Page 28 of Sink With Me

“MOE! MOE! Fucking get over here, NOW!”

His actions too slow, I find my hand slamming into his chest, stopping him from going any further. I need an explanation for what is happening. There’s never chaos in my base, but this fucking shark brings blood into my water and suddenly, all my fish are sent into a fury.

“Moe?” I ask, without taking my eyes from Sam, whose nostrils are flared and bleeding, his breaths uneven and full of pure rage.

“Sam pulled me out.” He mumbles, his head down with eyes focused on the body lying behind me. My shoulders go stiff, as I realize that this is my fault. This was technically his first mission, Moe was so fucking proud of himself. But it was me who forgot to inform Sam. I’m unsure if I should be grateful she tried to defend Moe or if I should be fucking furious Sam believed, even for a second, that he could lay a finger on my brother.

“You did good, just go and get me the wrap, please.” I whisper, hoping he can hear me while my eyes stay locked on hers. “Moe.”

The sternness in my voice rips his eyes away from hers and he runs down the hallway. When he’s out of sight I slowly lower my arm. “You ever think you can go for my brother like that again, you will have more than just a broken nose.” I don’t even look at him, it’s my turn to watch her. “Get out of my sight.” I snarl.

Holding my chest, I tap my fingertips on myself for a moment before I turn, carefully, not knowing if any sudden movement will send her into another fury. As confident as I am that I could take her on, I don’t want it to be my hands that paint her red. Not yet.

I walk over to her, locking eyes with a storm. Panic and pain flash over them as they dart to my outstretched hands, then back to my face. I had once hoped I haunted her dreams, always wishing to cause her pain, but the way she’s looking reminds me too much of the fear I’ve seen in Moes face. A fear of me.

Just as fast as adrenaline lined her muscles, it visibly fades, and the look she holds is replaced with one of pure disgust. The small snarl that accompanies it makes me feel as if I betrayed her. All I’ve tried to do is help her. It sends a rage-flared heat to boil in my abdomen. She flicks her gaze at my neck and then back to my face with a cocky smirk.

“Looks like it healed nicely.” She spits, darting her tongue out to wet the drying blood on her bottom lip before she wiped it with the loose bandage hanging from her wrist. Then she gets up, completely ignoring my available aid. It makes me roll my eyes, un-fucking-believable.

“Yeah? How’s your hand? Didn’t cut too deep, did I?” I taunt in return.

Things are more confusing than I originally thought. If I believed for a second that anything had made sense, I was wrong. If only my father had prepared me better for this internal conflict. I was only doing what was right! She was in my way, I could easily kill her and she knows it, yet here I stand, here she stands. Why can’t she just appreciate that?

Moe’s approaching footsteps slow from a run to an almost tiptoe, as if the room were made of broken glass. I know that feeling all too well. He refuses to come closer to her, opting to throw me the wrap from a comical distance away. I hate everything that’s bubbling inside. This is not who I am.

“Uh–” Moes hand wrings the back of his neck as he shuffles about. “You won’t do it to me too, will you?”

Taking the opportunity of him distracting her, I creep closer and reach for her hand. She jerks it away but I’m not dealing with this bullshit anymore. I snatch it back, battling to ignore how her soft whimper sounds as I pull the mess of gauze off.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, and it makes me pause for a moment. Glancing back up at her, she’s looking at Moe like she just killed his dog. God, I fucking hate her, toying with his emotions like that. Even more now that I see Moe’s mouth turn up and his eyes crinkle in response to her act. She winces again and pulls against my grip, her eyes snapping down to her hand.

“Sorry,” Caspian, what are you doing? I try to tread carefully, but I feel uncontrollable. “If that hurts, I mean.”

“You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.” She turns stone cold again. But as our eyes meet, I’d beg to differ. There's a weakness inside that head. Something I can exploit. She has wrecked not only me, but my world, and I continue to fully intend on doing the same to her. Even if it’s not in the original way I planned. Then again, nothing has gone my way since I first saw her face.

“Go and check on Sam.” I order whilst my hands deftly wrap. Moe hesitates. Right now, I need her to stop making him smile. I need quiet. “Go.” I repeat, and he retreats with her stare burning holes into his back. I purposefully yank the wrap tight to regain her attention. Not this time, little shark.

“So,” she draws in the air, her voice a rasp. “You’ve been stalking me?”

I move silently to her other wrist, unwrapping and wrapping the same way I did before completely ignoring her statement. There’s too much humor in her voice for my liking. As if all my efforts are just a joke. I’d love to inform her how seriously I take that offense, particularly when I may have committed such acts intentionally.

It pleases me to see her wounds are still healing well, despite the scabs being busted back open in her tussle with my right-hand man. I will admit that going for metal cuffs instead of just strapping her to the bed was not my finest call, and no doubt she’ll have permanent scars now. But I’d rather they be by my hands than anyone else’s. A small grin involuntarily tweaks at my lips. Looks like that makes it 2-1, and I like winning.

“If you’re making sure I look pretty for the day you kill me, then I have a few requests.”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to make requests.”

“First, I want real shampoo and conditioner. Not just that shitty bar of soap. I want bottles. Secondly, I’d appreciate the damn camera being removed.” That makes my neck twitch of its own accord, yet she carries on. “Thirdly–”

“Are you done?” I cut her off as I smooth the white wrap around her wrist. I couldn’t believe I was bartering with my prisoner. “I can make arrangements for new sanitary products. But the camera stays.”

Now that my heart is steadier, I can smell the subtle hint of a cigar on her clothes. It feels so good knowing it’s my scent tainting her. She mumbles something I can’t hear and pulls away, cornering herself into the side of the room by the window. She acts as if I’m not even there as she clasps her hands behind her back. Her shoulders subtly shift, but not from breathing. I shake my head and chuckle to myself. Freshly reopened wounds in that position cannot be comfortable.

The remnants of the bandage get shoved in my pocket, the bloodied ones tossed to the hall. There’s a thick tension in the atmosphere that has me on edge. Maybe I was wrong about her being the type to always need that last word, judging by the fact she’s fully ignoring me now.

Is she trying to dismiss me? She’s my prisoner, on my base. Yet she’s standing here like she owns the damn place. My desire to force her into bed and shove food down her throat burns away in me like embers. Just one more little breath of oxygen and I will ignite.

The silence stretches and so does my patience. I shouldn’t be close to her. I don’t trust the pull she has on me.

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