Ocean Kills (Ocean Breeze)

by Jade Hart

  2. I've never seen anything like your arrival yesterday. You were a walking cadaver. How did you lose so much weight? Where did that blood come from? So help the bastard who touched you. And yes, that is a threat.

  3. That girl you dropped off? She is currently on a detox program and we have managed to get a name out of her. Emily Snow. She’s from Melbourne, so you did right bringing her to us.

  Get in touch with me. Otherwise I’ll hunt you down like you do with those monsters you're messing with. I need to see you again.

  P.S. I have almost 170,000 Aussie dollars here in South African rand. I've taken custody of it. If you want it, come and get it.

  Callan.

  So many emotions fought for a place inside me. I shivered with waves of disbelief, amazement, gratitude, and an unwanted surge of lust. How could a man, who knew nothing about me, get me? How did he know I would respond to a challenge? Come and get it? Fuck, of course I would. That money was mine, fair and square. Or rather, it was bribery for Clark.

  This guy drove me nuts! How could I feel so connected to a stranger already?

  Letting my answer mellow, I responded to Maurice first.

  From: OBAnon@gmail.com

  Date: 12 July 2012

  Subject: Don't fret.

  I'm safe. Don't worry. If everything goes to plan tonight I’ll be home in fourteen hours. If I'm not, things have turned for the worse. You know whom I'm dealing with. You’ll know what to do.

  I love you.

  See you soon.

  To anyone else, that might be a heart attack-inducing email. But Maurice was a tough cookie. I tried to keep what I could from him, but this situation. . . well, it could go either way. I wasn't deluding myself that tonight might possibly kill me—either saving those girls, or by murdering Bazeer. However, I was wary of killing. The marks only seemed to bloom when I took a life. And I very much wanted to take a life tonight.

  Opening a new email, my fingers hovered over the screen. How did I go about this?

  From: OBAnon@gmail.com

  Date: 14 July 2012

  Subject: I'm not in trouble. You’re the one in trouble.

  Dear Mr. Bliss,

  I do not respond to threats. I am not yours to protect, and that money is rightfully mine. Where can I go to collect?

  You are not allowed to worry about my person, nor what I do with it. You are not my boss, or lover, and you do not have any power over me. Give me back my money, and we’ll call it even.

  Ocean Breeze.

  I pressed send before I could second guess myself, and went to turn off the Wi-Fi. Who knew if Atsu Bazeer monitored these emails?

  My instant messenger pinged. Callan.

  Where are you?

  My heart jerked and began an all-out sprint. Get a grip, Ocean. He's after you because you’re an anomaly and a killer. He wants to arrest you.

  I don't want to arrest you.

  Crap. How did he do that? Holding my breath, I typed, I want my cash.

  Come and get it.

  My lips curled at his audacity. I'm busy.

  Are you safe? What's going on?

  That was laughable. As if I was going to reply and say—yes, I'm working as a pimp to a sex trafficker in South Africa, and have to pay my way with my body and dignity.

  Biting my lip, I sent: Yes. Nothing.

  What are you doing with Atsu Bazeer? He's scum.

  None of your business.

  I called in a favor last night. Did the authorities intervene? A phone call was the best I could do.

  So it was him. Anger made me punch the keys. You'll get me killed. Stop it. He didn't need to know he actually saved me from a lot of misery last night. My fingers hovered, wanting to say thank you. But he might take that and run—thinking he could meddle in my affairs.

  No response for a minute. I liked to think he was pacing. Angry, frustrated. Served him right.

  Don't be stupid. Leave. Now.

  No.

  Are there more girls?

  Insightful, wasn't he? What was the harm in sharing? Yes. Four to go.

  Seriously, why was I telling him this? I should close the account before I got caught. Bazeer might have firewalls recording my every word.

  Will you kill him?

  Crap, that was direct. A tendril of respect rose for this cop intent on hunting me. I already told him the truth in the sushi restaurant; he most likely thought it was a practical joke, but I wasn't ready to put it in writing. That was evidence he could use to arrest me.

  Again. None of your business.

  Meet me. Tomorrow night. At my place in Bondi Beach.

  I'm not in Australia. Why was a smile plastered on my face?

  I know you can make it. Please?

  Hell, I should run from this man—bolt as fast as my legs could carry me. Not only was he the law, but he was the only one who caused my stomach to erupt into flames. My skin licked with life. How did he conjure such a strong reaction in me? My peacock-phoenix necklace swung as I leaned forward, almost as if it agreed that this man tugged me in a way no other had.

  Even though the thought of seeing him again intrigued me, I typed, No.

  If you don't make it, I’ll fly to Maurice Green's house in Manchester.

  The nerve! Someone needed to tell this man to stop being so pushy. Leave him out of this.

  No. Meet me or I'll pay a visit.

  I wanted to reach through the computer and strangle him. I huffed. Fine.

  Footsteps outside my door. I quickly deleted all history, wiping the Internet browser clean, and turned off the iPad as fast as possible. I threw it back in the dresser and lounged on the bed as if I were daydreaming.

  The door opened and Clark appeared. “You left the room this morning.” His tone was taut, face scrunched.

  “You were meant to lock it last night,” I muttered, sitting up. The sheen of sweat on his forehead showed me I was right. “It's okay. I didn't do anything. I went to have breakfast. That's all.”

  Clark eyed me. “You will begin teaching the girls. Follow me.” His body was tight, jerky. He better not be rethinking our deal.

  Before I voiced my concerns, he added, “You are to spend the afternoon with Mr. Bazeer.”

  My heart raced. How long did I have with the girls, then? “Why the afternoon? Bazeer said I was to be available every evening.” My voice was calm, but my hands pooled with liquid.

  Clark shook his head. “I do not ask. I only do as he commands.”

  Swallowing, I asked, “How long do I have with the girls?”

  Clark checked his wrist. “Six hours.”

  One more than last night; it might be enough. Correction. It would be enough. I followed silently as Clark led me down the stairs, to the back, and up the small staircase to the hidden part of the house. Handing me the master key, he gave me a conspiratorial look, then left. I headed straight to neighboring room where I’d found Emily Snow.

  Empty.

  The next one was empty, too.

  Each time I opened a door, my heart pounded in my ribcage, threatening to announce to anyone within hearing distance that I was up to no good.

  The last door in the row was occupied by a young woman, perhaps in her early twenties. She stepped out of the bathroom as I entered. Her gaunt face and fear-filled eyes made my arms die to hug her. I quickly shut the door behind me and smiled. “I'm Ocean.”

  Her face splintered into horror, holding up her arms in defense. “What do you want? Please, I'm still on my time of the month. Leave me be.” Terror blanched her voice.

  I bit my tongue; I wanted to kill men who treated women as possessions—raped them, degraded them. I wanted to taste their suffering, to extract payment from their blood.

  “I'm here to save you.”

  Her face contorted as her eyes filled with disbelief. She gasped, disappearing in the bathroom. Luckily, there was no lock. She couldn't get away. I turned the knob, but she pressed herself against it, barricading me.

  �
�What's your name?” I whispered. “Where are you from?”

  “What's it to you? You're one of them.” She spat the last word.

  My skin crawled at the comparison. “No, I'm nothing like them.” Something in my tone must have warmed her, because the door opened a fraction.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to take you home.” I stared into her golden eyes, so flat with life. Her skin was ashen, cheeks hollow. Did they feed her? Or did she refuse to eat?

  “Home? How?” A glimmer of hope shot across her face, then she stifled it. “I don't believe you. It's a trick.”

  I didn't have time for this. I pushed open the door and grabbed her hands. She gasped, trying to pull away. I hoped she could keep it together. I had to hurry; others needed saving. “Think of home. Think of your family. Think of safety.”

  “What? What are you—?”

  “Do it!” My power built, and I staggered against the girl. She squeaked, but it was too late. The porting power grabbed us around the middle, hurling us headlong into mind-melting speed. We travelled a fair distance before wisps solidified into buildings and school children ran around us.

  The woman blinked, brushing chestnut hair from her eyes. I should probably have made her change. Her white nightgown was hardly appropriate in such a high-traffic area.

  Where were we, anyway? My eyes were raw and too big for their sockets. My brain swelled with pressure, making me want to scream. I wished I could teleport without wanting to die.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God,” the woman cried. Spinning on the spot she grasped her head. “Oh my God!”

  Blinking away my agony, I asked, “Do you know this place?”

  We were in the middle of a school yard; students of all ages stopped to stare. Laughter and chatter hushed. The smell of squashed sandwiches and sweaty bodies drifted on the air. It was my cue to disappear, but I couldn't leave her if this was a mistake. Why were we in a school?

  I tugged the woman's nightdress, ignoring my shaking fingers. “Do you know this place or not?”

  Her attention switched from the plain 1980's school building back to me. “Yes. I substitute here. Or I did before I was taken.” A tear spilled down her cheek and her lip trembled.

  “Did they touch you?” My eyes bored into hers. I had to know, despite the hatred boiling in my blood.

  Her face froze and a blankness filled her expression. My soul shrank. “Yes.” She swiped away tears with an angry hand. “But I won't let them ruin my life. I won't give them the satisfaction of breaking me.”

  I couldn't help myself—I threw my arms around her.

  She hugged me back and her voice cracked. “I can never thank you enough for saving me. I don't know how, but you truly are heaven-sent.”

  This was a woman who’d lived through a nightmare. How could I heal her so she didn't live with the memories like I did? Was she stronger than me? For one brief moment I wanted her to heal me, not the other way around.

  The woman kissed my cheek. “I can see agony in your eyes. I hope you have someone to help you, as you’ve helped me.”

  A roar sounded in my ears as I thought of Maurice. He gave me the space I demanded, allowed me to fester in my memories, but against my will, I was drawn to another—someone who was bossy and under-handed. A small spark erupted in my heart—was my soul trying to heal?

  A voice called, “Suzie? Is that really you? Suzie?!”

  Suzie slouched. Tears came in a torrent. I needed to go. Whoever sprinted across the forecourt had a bond with this woman. A friend. I didn't understand the concept. Having a friend meant sharing secrets and fears, trials and tribulations. Who’d want to share my tribulations? What could I say? “By the way, I killed a bad guy?” Hardly friendship conversation.

  I popped away before anyone could study me, and reappeared in the room where I’d freed Suzie from.

  One down. Three to go. The room breathed in and out—the walls seemed to flex and shift, playing tricks on me as I fumbled for the door. A gush of warmth over my upper lip signaled a nosebleed. I needed to plan ahead. Next time, I’d stash some food in my pockets or carry a backpack full of tinned goods. I was useless without nourishment.

  My head was woozy as I tried the opposite door. A scent of feminine perfume lingered on the air, but it was empty. I crushed the thought that perhaps I was too late. My hands curled. I wanted to hit something. Kick something. Don't think about it.

  I couldn't think about it. It would shatter me. I had to remain strong.

  The next room filled my heart with relief. My legs threatened to slither me to the floor.

  I'd found her.

  Thembi was asleep, huddled around a pillow with her thumb in her mouth. Jet curls grazed the white linen, and little worry lines etched her forehead even in slumber. Thembi. . .

  I tiptoed to her and scooped her into my arms. She barely stirred; worry niggled. Please, please don’t let her be drugged.

  Calling my power, screaming internally, I transported both of us to the villa in New Zealand, directly into Ms. Jones’s lounge. I collapsed onto a white rug, cutting my knee on her coffee table.

  Hissing through my teeth, I never let go of Thembi. She jostled in my arms, but I managed to stop her head from splicing in two on the sharp edge of the table. My heart thundered irregularly. Nausea battered, willing me to throw up my large breakfast. I clamped my lips shut. Keep it together. You're stronger than this.

  Ms. Jones appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands, eyes wide as plates. When she saw what lay asleep in my arms, she gasped, “You did it! Oh my God, you did it!” Her lip wobbled and tears shone in her eyes. She took a step toward us, then turned and dashed back into the kitchen, returning with a glass of water and paper towel.

  I expected her to gather her newly adopted daughter. Instead, she brushed my sweaty forehead and touched the paper towel to my nose, soaking up my nosebleed. She put the glass of water on the coffee table and took my face in her hands. “I can never thank you enough. You’re an angel. I’ll be forever in your debt.”

  She reached for her child. I handed Thembi over, smiling at the wide-eyed love on Ms. Jones's face. Gratitude rolled off the woman—it was better payment than I could've ever asked for. Thembi would have a happy life with her.

  A tear defied my iron will as Ms. Jones kissed her daughter's forehead.

  I sculled the water and wiped my lips. I snagged a handful of biscuits sitting on the coffee table, stuffing them in my mouth. Anzac cookies.

  Ms. Jones sat on the sofa, rocking Thembi. The tenderness in her eyes overwhelmed me. I was jealous. I wanted someone to look at me like that. I wanted my mother. What a funny thing to think. The pain messed with me more than I realized.

  Taking a deep breath, I stood and gave her a tired smile. “I know you'll have some explaining to do when she wakes, but she's in safe hands. And don't worry, I don't believe she was touched.”

  Ms. Jones nodded, unable to look away from the little girl zonked in her lap. It was my cue to leave.

  The air shifted in the room as I called the agony. Damn this gift. This curse. This power that ruled my life. While I possessed this power I had to do what I did: kill the monsters and save the innocent. But it drained me beyond belief.

  As the room dissolved, Ms. Jones blew me a kiss. “Thank you.”

  That was worth everything. I wished I could’ve shared my money with her. To give her the cash Bazeer paid me to corrupt those young girls. But Callan had my money. Tonight. I would get it back tonight.

  If I survived.

  The sex house appeared around me and I crashed to the floor. My veins oozed with darkness. Faintness rushed into my eyes and ears. I shook my head, fingers clawing the carpet. Do. Not. Pass. Out. You can do this. Keep going.

  Swallowing my moan, I hobbled from Thembi's room. My vision was hazy, throat dry as death. My hands shook so much it took a few attempts to open the next room.

  Empty.

  The next: empty.

&n
bsp; The next two: empty.

  Stagnant air welcomed me each time, granting moments of relief. It had been a while since inhabitants resided there.

  The second-to-last door held my next task. Another set of twins. These two were ice blonde and as stunning as a pair of porcelain dolls. Turquoise eyes blazed as I clicked the door closed behind me.

  Something in their demeanor set my teeth on edge. They clutched each other, fear causing a sheen of sweat to cover their dainty foreheads. Something wasn't right.

  The bathroom door opened; both girls screeched in fear.

  Shit.

  Atsu Bazeer appeared with Clark. The look on Bazeer's face could have frozen over Hawaii. “You are a walking dead woman. You will pay for stealing my girls!” His hand lashed from behind his leg with a whip. Instead of one tip it had multiple. An old fashioned cat-o’-nine-tails.

  Clark swallowed, looking positively green. A bruise smudged his eye and there were shadows on his chin. At least he didn't give me up willingly. For that, I’d keep my promise and pay him—when I came back to kill the scum-bag Bazeer.

  I snarled, “You’re the dregs of the earth. How dare you sell these girls into slavery? You're a monster and you will pay!”

  Bazeer had the nerve to laugh. His white teeth gleamed against his black skin. His close shaved hair glinted in the light. “Oh, someone will pay, but it won't be me.”

  He lashed out with the whip; the tips bit into my face. Barbs of metal sliced my flesh, and streamers of hot blood blinded me. Funny enough, there was no pain. Adrenaline took over, numbing the injury. Fuck, he was fast. My wits were dull from porting.

  Run! I bolted from the room.

  He chased me. The whip sliced my back. The strike ripped a scream from my throat. Heat. Burning. Slicing.

  I needed to get out of here. I summoned my power. Jump. Port. Move!

  It didn't work like that. I couldn't just command to pop from the room in an instant. After the rescue with Thembi, I was depleted. Even with my handful of cookies. It was an effort to call the power—it needed to percolate, to build, to pressure—to reach a crescendo large enough to hurl me through time and distance.