security arrive at the same time, hustling people back.
“Compressions?” queries Robbie, unzipping the kit bag and taking out an air bag.
I nod and start, counting as I work.
It doesn’t take long before the poor prick shuttles back to life, water spewing from his mouth.
We roll him sideways and let him get it out.
The crowd applauds and whoops.
I let the rush sweep over me. This is what draws me to lifeguarding, dragging people from the clutches of Death himself. I can’t think of many jobs that offer that kind of hit, that allow you to work outdoors in the sun, on what remains—seasonal assholes aside—one of the greatest stretches of sand in the world.
That ain’t a pool out there, with confines. It’s a literal fucking ocean with deep and shallow spots, rips and currents, a shifting, constantly changing ecosystem of its own.
I’m breathing hard when we arrive back at the tower, the victim safely with paramedics and a whole slew of paperwork waiting.
“So,” says Robbie, picking up the binoculars again, “Bar None after shift?”
I take up my own binoculars. We’ve still got eight hours to go, eight hours where you can’t let your concentration drop for a second. Doing so could be the difference between life and death, especially with so many people on the beach. There’s no Facebook up here, no Instagram for screwing around. You watch the water—simple as th
at. That said, if I have to keep dragging obnoxious frat boys from the water, I’m not going to need one drink later, I’m going to need three or four.
“Fucking hey,” I reply. “Fucking. Hey.”
*
Bar None is the kind of tiny backstreet institution only locals know about. Lonely Planet hasn’t found it yet, nor have the hordes, which means it’s frequented largely by servicemen—cops, rescue, security guards. There’s not a string bikini in sight.
I join Robbie and the others at the bar.
Amy, a newly minted lifeguard with Miami Beach Ocean Rescue, lights up when I sit, brushing her honey-blonde hair over her shoulder. “Rough day?”
I signal for a beer. You won’t find fishbowls and kamikazes at this bar. “You could say that. It’s just the god damn stupidity of some of these kids.”
“Kids?” she laughs, “says the twenty-something who enjoys playing board games.”
I punch Robbie in the shoulder. “You told her about that?”
Robbie shrugs, already on his second beer. “Tell him how much you loved to play Monopoly, or Candy Land. He loves that shit.”
Amy’s cute, but she’s spoken for. I’ve got an endless line of morally loose Spring Breakers to sink my dick into and get off with. God knows the last thing I’m looking for is something long term, especially not with someone I work with—not again. “Everyone knows Hasbro is the Comcast of board games.”
“So tell her what’s hip,” Robbie suggests, leaning on his hand. “I bet she’s, like, super interested.”
I roll my eyes. “Ignore him. How are you doing?”
She holds the area around her ribs. “Still getting used to these workouts. You guys are brutal.”
She’s not wrong. Not many people realize how grueling the work we do is. Our workouts are simple: Run, swim, run, swim, run, swim, wash and repeat. We might do some calisthenics, push-ups, sit-ups… whatever we need to keep the blood flowing during our shifts, because when it’s on, it’s fucking on. You’ve got to be ready to go at any moment. It ain’t Baywatch.
Personally, I like to get out on the ski as much as I can, especially when there’s a bit of wind or swell. Nothing beats the water when it comes to bitch-slapping you into shape.
Before long, the bar’s packed. It’s Friday night, everyone who doesn’t have a shift tomorrow is keen to kick off the weekend right. For Robbie, that means heading out of here to slum it down at South Beach. He’ll get his shirt off and those starry-eyed youngsters will flock to him like moths to flame.
I join him sometimes, but not tonight. A man can only take so many American Apparel-clad college girls thinking they’re the next Sasha Grey.
I stand and reach into my pocket for my apartment keys, instantly remembering I’ve left them back at the tower.
Robbie sees me patting myself down. “What’s wrong, brother? Lost your balls again?”
“Left my keys at the tower.”
He takes his keys out, taking one off and tossing towards me. “Take mine.”
I hold it up. “I owe you.”
He throws his hands in the air. “Shit, doesn’t everyone?”
I say my goodbyes and head back down to the beach.
Spring Break may be in full effect, but apart from the odd couple engaged in coitus or passed out, the beach is empty.
I open the tower door and find my keys, pausing for a moment to stare at the ocean. It’s a full moon tonight, a silvery staircase having fallen across the water, the neon lights from the city turning the shoreline kaleidoscopic.
I’m about to turn away when I spot something in the water.
I pick up the binoculars and try to bring it into view, squinting to see through the blackish wash.
Shit.
Someone’s in the water, and they’re struggling.
I consider calling it in, but they’re not far out.
I shake my head. At least the water’s warm.
I switch on the tower lights enough to illuminate the water, but if they go under…
It’s a good hundred-and-fifty feet to the water. I shed clothes as I go until I’m down to my boxers. South Beach has seen worse.
I hit the water conscious of my slightly dulled senses.
The swell’s picked up. I power through the breakers searching until I spot the vic’s arm.
That’s the thing most people don’t realize. When somebody’s drowning, they’re too busy trying to breathe and keep their head above water than waste energy screaming or calling for help. It’s a silent killer.
The other silent killer is the shark, and while we haven’t had an attack here in forever, they’re definitely active after dark.
I reach the area where I saw the vic’s arm, but they’re gone.
There’s no time to waste. I take a deep breath and plunge below the surface of the ocean. There’s just enough light to see the victim, a woman, thrashing.
This is the other issue. You can swim out to help a drowning victim, but they’ll do anything to get that sweet, sweet air, even if it means dragging you down into the depths with them. Superhuman strength can be summoned when your only thought is staying alive.
But regardless of my own personal safety, I have to act.
I reach down and she grabs my arm with all the strength of an anaconda.
With effort, I drag us both to the surface. She clings to me coughing and spluttering as we surface, a wave breaking over our heads.
“Can you swim?” I shout.
She nods, then shakes her head, clearly having some kind of mental breakdown.
I wrap my arm around her and head for the shore in a turn and trawl. She’s mobile, no signs of spinal trauma, so a vice grip isn’t required.
My chest is burning when we hit the sand. She gets onto her knees beside me and I notice she’s in her bra and panties, both see-through thanks to her midnight dip.
She goes to stand, but she’s weak, her wet hair swaying around her head in inky tendrils, her skin as pale as the sand below our feet.
I pick her up under the legs, cradling her and making my way to the tower. Her hair hangs down and I notice a tattoo on her shoulder.
Her eyes open and focus on me, the tower lights catching their turquoise depths. She’s beautiful, with full lips and soft features, but this is no time for macking.
I use my foot to kick the door open and set her down on the treatment cot at the back of the tower. I take two blankets out of the back cupboard, placing one around her and the other around myself. I reach for the phone, but her voice comes squeaky and uncertain. “Please… don’t.”
I turn towards her. “I have to call it in.”
“Please,” she begs, her teeth chattering and those blue-green Gulf of Mexico eyes imploring me to abandon protocol.
I place the handset down. “Okay.”
I stand before her trying to catch my breath. In the low light she’s even more attractive—early twenties, maybe, the kind of girl I’d go for in an instant on the strip. “What’s your name?”
“Winter,” she whispers.
“Winter… in Miami?” I smile. “I imagine you can see the irony in that.”
She smiles ever so slightly. “I like the cold,” she says, but even she doesn’t sound so sure.
“And why were you out there tonight, Winter?”
She looks down, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. “I… don’t know.”
“You don’t know how you got into the water, or why?”
“Please,” she says, looking back up to me with wet eyes, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I exhale. I expected to find my keys tonight, not a legs-for-days riddle like this. Still, there’s something about this girl that’s drawing me in. I want to protect her, keep her safe. The need of it is burning through me like a hot fever.
“Do you have someone I can call?” I offer. “A relative or friend, perhaps?”
She shakes her head, her hair hanging, framing her perfect face. “No.”<
br />
“There must be someone…”
Her eyes are steely when they return to me. “No.”
“Is there somewhere I can take you, home?”
She shakes her head again, seems on the verge of tears. “I have nowhere to go. Please.”
“Nowhere?”
She gets down onto her knees before me, which typically would be a sign things are about to take a welcome turn, but this is far from a sexual advance. “Please. Help me.”
I breathe out again. “You’ve got to tell me what’s wrong first. I can’t help you if I don’t know what the heck’s going on.”
“Please,” she repeats, eyes dinner plates in the light.
“Look, you can come back to my place, just tonight, but only if you truly have nowhere to go.”
“I don’t.”
“Are you in danger?”
She remains silent.
“Is someone trying to hurt you?”
“I’m… tired,” she says, her lips parted.
I open the cupboard again and find some woman’s clothes in the lost property box. The ‘Time Flies When You’re Having Rum’ shirt I select looks about her size. I doubt it’s her usual attire, but we don’t exactly stock couture here.
I hand it to her with a pair of denim shorts. “Here. I’ll, ah, turn around while you… you know.”
She takes the clothes as I face the desk.
Still, I can’t help but glance at the reflection in the window, at the delicate curves of her body, the sweeping mounds of her breasts and her nipples, bubble gum pink.
I look down again in shame, because this isn’t right—any of it. I should call this in right now and be done with it. Fuck knows why she was out there, a girl like this in nothing but her underwear.
I know there’s a dangerous undercurrent running here. Question is, how far does it go?
CHAPTER TWO
WINTER
It’s strange sitting here, in this stranger’s house. An hour ago I thought I was going to die, and here I am, good as new—reborn.
The lifeguard, Archer, hands me a steaming mug. “Drink. You’ll feel better. Do you want something to eat?”
“No. Thank you, and thanks again for letting me stay.”