Page 11 of Sink With Me

According to the older gentleman who sat and chatted with me earlier, it’s nicer on the inside. Perhaps he’s right, but I couldn't care less to find out. I wish she wasn’t in there at all, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

My fingers twitch around the neck of the bottle, urging me to set it by my feet before I assault my stomach with the atrocity again. I oblige, letting the half-empty glass clink to the sun-cracked pavement below. I still need something to do with my hands to distract me from the blisters that are forming on my fuckin’ arse from the uncomfortable seating.

Pulling my knives from my pocket, I focus on chipping at the handle of one with the other, carving in languid shapes, replicating the art on my arm. Every so often, I glance at the second-story window that she passed by earlier. I should be satisfied. I know her name, and where she’s staying, but it’s not enough. I need to know what is going through her head.

The smell of copper and gun smoke fills my nose as I round the corner to see her. I didn’t expect to come face to face with the person who started raising havoc in my world.

With how good she is at her job, you would think she would be more aware of my presence, but she is too focused on the heap at her feet. I’m drawn to the way her shoulders are bunched; she’s still as a statue. Only years of training can make someone as sharp in stance as her.

It could be easy, just a few steps forward. A flip of my blade. But she catches me by surprise and next, it’s my blade in her hand.

Does death have a schedule? I feel the small trickle of liquid as it rolls down my neck, but I’m too intrigued. Too invested. I can’t bring myself to get out of this situation, even though she might kill me.

“Damn it Sharkie.” It’s quiet, full of static and it startles her enough to drop the knife.

“Who the fuck are you?” I ask the thought out loud. I’m kissing death, I’m making out with the fucker.

“Shut up.” She hisses. So many secrets lead to so many questions, but all I can focus on is how that lifeless body keeps fucking bleeding, distracting me from this mystery woman.

“You’re a Bay, aren’t you?”

That oddly muffled voice comes again saying something I can't hear, grating my nerves. Can’t the world take one moment and pause so I can listen to this woman talk? Her delicate smooth finger presses to my mouth, making the scruff on my chin tickle from where her palm brushes it. She shakes her head, never letting her eyes stray from mine. The longer I stare, the more I notice flecks of gray scattered in the deep blue depths. It’s not fear that has my heart slamming against my ribcage threatening to escape, it’s the sight before me.

A sight which disappears with a hard crack. But a name rings in my ears.

Sharkie.

I twist my knife the wrong way, hissing as I nick my finger and break my mind from its fog.

For once, the town is quiet. The black sky sparkles with stars, and a full moon is left to illuminate the dark blanket. That’s not the interesting thing though, what’s interesting is how Sharkie’s body is standing tall in the window frame, face red and eyes squinted from whatever woke her in a panic.

I stay glued to her every move. How her chest heaves, her bandage-wrapped palm pushing against it as if she’ll magically be able to reach in and slow her heart with her hand. Sweat streaks from her hairline to her brow, shimmering in the little light provided.

Were you dreaming of me, Sharkie?

Hopefully, I am the one haunting her nightmares. I tap the handle of the knife, willing my breathing to slow. I can see her, but she has no clue I’m here watching as she stands vulnerable, desperately pulling her sweat-soaked clothes off.

Shifting my seat, I don’t even notice how I stop tapping on my knife.

Her perfectly tanned skin comes into view, thin white scars adorn her toned abdomen wrapping over her ribs surely following a trail to her back. Her breasts sit high, and her waist curves to her hips in a mesmerizing hourglass shape. For walking destruction, she’s fuckin’ gorgeous. I raise my chin in vain hope it’ll allow me to see lower, but she turns and walks further back into the building out of my sight. Letting out a low growl, I roll my head to alleviate the tension that has formed in my shoulders, gripping my raging hard-on. Just blame it on the alcohol.

The vibrating in my pocket only adds to my chipper mood.

I forgot to call Sam and update him. That’s my fault, but the fact he’s just now calling back disappoints me in a way. What if my little shark bit me? Would he not even care enough to check? He also has the most impeccable timing. I pull in my bottom lip, biting through it in frustration but quickly breaking into a nasally laugh. It’s been too long since the sound has left me and it is shocking how it comes so easily. Pulling out my phone, I place it between my shoulder and ear to give my hands room to roam over the bruised knuckles.

“Sam?” I laugh through my greeting.

“What the fuck is that noise?” Sam booms back in shock, which only makes me stifle my chuckle, but the grin stays, dying as Cordelia steps back to the window now in an oversized shirt. Whose oversized shirt? It wouldn’t matter, I could fuck her with it on. Jesus, why is Sam talking again?

“Where’d you learn to laugh? Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice, but warn someone next time before you throw them into shock.” He’s killing himself and I feel transported to when I was surrounded by my friends and my father. It’s almost enough to make me forget the circumstances. Almost.

“What’re you callin’ for? I know it’s not to see if I’m dead. You would’ve done that sooner.” I wave my hand to the street, hailing a taxi, hoping she catches the motion. I need her to know I’m here. Yet her eyes stay void of emotion, stuck studying the dim lights that illuminate the top of buildings.

“We got a tip. Your little shark is swimming this way soon. For us, that is.”

I didn’t tell him that.

“How do you know?”

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