Shine: Season One (Shine Season Book 1)

by William Bernhardt

  He licked his lips, then smacked his mouth closed. Gross.

  “I could get you some hot chocolate, too. But you’ll have to ask nice.”

  I held my breath, hoping he’d go away soon.

  “You like hot chocolate, don’t you?”

  Go away, freak.

  “You don’t talk much. Are you always this quiet?”

  He loomed closer. That breath was something else. Like rotting garbage and raw sewage.

  He brushed a strand of hair away from my face. I scooted back. He grinned, as if knowing he’d made me uncomfortable gave him pleasure.

  “Do you need more rest?”

  “No,” I whispered, my voice shakier than I thought.

  He sat beside me. Staring.

  I kept my legs close to my body with my skirt covering my thighs. I still felt exposed.

  “Memphis says you’ve got an interesting Shine ability.”

  “Go away.”

  “Will you show me sometime?”

  “Go. Away.”

  “I don’t really feel like it.” He inched closer. His eyes wandered over me. His heart rate shot up. Sometimes I hate my Shine.

  I refused to look at him. The cot squeaked as I pulled my knees to my chest.

  When his finger brushed against my thigh, I lashed out with the only weapon I had left. I head-butted him.

  I regretted it.

  My skull banged into his nose, sending fresh waves of stars through my vision.

  “Ouch,” he whined. “Why’d you do that?”

  “I told you to leave me alone.”

  His eyes turned livid with rage. “You flickin’—”

  “Chains.” Tattoos interrupted him. He stood over us. “Get away from her.”

  “I was just saying hello.”

  “Get away.”

  Chains scrambled back with his hands held to his face. Blood seeped from his fingers. He gave me one last glare, then staggered out of the room as the floor rocked beneath him.

  “Did he hurt you?” Tattoos asked me.

  “No.”

  He squatted next to me and pulled out his knife. I flinched back as he thrust it at me. “Relax,” he said. He gripped the ropes binding my wrists. His fingers felt warm, and gentler than I expected as he severed the ropes on my hands and ankles.

  I flexed my fingers and stretched my legs. My muscles felt like lead. My head felt worse.

  “You’re bleeding,” he said.

  “It’s a head wound. They always bleed.” I glanced up at him. I’d never gotten a good look at him before. Everything about him reminded me of a panther. His black turtleneck and dark jeans conformed to his lean, predatory frame. He had an angular face with a strong jaw-line, and thick lips that somehow made him look more masculine.

  I’d never heard a heartbeat like his. The more I listened to it, the more I doubted that it was a murmur. The sound was a steady thump, followed with a whisper, a sound that I found strangely calming.

  His eyes were the color of dark chocolate. I saw danger in his eyes, and something else, something that made him look desperate.

  “Where’s Naomi?” I asked.

  “I left her in Central Park. No clue where she is now.”

  “Did you hurt her?”

  “Not any more than I hurt you.”

  A jackhammer chipped at my skull. “That doesn’t mean much.”

  He rocked back on his heels as the ship rolled beneath us.

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked.

  “A Shine facility off the coast.”

  “Why not just take me in a choppercar?”

  “No one will fly in this weather. The guys got anxious.”

  “They decided a clipper ship was their safer bet?”

  “This was the only boat not locked up. Besides, Slash wanted a chance to use his sailing permit.”

  I stretched my legs. “Razor.”

  “We won’t hurt you if that’s what you’re worried about. Someday you’ll realize I’ve helped you.”

  “Taking me away from my family is not helping me.”

  “I’m surprised you say that.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought after Seattle all Shines would seek help. You could destroy New York with powers like yours.”

  “I wouldn’t have hurt anyone.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” I crossed my arms. Did he really think he was helping me by kidnapping me and taking me away from my life? From my family?

  “Bathroom’s over there.” He nodded to the far wall where I saw a warped, plywood door. “Gauze and alcohol is under the sink. Might want to clean up that head wound.”

  “Are you trying to make me feel better? Because it’s not working.”

  He crossed his arms, displaying his tattoos. Lines of script in a slanted, strange-looking language wrapped his arms. Arabic, maybe?

  Another guy entered the room. He carried a bowl and placed it on the table. With the knives tucked into his boots and pockets, I recognized him as one of the guys from the fight.

  “He’s called Slash.” Tattoos nodded at his friend. “My name is Memphis. The guy who just left is called Chains.”

  “And who’s the other guy?” I asked. “Creeps?”

  Slash eyed me.

  “Other guy?” Tattoos asked.

  “There are four guys on board. Who’s the last one?”

  Tattoos looked at me as if I’d lost it. “Eat,” he said. “And don’t try anything stupid like starving yourself.”

  I wouldn’t. I needed all the strength I could get. And why was he avoiding my question? Who was the other guy on board?

  Slash wandered over to us. He moved like a soldier, stiff and on the alert. He looked like one too, with his hair cropped short. He could have been attractive with his dark skin and muscled frame, but his scowl managed to make him look pissy. His eyes widened as he stared at my exposed wrists and ankles. “You let her go?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hombre, why? That’s a stupid move.”

  Tattoos met his friend’s gaze. “Where is she gonna go? The ocean? There’s a flickin’ tsunami brewing out there. She’d last three seconds in that water. Stop second guessing me.”

  “Someone has to.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re not the leader here.”

  “Someone should be.”

  Slash pulled a knife from his jacket. At first I thought he meant to fight with it, but he flipped it from end to end instead. He looked at me and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t let this guy get under your skin. Natch?”

  He left without another word.

  I eyed Tattoos.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Can’t get along with the troops, Tats?”

  “My name is Memphis.”

  “I know.”

  He crossed his arms. “Are you this bitchy to everyone?”

  “No, just you.”

  He shot me an angry stare, then marched out of the room. So Tats didn’t like his nickname and the guys couldn’t get along. I stored the information for later. Maybe I’d be able to exploit it. Waves smashed into the ship’s hull as I climbed to my feet.

  The ship rocked beneath me, but it was nothing compared to the dizziness spinning through my head. I grabbed the doorframe and stumbled inside the bathroom.

  Cleanliness didn’t seem to be a priority around here. The toilet seat was up. I lowered it with my foot, not wanting my skin to touch the germ-ridden porcelain. After doing my business and washing my hands, I stared into the mirror.

  A gash split my forehead where I’d head-butted Chains. I found the rubbing alcohol and cleaned it, thankful that the cut wasn’t too deep.

  I wished I had a toothbrush. A shower would be nice. But I’d sacrifice any of it to go home.

  I had to get back. My sister needed me. I should be there right now. Nanny Gorda didn’t know how to run a house. What if she forgot to give Katelyn her meds?<
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  My muscles tensed.

  Katelyn couldn’t afford another relapse. Her body had been through enough already. If only I could find a phone. Or even better, a way off this boat.

  But Tats had promised not to hurt Naomi as long as I didn’t escape.

  I sighed. I couldn’t break my promise. I’d have to find another way.

  I staggered out of the bathroom and found the bowl Slash had left on the table. I sat on the chair and stared at the bowl. Gray oatmeal stared back. I grabbed the spoon, tried to stir it, but it wouldn’t budge. The stuff looked petrified.

  Holding my breath, I shoved in a bite. Tasteless paste coated my tongue. I swallowed before I choked. I shoveled in a few more bites. Starving myself may not have been a bad idea after all. But I’d need all the energy I could get, even if it came in the form of prehistoric oatmeal.

  I mulled over the conversation I’d had with Tats. Why had he avoided my question about the fourth person onboard? Did they have another prisoner? Or maybe he didn’t know about the fourth person. Could there be a stowaway?

  What if Naomi had snuck on board in a rescue attempt? If so, she needed to make an appearance soon.

  Then again, Tats didn’t seem like the sort of guy to let a stowaway get past him.

  Anger boiled inside as I contemplated my situation. The Revens had torn my life away without hesitation. They were depraved, immoral animals. Tats hadn’t hesitated before trying to kill Naomi. If I hadn’t stepped in, she’d be dead.

  My parents. My sister. Would I ever see them again?

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. I’d never thought I would miss my parents so much. Even Dad. We’d grown distant in the past few years. I blamed it on his job, but honestly, there was more to it. I’d hit puberty. I’d stopped playing with my Barbies, started wearing bras. I wasn’t his little girl anymore. I never would be.

  Although we hadn’t expressed our feelings for each other in years, I still wanted to hug him. I wanted to tell him that I missed him, that I loved him. Did he love me, too? I knew he did. Everyone knows that fathers—at least the majority of them—love their daughters. But knowing he loved me wasn’t the same as believing that he loved me. And now I might never have a chance to find out.

  Tears formed in my eyes, but I bit back my sadness and let my thoughts turn to anger.

  I couldn’t let the Revens get away with this.

  I finished the last bite of fossilized oatmeal, and then stood. The ship rolled beneath me. The cluttered, stuffy space suffocated me. I had to get away from this room, and away from my thoughts. I needed fresh air. I steadied my footing, trying to keep my balance. I held on to the wooden crates as I stumbled to the doorway.

  I staggered outside and found a narrow hall. Straight ahead I saw the wheelhouse. Slash sat at the wheel.

  A wave crashed into the ship.

  My feet tried to slip, but I caught the doorframe and held on. Slash cursed and caught the wheel.

  Razor. Maybe the ship would sink and I could finally get my chance to escape.

  I took the doorway to my left and found a set of wooden steps leading to an overhead hatch. Smells of wood rosin and sea salt drifted through the air. I wondered what the weather was like outside. Nasty, I supposed. I pulled my hood low over my face.

  Pushing open the hatch wasn’t as easy as it seemed. It took me three tries to pop it open. The hatch sprang open with a loud click. Sea spray stung my exposed skin as I climbed out.

  I grabbed a brass handhold and clambered onto the clipper’s deck. Tall masts soared overhead. The sails were tied to the masts. Little pieces of fabric managed to escape the ropes and ripple in the stiff wind.

  Portholes dotted the deck among the stacks of looped ropes. I stumbled for the edge, holding on to the rope as I went.

  I searched the deck. My feet slipped over the wet wood, but I kept my footing. I made my way to the edge and grabbed the railing.

  The sea raged.

  It echoed the anger I felt inside. I closed my eyes, letting the sounds of the ocean wash over me. Sea spray bathed my face. Salt water moistened my lips.

  I don’t know why, but the roiling waves and churning sea foam calmed me. It almost felt cathartic.

  I’d lived my entire life on an island, yet I’d never known how invigorating the ocean could be. Someday, if I ever got out of this, I might take up sailing.

  “Nippy out, isn’t it?”

  I almost jumped out of my skin.

  Tats stood behind me. If he saw my shock he didn’t let it show. His face remained emotionless as he stood beside me. How did he do that? This was the second time he’d snuck up on me. His ability for stealth unnerved me.

  “What are you doing out here?” I asked, trying to hide the breathlessness in my voice.

  “Same thing as you, I guess.” He stared out at the dark ocean. Lights from our skiff reflected off the whitecaps.

  Every time I looked at Tats I felt more homesick. I wanted to go home. I’d been gone a couple hours and it seemed like years.

  He threaded his fingers together as he leaned over the rail. The muscles in his arms flexed, drawing my eyes to his inked skin.

  The unfamiliar, slanted script wrapped his arms from his wrists to his elbows. Curiosity got the better of me.

  “What does it say?” I pointed at the tattoos.

  His eyes remained on the ocean. His heart beat with a slow drum. I barely heard it over the wind.

  “It’s a poem,” he answered after a pause.

  “Poem?” Funny, he didn’t seem the poet type.

  “About the fall of Alexandria. There were these two lovers, one who lived in Memphis, the other in Alexandria. They fall in love, but in the end, they both die while Alexandria burns to the ground.”

  A huge wave crashed near our ship. The boat tilted and I tightened my grip on the metal railing. We stared over the ocean, not speaking. I couldn’t take my eyes off the waves. I had the insane urge to leap out and try to swim to shore.

  He traced his finger along his arm. His voice sounded distant as he recited the poem. “Gathering armies approach the tide/Never hidden/Fair Alexandria/Once a beautiful land/Forever she burns.”

  “Let me guess, your mom has a tattoo that matches?”

  He frowned. “My parents are dead.”

  His heart rate increased.

  I’d found a sore subject.

  Could I exploit it? He had kidnapped me, after all. He more than deserved it. But bringing up the subject of one’s dead parents seemed wrong on all sorts of levels. I couldn’t do that to him, no matter how much I loathed him.

  “How did they die?” I asked.

  “Drowned.”

  “I’m sorry.” I never knew what to say in situations like this.

  “It’s okay. Everyone dies eventually, right?” His words almost masked the pain in his voice.

  “How long ago?” I asked.

  “Seven years. We were in New Orleans during the hurricane. They would’ve evacuated, but my brother was in the hospital and they couldn’t move him. So we stayed. We were in his room when it hit. I’d never seen water fill a place so fast. My brother and I got out, but they weren’t so lucky. They found the bodies three days later.”

  “At least you and your brother got out.”

  “Yeah.” His voice sounded cheerless.

  “How old is your brother?” I asked.

  “He was twelve. He’s dead now.”

  This conversation kept getting worse. “Him, too?”

  “Like I said, everyone dies.”

  The sea boiled beneath us. Frothing bubbles flecked the surface. He stared over the ocean with an emotionless face. But I heard the sadness in his heartbeats, each thump a painful reminder of the family he’d lost.

  Should I feel sorry for him? He knew what death was and still he’d almost killed Naomi. He could’ve killed me. He seemed more of a monster, not less. Then why did I still feel sorry for him?

  “My sister’s sick,” I blurted
. Why was I telling him? “She’s ten. They diagnosed her with leukemia. She’s been in and out of the hospital for a couple years. It’s hard, you know, seeing her going through that and not able to help.”

  “Yeah,” he answered. Somehow, I realized he understood. Really understood. Not many people do.

  “Katelyn’s sweet. She’s funny. And a drama queen sometimes. She wants to be grown up and it frustrates her that she isn’t. She wants to live a normal life—to be prom queen and a teenager and go to the mall with her friends, everything I can do and she can’t.

  “I can’t let her go. I’ll never be the same without her.” I heard my voice crack. It was hard to describe in words how empty I felt when I thought of my sister’s death. She would die. We all knew it, though no one spoke of it.

  I couldn’t handle it. I refused to see my sister’s body in a coffin. The thought of it killed me inside.

  “It gets easier,” he said. “After time, you forget the sadness, the anger, and realize you have something they don’t. You have life. You have to live so someone will remember them.”

  I nodded, not able to speak past the lump in my throat.

  The storm wailed—the sound of a thousand voices. It whistled through my ears.

  “Prom queen, huh?” he asked.

  Here we go. That stupid title would haunt me no matter where I went. But I couldn’t avoid it now. I tugged at my skirt. “Couldn’t you tell?”

  “I could, actually. You’ve got an advantage—you’re a senator’s daughter—and you have that flighty, spoiled, popular girl look.”

  My throat tightened. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re wrong about me.”

  “Am I?” He faced me. “I’ll bet you’ve never been without money. You have no idea what the rest of the world goes through as you go to your private yoga lessons and take vacations to Paris or Dubai or wherever it is people like you go on vacations.”

  I wanted to hit him. No, I wanted to kill him. “Don’t say that,” I repeated with steel in my voice.

  “Why not?”

  I couldn’t answer. He was wrong, but I didn’t know how to tell him.

  He eyed me. “Why do you think you got elected prom queen? It’s because you have status, you’re cute, and you have money. Those are the only things that matter to people anymore.”

  “That’s not true. Being prom queen doesn’t make me spoiled.”