Page 2 of Sink With Me

“Who the fuck are you?!” His voice comes out sinfully deep, carrying a southern English lilt that scrambles my already chaotic thoughts.

“Shut up.” I hiss, clasping my hand over my chest to muffle my mic. He follows the motion, his brows pulling into a deep v.

“You're a Bay, aren’t you?”

“What have you done?”

Between the static of the radio and his retorts I beg whatever God is out there for quiet—I need to think. I kick the weapon to the corner. Pressing my finger to his lips I slowly shake my head. It’s a warning— a second chance for him to correct his and his fathers mistakes.

This assignment was supposed to be much simpler; keep the target alive. Unfortunately, the target was a pitiful man who carried no intel. Not that I care anymore especially when I just put a red dot on someone so much better.

For now, I’ll have to relish the feeling of my fist colliding with Tides' perfect nose, the crack rendering him unconscious. What a miserable contradiction, to leave this man alive when my life’s mission is to tear apart every person who even breathes the word Depth. That’ll take time and patience and by God do I have it.

Turning on my heel, I leave my handiwork to the man knocked out on the floor. I left my mark on the person's flesh whose father left a dent in my world. How does that saying go? ‘We don’t pay for our parents' sins’? I beg to differ, if that were true I wouldn't be sweating through a thick coat of blood knowing that I just let the one person who has the right to bleed, continue to breathe.

“Sharkie, did you kill him?”

“He was a low rank. Useless.” I pull a glove off with my teeth. “Who’s next?”

Date: 4-19-2024

Time: 1601

For four years, I have tracked their every move. Four damn years of watching them rip through my best men. Each father, husband, brother, and son were all brought back in the same color. Red.

All the bodies that were left discarded off to the side like trash waiting for pickup mirrored the one that lay motionless in the corner that day. It was destructive, almost careless. It also screamed of her sheer confidence.

I stare at the calendar on my desk, chewing at the end of my cigar. It has been two years since I had the pleasure of meeting her. Yet the only souvenir I have from that day is a small, thick scar on my neck. I could’ve fought harder, I could’ve ended it then and there, but something… I don’t know. Snapped? Clicked?

My perception of her was completely different. Without the blood that coated her clothes or the flicks of ice in her stare, I would’ve said she was just like any other woman. It wasn’t what I expected when I walked into that broken-down building, but I can’t deny that I’m pleased with the outcome. I didn’t mind the busted nose and I sure as hell still don’t mind the scar. It’s motivation, a reminder, that not everyone is what they seem. She is a fascinating product of terror, a living form of destruction.

The paper cracks between my teeth, putting tobacco on my tongue, grounding me in the moment. I rub my thumb against my neck.

Recently I changed our intake papers to only accept nobodies. It’s not that I like working with notorious criminals or randomers off the side of the street, but if that’s what it takes to make sure she doesn’t tear apart another family, then that’s what I’ll do.

The blurred snapshot we captured of her from her last little show sits neatly in my desk drawer, not a disheveled paper near it. I’ve had to rely on my memory for the last two years to recall the gleam that hit her eyes, the slow waves that rolled behind her shoulders reminding me of how the sea kissed the sand, the curves that her tactical gear did little to hide. The way she took my power and wielded it as her own is the most memorable and the most dangerous, both physically and mentally.

Sharkie.

That infuriating callsign rings in my head from the moment I wake to the second I fall asleep. No amount of research will bring me anything other than that name and trust me I’ve done my research. It’s as if she doesn’t exist but I know she does. I felt the warmth of her skin, and I heard her voice.

My father didn’t prepare me for this. I was thrown in the middle of the ocean without a life jacket and expected to swim. It's a good thing facts are a safe space where I know I can think clearly.

Bay is a disorganized group that raged war on the wrong faction. Fact. They’ve created the chaos my father tried to tame. Fact. Their ringleader is notorious for staying in the spotlight. Also, fact. Sharkie is just a pawn. Definitely not.

I need her. I need to find out what’s hiding in those deep blue depths of hers. I need the information being withheld so I can put all the pieces together in my puzzle.

Pulling the cigar from my lips, I hold the smoke, letting the thick cloud taint the flesh inside my cheeks. The rough tobacco coats my tongue, replacing the bitter taste that has stayed there ever since the day I saw that ship try to enter our land.

“Fuckin’ hell...” my words flow out with the white shadow, muffling the clear strain in my voice from biting back a cough. I’ve never liked the stupid things, yet my father’s office is stocked with them. My office.

There’s that bitter taste again.

“Did you say something, sir?” Jasmine’s voice comes from the doorway, completely unmistakable by the strong American accent she carries. We apprehended her while she was on the run for a crime that we have yet to figure out. That point doesn’t quite matter though, because she willingly stayed and agreed to our way of life. Forever bound to protect the sea, no matter the risk. Bay should’ve stuck to protecting the land like they vowed to.

Adrenaline is an odd hormone. Unfortunately, it’s what was coursing through my veins when I arrived back on base that day. Jasmine was just the first person I saw. I’m not one to use employees for pleasure. It’s unethical, and that’s why it’ll never happen again.

“No. Run me through it again.” I demand, holding the edge of authority in my voice despite my want to keep it at bay. I wasn’t always like this, some hollow shell of the man I used to be. Correction—boy I used to be. I shake my head, physically fighting back the images that threaten to cloud my vision.

---