by Teagan Kade
I sit down opposite him at the table. “She’s kidding about the afternoon rush, isn’t she?.”
“She was, but she sure as shit wasn’t kidding about the ten bucks an hour.”
“How’d you know that?”
He lifts the tumbler to his lips, the amber liquid tilting in the glass. “Word travels fast around here.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“If you’re a moron, sure.”
I stand. “You’re calling me a moron?”
“What are you going to do about it?”
I lean over the table and punch him as hard as I can in the shoulder.
He doesn’t move an inch.
“I know pensioners who punch harder than that.”
I punch him again, this time in the chest. The guy’s like a rock. I sit back down and cradle my hand. “Ouch.”
He places the tumbler down. “Prepare to make that word a major part of your vocabulary, Hollywood.”
“Why?” I question.
His eyes light up. “Because tomorrow we start training for real.”
*
Another day, another date with Deacon the Terrible.
I look down into the pool. I’m not quite sure, but I think there’s a giant rock at the bottom of it. “What the hell is that?”
“Your new best friend,” he says, right before he pushes me in.
The ocean’s cold, sure, but the water in this backyard pool is beyond freezing even with a wetsuit.
I burst from the surface shivering. “You asshole!”
He jumps in beside me smiling.
I wipe water from eyes. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”
The smugness covers his face completely. Do I detect the hint of a smile there? “More than I thought I would. You okay?”
A real asshole wouldn’t ask.
“Fine,” I mutter, treading water. The pool’s a lot deeper than I thought.
“You’re going to dive down there, pick up that rock and carry it to the end of the pool.”
“Underwater?”
He laughs. “You can try it on land if you like, but that fucker’s a lot heavier out of the water than in it. Trust me.”
“And what, pray tell, is the purpose of all this?”
“Once you can carry that rock from one end to the other and back again without surfacing for a breath, you’re ready for Shipstern again.”
I lift my eyebrows. “As I overheard an Aussie say, piece of piss, mate.”
I dive under and kick to the bottom, trying to pick up the rock but finding my feet floating away from me every time back to the surface. Defeated, I rise to the top.
Deacon tosses something towards me. I catch it. It’s a weight belt. “You might need this.”
I attach the belt and dive again, the belt allows me to stand on the bottom of the pool and get into a squatting position. Picking up the rock isn’t easy. It’s the size of a watermelon, though far more ugly. I cradle it and start walking, but I haven’t even made it five feet before I have to surface again to Deacon’s smug fucking face.
“Not so easy, is it, Goldilocks?”
No, damn you. I’m doing this.
I dive again, maybe make it another foot before I come up with lungs burning, arms heavy already.
Given my recent run-in with death, perhaps this isn’t the best idea, but I’m not about to let this guy get the better of me.
“Fun, isn’t it?” he taunts. “Ready for the next game?”
“Game?”
“Sure. We both go down and you try to get away from me. Simple, right?”
I look at Deacon’s muscles bulging underneath his wetsuit. Whatever he has planned, I doubt it’s going to be easy.
I drop the belt and count. “One, two, three.”
We both dive down together. Once we’re at the bottom Deacon takes hold of my arms and starts to wrestle me.
What the fuck is he doing?
We roll together. I try to pull away, but his grip doesn’t ease up. We tumble and thrash. I twist, try to gain some leverage, but he’s strong—real strong.
Almost sixty seconds in and I’m starting to panic, Deacon’s stony face giving nothing away.
Finally, he lets go and I kick to the surface. He breaks through next to me.
I splash water at him. “What the hell was that all about?”
“All the big-wave surfers use it for training to simulate what it’s like when you wipe out, being tossed and turned over and over, the wave refusing to let you go.”
“So you’re playing the wave?”
He laughs. “Baby, I’m nothing compared to the Stern—lightweight. You should know better than anyone that once you get pounded up there at the Bluff you’ve got to remain calm for maybe a whole set—three, four minutes. You surface, you get thrown down again, over and over. You’re got to be ready for it, disorientated, the world black and null, no way to work out if you’re up or down, no light. That is what this is all about.”
I take a deep breath and prepare to dive again. Fucking great.
CHAPTER FOUR
DEACON
“This one. Go!”
I watch as Lux paddles into the wave. She disappears from sight with a whoop, the blast of the barrel closing out following shortly after. That’ll teach you.
We’re at Little Stern, a small break around the corner from the Bluff and largely protected from the bigger swell. Still, it’ll bite if you don’t know what you’re doing.
I head into the wash expecting to find her flailing, but she’s already back on her board paddling to the lineup. “You okay?”
She flicks her hair back. Sexy doesn’t even begin to describe it. “Fine. Needed a good tumble.”
I watch the back, the next set coming through. I point. “The sets at Shipstern come every sixty seconds in a good swell. You’ve got to be ready, wait until the end of the set to go unless you want to be pounded by every fucking wave when you wipe out.”
She nods, sitting on her board beside me, her chest rising and falling, breasts lifting with each breath.
I see a solid right-hander loom up and turn, lying down on my board, starting to paddle. “Watch and learn.”
I paddle harder, feel the welcome pull of the wave building behind me, a mountain of water that wants nothing more than to beat me down to the bottom and never let me go. I lied to Lux. I live to conquer waves, to dominate them completely. If you can master something as mental as Shipstern, you can take on anything. Fear’s a choice, simple as that.
I drop in. It’s steep, stepped, but I pull to the trough easy and rise back up, stalling to tuck into the barrel. I get nice and deep inside it before it spits me out over the back. I land on my board and paddle back to the lineup, the smile on Lux’s face says it all. Razor’s cheering from further down the line.
I brush the water from my hair. “That is how it’s fucking done.”
I look back, spot Bo paddling in. I almost miss it at first, but when I look closer, I’m sure. The glint of light comes again from up on the ridge. I look again and I’m certain.
Someone’s watching us.
*
Lux passes by me in the kitchen smelling soapy and sudsy, floral undertones like always. It’s the kind of cock-stiffening smell I’ve been missing. I can only imagine what her pussy must be like, how it would feel to slide my finger inside her, my tongue, feel it close around me hot and wet.
She scrunches her face up at me, swiping her jacket from the table. “You alright? You look like you’re having a stroke.”
I snap out of it, straightening up and pressing myself against the cupboards. Any harder and my cock’s going to leave a fucking dent in the door. “I’ll come by at closing, walk you home.” I’m not taking any chances after what I saw down at the beach this morning.
“I don’t need a chaperone.”
“I’m not giving you a choice.”
“Fine,” she waves, “but don’t expect any free drinks”.
&
nbsp; How about a free blowjob? “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The front door closes and Razor comes out of his room holding his boys. I swear to god his hand is permanently attached to his crotch. “That Lux?”
“Going to work, yeah.”
“Fuck, man. Have you seen the sawn-off Sarah keeps under the counter? That woman scares the shit out of me.”
“‘Woman’ is being a bit liberal, isn’t it?” calls Bo from the sofa.
I wipe down the bench. “There was someone watching us at Little Stern.”
Bo kneels up on the sofa, hands over the back. “What do you mean ‘watching us’?”
“I saw them up in the scrub—binoculars, maybe a scope. It was hard to tell.”
Razor sits down, lifts his shoulders. “Could have been fucking anyone, man. Maybe it was Mrs. McLoughlin down the road trying to catch a glimpse of your Loch Ness monster.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so.”
Razor pushes the salt shaker between his hands. “Come on, bro. You’re being paranoid. No one knows to look for us out here. We’re a million miles away.”
I’m not convinced. “Weapons check, right now.”
Razor rolls his eyes. “The Bachelorette is on in five minutes, man. It’s like the only damn show we get out here.”
“So you better be quick.”
He throws his hands up. “Fuck. Fine.”
We head to the laundry together. I push the washing machine aside and remove the false panel from the floor, pulling out the duffle bag we’ve had stashed here since we arrived. We haven’t had to use it… yet, but it doesn’t mean the day won’t come. Better to be prepared than dead.
I carefully place the bag on the floor and unzip it, pulling out each weapon and passing it up. Razor and Bo check over them in turn, examine the action and bolts, make sure they’re good to go.
It wasn’t easy to get guns over here. It’s not like the States where you can walk into Walmart and grab yourself a .22. The laws here are tight.
I take out a shotgun and snap it in half, eyeing down the barrels. “Ammo?”
Bo reaches down and stacks up the boxes. “A hundred shells, give or take, plenty for the semis.”
I take the shotgun off my shoulder and line it up out the window, the cold barrel reassuring against the side of my face. They might come, yes, but I’m ready to protect my family at all costs, even if it means my life.
I place the shotgun back into the bag, collect the other weapons and zip the duffle bag up. With the panel and washing machine in place, you’d never know they were there. I brush my hands together. “For all our sakes, let’s hope I’m wrong.”
Razor leans against the wall. “We are staying, right?”
I exhale. “For now.”
“For now?” says Bo. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? We’re finally onto something good here. I mean, yeah, the town might be a little pussy starved, but come on. The beer’s cold, the waves are killer—What more do you want?”
“It’s not a case of the beer or the surf, or pussy. This is about our safety. If those fuckers get wind we’re here… It doesn’t matter how they find out. We’ve got to go.”
Bo’s shaking his head from the floor. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”
Razor pokes me in the chest, ungrateful bastard. “Why do you always have to go and fuck things up, huh?”
I shove him back. “And where would you rather be? Back in the States, hunted down like animals, dead with your fucking head cut off?”
He shoves me back. “This wasn’t our problem to begin with. The whole reason we’re over here is because you fucked up.”
I lean against the washing machine. “I had no choice. I did what I thought was right for this family. I do what I always do.”
“And what’s that?” laughs Razor.
“Look out for you two, though I’ve got to say I question why sometimes.”
Things go quiet, the anger dissipating.
Razor pushes himself off the wall. “So, what now?”
“We find out who’s watching us and why. Let’s fucking hope it is Mrs. McLoughlin and we can forget about all this.”
But I’ve got a funny feeling it’s not about to blow over so quickly. The last fucking thing I want is to put Lux in the middle of it.
*
The usual suspects are in the pub placing bets or downing cheap beer. I don’t think the pool table’s seen use since the first World War, the slot machine in the back is a different story.
Lux waves to me from the bar, Sarah looking less happy to see me.
“Big night?” I offer.
Sarah spits to the floor. Charming as always. “You want anything?”
I lean on the bar. “Just your waitress here.”
“She doesn’t date dropkicks.”
“I suppose it’s just as well I’m an upstanding gentleman then, isn’t it?”
Sarah goes off rolling her eyes.
Lux places the glass she was drying away. “You’d think the only pub in twenty miles would be swarming, wouldn’t you?” She gestures to the four or five pensioners gathered around the TV, football or some such showing. “Not exactly the body-shot brigade, is it?”
I wink. “There’s action in this town if you know where to look.”
She laughs. “I get more than enough action out on the water, thank you.”
She nods her head towards the corner where a man is sitting facing us, most of him in shadow. “Friend of yours?”
I look a little closer, the guy reaching for his beer and bringing it to his mouth. He’s got ink on his neck, lots of work. “Can’t say I’ve seen him before.”
“Maybe he’s just passing through?”
I turn back to Lux. “This place is a dead end. No one ‘passes through’. Maybe I should have a little chat with our friend.”
She reaches out and grabs my arm. “Don’t do anything stupid, please. I need this job.”
“I’m not asking you to pay board.”
“Please,” she repeats, those baby blues impossible to ignore.
I pull my arm away. “Don’t worry. I’m just going over for a friendly talk. Where’s the harm in that?”
Her eyes tell me she’s unconvinced, but this is more important.
I make my way over to the booth. Whoever he is, he doesn’t seem to mind. He sees me coming and continues to drink his beer.
I take a seat. “How’s it going?”
“Good, mate. Yourself?” He’s Australian. His jacket collar’s not covering his neck tatt completely. It a shoddy rendition of a crown of thorns, the kind of half-ass ink you’d get inside.
“Passing through?” I question.
He licks his teeth. “Bit of a holiday, you know how it is.”
I keep my eyes locked on his. “No one comes here for a holiday. What’s your business?”
He doesn’t break eye contact. “What’s it to you? You the fucking fun police?”
I should jam a glass into the side of his neck now and be done with it. I can’t see this ending any other way. “You should be careful who you talk to like that.”
He laughs. “This is a free country, mate. I just want to sit here and drink my beer. If you have a problem with that, perhaps we better take this outside.”
I could take this clown, but I see the way Lux eyes us from the bar. Besides, I don’t know if I’m in the mood for spilling blood tonight. Maybe this guy really is what he says, simply checking out the sights.
Maybe not.
I bring my hands together on the table. “Okay, mate, but we don’t take kindly to trouble ’round these parts. Am I making myself clear?”
He nods, but it’s like he’s chewing on acid while he does it.
I stand. “Enjoy your drink.”
I see Razor and Bo come in, both of them taking a seat at our usual table in the middle.
Razor leans over when I sit down. “What the fuck was that all about?”
“Ju
st being friendly.”
Bo laughs. “You, friendly? Fuck, I’ve met tiger sharks friendlier than you. Who is he?”
“Bad fucking news.”
“You’re damn right about that.”
I look up to find Sergeant Wilson staring down at us, the sole protector of this fine outpost.
Bo raises his glass. “Sergeant, what brings you to the drinking hole this time of night?”
The sergeant pulls over a seat from the table behind us and sits down, arms hanging over the back of it, legs straddling the sides. He taps the side of his nose. “You know, I’ve always had a highly developed sense of smell, boys. You know what I’m smelling now?”
I can’t resist. “A rhetorical question, constable?”
I know calling him the lower rank of constable shits him, but I can’t resist fucking with authority, especially a small-town cop with nothing better to do than harasses its newest inhabitants.
The sergeant bites his lips, runs a thumb across his jaw. “This town was quiet before you three stooges showed up. Fuckin’ Americans, always showing up thinking they’re saving the world.” He talks directly to me. “No one needs saving here, mate.”
“You sure?” I query.
He takes out his baton, taps it against the side of the table. Most people are intimidated by us, but ol’ Bill doesn’t seem fazed. Maybe he just doesn’t care. “If I had it my way, you’d all be long gone, shipped back to Uncle Sam with a ‘return to sender’ slammed on your ass.”
Bo leans across so they’re inches apart. “But you don’t have it your way, do you?”
The sergeant sniggers, teeth running across his lip like he’s sawing through a log. “Not yet, but give it time. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that A-grade assholes like you always slip up eventually. I’ll be there when you do, with that nice cold cell you’ve come to love. Fuck it, I’ll even throw in an extra blanket. How does that sound?”
“Sounds like you better leave,” adds Razor, tightening beside me.
The sergeant stands and nods, tucking his baton back into his belt. “Gentlemen.”
We watch him walk out, Sarah eyeing us from the corner.
It strikes me we may have to be a little more careful with the local constabulary. The last thing we need is an over-enthusiastic cop putting questions to his pals in the big smoke.