Olympic Cove 2-Breaker Zone

by Nicola Cameron

  ****

  As the day waned the dim blue light from the surface leached away, leaving the reef bathed in darkness. Aidan stuck to the patches of sea grass, watching flickers of phosphorescence through the wreck’s portholes.

  What he’d learned wasn’t encouraging. All entrances to the ship were guarded by patrolling ilkothelloi. He’d seen at least one shift changeover, and there were no gaps in the security. Trying to sneak on board and find Nick was going to be impossible.

  A soft wash of movement at his back had him spinning, trident at the ready.

  “Good to see you’re not just sitting around with a fluke up your ass,” the grizzled merman who swam up with Moira at his side said. “Or dead. That would have been really annoying, since I plan on putting your tail on disciplinary rounds for not reporting in.”

  “Captain.” Aidan relaxed when he saw the other rangers fanning out around the older mer. As a veteran ranger and leader of the Bright Water station for the last twenty years, Fergus’s sense of sarcasm was just as famed as his bravery. “Gods, I’m glad to see you. I didn’t know if Lady Eine would let you leave the grotto.”

  Fergus snorted. “Someone cross-wired two incoming power lines, and it blew up a transformer. Stupid, but hardly an attack.” He stroked Moira’s spotted head. “Then this little girl came squirting into the station like a shark was on her tail. I figured you wouldn’t have sent her with your neckband if you weren’t seriously in the shit.”

  “That’s an understatement, sir.” Quickly, Aidan explained about Nick’s kidnapping and who he suspected was behind it.

  Fergus scowled. “Godsdamn tritons. They think they’re Tartarus on a tsunami when it comes to fighting, but they don’t know shit about handling prisoners. I told Lady Eine the ilkothella should have been turned over to us, but she insisted on them watching the damned thing. Well, this should be right up their channel.” He turned to a ranger. “Siobhan, take Brian and get back to the grotto, find Kasos or his second. Tell them we have a hostage situation with a mate and we need backup. I want at least two tactical teams here on the double.”

  “Captain.” Siobhan sketched a salute and flipped over, tail threshing as she disappeared almost instantly into the dark with the other ranger in her wake. Aidan knew that she hated having to use a buddy system when traveling, but in ilkothella-infested waters all mermaids on their own were fair game for the monsters.

  “You reconnoiter the area?” Fergus asked.

  “Yes, sir. There are ilkos on every gap big enough for a mer. We’re going to need a diversion.”

  The captain grunted. “Most likely. I—”

  Something brushed against Aidan’s skin, the distant turbulence that came from something very large moving through the water. Fergus held up a fist, and the rangers dropped into the sea grass, freezing.

  Aidan stared at the water overhead. A large shadow, much larger than an ilkothella or a shark, passed overhead. His senses recognized the movement pattern of an orca, but something was very, very wrong with the marine mammal. For one thing, it was half again as large as any orca he’d ever seen. For another, it moved stiffly, as if its muscles weren’t quite functional.

  Another joined it, with that same odd stiffness to its tail motion. The creatures paused overhead, and Aidan’s hand tightened on his trident.

  And then something sweet and foul drifted down from the creatures, a stench that they’d only smelled before on the ilkothelloi. Oh, fuck. Thetis changed them, too. Normally the orcas got along quite well with the mer population, but the mers still had a healthy respect for the large marine mammals. If a pair of them had been mutated into monsters…

  Once, Aidan had found a comic book left behind on a beach. The cover featured a gigantic green human dressed only in pants smashing through a building. Thetis-mutated orcas would be the marine equivalent of that creature.

  They finally swam on, the disturbance in the water settling. Fergus rose into a crouch, staring after them. “What in the gods’ name were those?” he muttered.

  Aidan stared at the hulking outline of the wreck, wondering where Nick was right now. “Trouble,” he said shortly.

  ****

  A sharp crack across his cheek yanked Liam into consciousness. He winced and blinked. Dim light, pale wood overhead. The smell of the sea covered by human scents. Something soft underneath him. Bed? No, bunk.

  He tried to move and couldn’t. His hands and legs had been bound with leather cuffs chained to the corners of the bunk, keeping him spread eagled.

  An amused chuckle made him look to the side. Barnard Whitfield sat on the edge of the bunk, a cone-shaped stemmed glass in one hand. He took a leisurely sip of the drink, licking his lips afterwards. They glistened unpleasantly in the low light.

  “It’s about time you woke up,” Barnard said conversationally. “I was starting to wonder if I’d given you too much sedative. But you’re such a big beast, I thought you could handle it.”

  Liam glared at Nick’s ex-lover, trying to think around the fog in his head. “Where are Col and Kasos?”

  “Oh, you mean your friends?” Barnard shrugged. “Probably still sleeping off their tasering. Really, all of you traipsing down a narrow gangway like that? You must have wanted to get caught.”

  He finished the drink and put the empty glass on a tiny side table next to the bunk, picking up something else and holding it to the light. It was a small, silver knife with a tiny curved blade. Liam tensed.

  “Oh, good. Now I have your attention,” Barnard purred. “This should go rather quickly, then. First off, what’s your name?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  The bastard chuckled again at that. “I like to know to whom I’m speaking, don’t you?”

  Liam stayed silent. With a sigh, Whitfield leaned over and held the knife to his neck, pressing in. He felt it when the blade split his skin, and a drop of warm wetness rolled down his neck. “The only people who saw us getting on board the yacht assumed you were quite drunk. No one knows where you are. I can cut your throat right now, dump your body overboard, and no one will ever know what happened.” The human’s eyes glittered. “Now, what is your name?”

  Liam couldn’t help swallowing, feeling the blade slice just a bit deeper. “Liam.”

  “Liam what?”

  Damn humans and their bizarre need for surnames. “Liam Brightwater.”

  And suddenly the knife was gone. “See how easy that was?” Whitfield said, picking up a cloth from the side table and wiping the blood on it. He studied the smear. “Odd color of blood you have, Mr. Brightwater. You might want to consult a physician about that.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Liam asked tightly. “Since we’re exchanging pleasantries, don’t you think I should have your name?”

  “Oh, I suspect my pet told you all about me already,” Whitfield said, cocking his head to the side. “But since you asked so nicely, Barnard Whitfield the Fourth, at your service.” He gave an abbreviated bow, spreading his hands. “Millionaire, financier, philanthropist, and toast of Chicago’s Gold Coast. And the owner of one Dr. Nicholas Gardiner, otherwise known as my pet.”

  Liam breathed in through his nose, concentrating. He could scent two other humans on the ship. “That wasn’t quite how Nick described you.”

  Whitfield leaned forward, eyes alight. “Oh? And how did my poor lost pet describe me, pray tell?”

  “I believe the words ‘insane asshole’ were mentioned at least once.”

  Whitfield’s expression remained the same, but the amusement drained out of his eyes. “Oh, Nicholas. He always did have such a defiant streak. When we’re back in Chicago, I’ll have to work on that.”

  “He’s not going back to Chicago with you.”

  “Oh, isn’t he?” The human spun the knife in his fingers. “I suppose you think he’s staying here with you and that lovely little piece of rough trade you had with you in the park?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” Liam lifted his he
ad, giving Whitfield a coldly contemptuous look.

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I’m not letting you touch him ever again.”

  Whitfield’s expression tightened, fist clenching around the knife. “And you think you’re going to be his Dom, do you?”

  “I already am. Nick isn’t yours anymore, and nothing you can do will change that.”

  Ever fiber in Liam’s body went taut as Whitfield brought the knife down. Instead of cutting his skin, however, the blade sliced through the t-shirt material with a soft purr. Once it shredded, Whitfield tugged it off his body, then went to work on his shorts. The warm, humid air of the cabin surrounded him, cooling the sweat on his body.

  Whitfield ripped the shorts free at the waistband, studying Liam’s now-exposed groin. “You’re well-hung, I’ll give you that,” he said. “Pet’s awfully tight, as I remember. He must have screamed for mercy when you shoved it up his ass.”

  “Actually, he enjoyed it,” Liam said through his teeth. “Then again, I’m familiar with the concept of lube.”

  Whitfield tsked. “Where’s the fun if you take all the pain out of it? A good slave needs to be fucked dry occasionally, just to remind him who his master is.”

  “That’s abuse, not power play.”

  The human rolled his eyes. “Another puritanical Dom who gets weepy over sub ‘rights’. No wonder pet likes you. You’re weak. He can manipulate you any way he likes.” He brought the blade down and laid the flat of it along the head of Liam’s cock. “Of course, now so can I. Let’s continue our conversation about pet, shall we? Where is the little minx?”

  Liam went very still, anticipating the pain. “I don’t know.”

  Whitfield smiled and moved his hand. The sharp blade bit lightly into Liam’s flesh, and he swallowed a shout. It felt like a nematocyst had been dragged along his cock.

  “I do like knife play. Blood is so lovely against taut skin, don’t you find?” Whitfield lifted the blade. A fine line of reddish-purple stained it. “This is the same scalpel I used to cut my initial into Nick’s chest. I thought it was appropriate that I should use it on the fool who thought he could take my pet away from me.”

  Another cut, no deeper than the one before, and Liam sucked a deep, harsh breath through his nose, trying to let the pain pass through him.

  “Where is my pet?” Whitfield repeated gently.

  “I don’t know!”

  Another cut. A high, reedy sound slithered out of Liam’s mouth before he could choke it off.

  “Well, you certainly won’t be sticking your prick where it doesn’t belong in the near future,” the human said, studying his blade again. “Which is in itself an achievement. Still, I feel I must insist on my pet’s whereabouts, Mr. Brightwater. Otherwise I may be tempted to start on a new target.”

  The blade slipped down to the upper surface of Liam’s sac, sharp edge pressing down lightly. A spark of panic crackled through him, and he yanked with all his strength on the chained cuffs. The bunk creaked, but held.

  “Ah, impressive. You’re quite strong. It’s a good thing I installed heavy-duty hardware in this bunk.” Whitfield pushed just a bit harder, not enough to break the skin but more than enough to make Liam’s balls crawl towards his body. “That way, you’ll be held still if I decide to remove these.”

  Whitfield leaned close, giving Liam a horribly conspiratorial smile. “It’s quite easy to castrate a man, you know. It was done all the time to produce those lovely high voices for European choirs and operas back in the day. Although I don’t think your singing will be nearly that pleasant while I’m operating.”

  Liam tried to get his breathing under control. There was nothing he could say to this madman that would save himself. I’m so sorry, chuisle. I wish we’d had more time. Please, let Aidan take care of you.

  “I don’t know where Nick is,” he snarled. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

  Whitfield smirked at that. “Such chivalry. Well, you won’t mind bleeding for your obsession, will you?”

  Liam willed himself not to scream, waiting for the agony to slice into him. Before Whitfield could cut, however, there was a loud thump from outside.

  Whitfield paused, listening, then stood and crossed to a small table that held a small leather bag, tossing the scalpel next to it. He pulled out a piece of white cloth and a gun and came back to the bunk, shoving the fabric into Liam’s mouth before the mer could close it. “You stay here, pet. I’ll be back,” he said softly.

  Liam watched him creep out of the cabin, gun in one hand. Then looked over at the scalpel.

  ****

  Piotr steered the rental yacht from the sleekly canted pilot house in the superstructure, keeping an eye on the instruments. It was much smaller than Mr. Whitfield’s own yacht, only 55 feet long, but that also made it easier to pilot. No need for a crew other than himself and Milan.

  The boss had told him to head for Miami, so Miami it was. The boss also said to ignore any sounds coming from the main cabin. That was easy enough to do. He grinned. God knew he’d done it before enough times.

  His cousin Milan sat in one of the comfortable chairs behind the pilot area, leafing through a titty magazine. “I hope we get some off time in Miami,” he said in Serbian. “I heard the girls there will do anything.”

  Piotr glanced over his shoulder. “Just make sure you get a woman and not a ladyboy this time, yes?”

  Milan cursed colorfully. “That was a fucking mistake and you know it,” he grumbled. “Bitch had the biggest tits—how was I supposed to know he had a dick, too? Besides, you wanted him, too.”

  Piotr shrugged. It didn’t matter. Milan was the one who had headed off with the tall, gorgeous redhead, and Milan was the one who had reduced the ladyboy to a bloody, whimpering pile in the alley behind the club where they’d gone to fuck. The next day, the boss had glanced at the contusions on his driver’s knuckles and commented with a twinkle in his eye that perhaps they shouldn’t visit that particular club again the next time they traveled to New Orleans.

  It was good to work for Barnard Whitfield. He understood men like them.

  “How much longer?” Milan called.

  Piotr glanced at the instruments. “Three hours, maybe a little longer. I—”

  Over the growl of the motor and the rush of the waves he heard an odd sound. He glanced over his shoulder again and saw Milan clutching at his neck. A length of something black and shiny had grown out of his throat, blood gushing from around it.

  Cursing viciously, Pitor slammed the engines to STOP and drew his Glock from the holster in the small of his back. A bright, exquisitely sharp pain exploded in his chest. Iron and salt filled his mouth as he coughed wetly, feeling the liquid splatter over his chin. He looked down in shock and saw the hilt of a knife sticking out of his chest.

  But how… was his final thought as he tumbled forward.

  ****

  “That’s for shocking me, you cowardly shit,” Kasos growled, climbing forward and yanking the knife out of the taller human’s chest. As an afterthought, he turned to the other human and slid the knife out of his throat, then slit it. The human gurgled once, clutching weakly at the ruin of his throat, then went still.

  Stepping to the back of the superstructure, the triton glanced down at the deck where Col was waiting. He held up a bloody fist. Stay there.

  Col nodded. Kasos wiped his knives off on the human’s clothing, them heaved each of the bodies over the side. At least the sharks will feed well tonight.

  There was nothing to be done about the smears of blood on the deck, or on his body. Kasos hoped Col had a strong stomach as he climbed back down to the deck, landing with a thump. “I took care of the bodyguards.”

  The mer stared at the blood spattered on his chest, then swallowed hard and nodded. “What now?”

  “Now we go find Liam and get the hell off this thing.”

  “Yes, about that,” a light voice said.

  They spun. Stand
ing in the entrance to the cabins was the shorter human, holding a gun in his hand. “Piotr! Milan!” he called, keeping a cold gaze on Col and Kasos.

  “You’re a little late,” Kasos said. “I’m afraid they went for a swim.”

  The human bared his teeth. “Judging from what I see on your chest, I assume they didn’t go willingly. Pity. They were wonderfully ruthless. Now I have to hire new bodyguards.” He held up the gun, aiming at Kasos. “Drop your weapons.”

  The triton studied the gun. The deck surged a bit with the waves, which would throw off the human’s aim. There was a better than average chance he could dodge the bullets and dive over the side, out of danger.

  But that left Col as a sitting target, not to mention Liam somewhere deeper in the ship. Grimly, he let his blades fall to the deck.

  “Good.” The gun shifted to point at Col. “Now you.”

  Col lifted his hands. “I don’t have any.”

  “Oh, rubbish. You wouldn’t mount this sort of ridiculous rescue attempt unarmed.”

  The mer blinked. “Actually, I would. I don’t have any weapons training. I’m just a scribe.”

  The human’s pale eyebrows went up. “A scribe. What are you, an escapee from a Renaissance faire?”

  Col frowned in confusion. “What’s that?”

  The human snorted. “Never mind. Keep your hands where I can see them. You,” he jerked his chin at Kasos, “hands up, and get over there and join your friend.”

  Kasos obeyed, scanning the deck for possible weapons. No hooks, spears, or axes. A pair of deck chairs and a small metal table that might make a half-decent bludgeon, but that was it. “Where is Councilor Liam?”

  The human gave a loud, derisive snort. “You are aware that I’m the one with the rather large gun, yes? You’re really not in a place to be asking any questions right now.”

  Kasos caught a flicker of something. “Fine. Can I tell you something, then?”

  The human grinned unpleasantly. “Go ahead.”

  The triton smiled back, equally humorless. “Did you know it’s possible to be disarmed?”

  ****

  Liam steeled himself, reaching deep inside for his true form. Changing back on dry land would hurt a great deal in any case, but doing it while he was bound with metal and leather cuffs would be excruciating. Considering the wounds on his cock and Whitfield’s threat to his balls, however, he had no other choice but to grit his teeth and bear it.