Page 34 of Sink With Me

“Stop bloody fighting!”

Deep green eyes lock onto mine, holding a fire that I bet the ocean beside us can’t even extinguish. Jerking my leg, he pulls my body under him until his hands wrap around my wrist, pinning me into the heated sand. Everything is too loud, echoing over the water and carrying into the air until it's ringing in my ears, exaggerating the voices that haunt me.

My lips part, gasping for any semblance of breath as I continue to writhe beneath him, bucking my hips up, shaking my head, and making the sand around me fly. He doesn’t get to win this. He doesn’t get the last word. He doesn’t get to corrupt my mind and break me. I built my path, and I’ve fought for my way of life. I’m not going to give him the power to fuck that all up.

Has this been his plan the whole time? Manipulate my mind like Depth did to Bay. Is it some sick kind of torture making my thoughts turn against me, making me feel things that I shouldn’t? Stockholm syndrome. Yeah, that’s it. At least that’s the only logical explanation I have. I’ve developed feelings that I lost long ago because I’ve been stuck in his base with his scent and his stupid face.

I can’t understand the words that fall from his mouth, but I still when he goes silent, every breath he takes falls across my cheek.

In any other circumstances, where I wasn’t completely losing my mind, I would’ve considered this an entertaining situation. But this is us, with a shady past and an all too complicated present. His scent invades my nostrils, overpowering the sweet, salty air. We’re too close, closer than any normal captive and captor should be. I can almost taste the last cigar he smoked. I want to fight, I want to do the right thing, I want my twisted little brain to work properly but I can’t tell you up from down when all the harsh lines of his face dissipate creating smooth features and exaggerating specks of gold in his green eyes.

“Just stop fighting.” His voice is so deep and husky that I almost don’t recognize it. Is he referring to my runaway attempt or is he referring to the fucked up mind games he’s playing? I can’t stop now. I’m too close. I can taste the revenge on my tongue and hear the cheers of salvation. If I give up then everything is for nothing.

His lips whisk against mine, catching me off guard by the gentle caress. Soft but firm. Unnaturally clearing my head. I hadn't noticed how each grain of sand stuck to the sweat on my palms or how my body had molded to the earth like a therapeutic mattress until he made my mind go blank. They brush back over again. When was the last time my mind was so quiet? This isn’t supposed to send a jolt of electricity coursing through my body, bringing me back to life. It is supposed to repulse me, preferably make me throw up the breakfast I had.

Instead of yanking away, I catch my head tilting toward him when he slowly tries to back away. I just want the voices to be quiet a little longer. If I keep whatever I have left of my heart out of it and my mind on the big picture, I can do this.

His eyes scan over my features, brows knitted together, lips parted enough to allow me to hear the anguished groan that rattles his chest. The calluses of his palms brush against my cheeks until he's cupping my face and his mouth is on mine again. Only it isn’t gentle like the first. It’s as if he is trying to devour me whole, like he’s been starved for a taste of something he’ll never have again. His teeth clash against mine, his tongue skating across my bottom lip.

A furious blush crawls up my neck, making my ears burn from the feeling of him pushing past my parted lips, his tongue tangling with my own. Hot and desperate. Each flick and curl reminds me of our lives, always fighting for dominance. He tastes just like he smells, salty with that enriching aroma, pulling me into a fogged mindset. It's a safety blanket wrapping around my shoulders, shielding me from the storm outside.

He curses under his breath, pulling his head back just enough that I can see the green hooded eyes darker than usual, like leaves on trees in a dark forest. Each heavy breath he takes falls against my mouth, breathing the air he stole back into me. Shaking his head, he stumbles from my body, flinging sand from his boots across my legs, leaving me a jumbled puddle of emotions I didn’t even want to recognize on the beach. They weren't supposed to come back. Not now.

Each muscle flexes under his shirt, down his arms that bulge veins under obsidian ink, to curling fists at his sides as he storms off. I’m too lost in my inner turmoil that I don’t recognize the hands curling under my biceps and pulling back toward my prison.

Fury bubbles in my abdomen with each step. If he was going to be pissed about a stupid kiss, he shouldn’t have done it. I was trying to leave.

A familiar burn heats its way into my chest, making me clench my jaw tight enough I can feel it in my temples. I’m not sad or embarrassed. I have no reason to be. I’m fucking pissed.

I am supposed to be the perfect soldier.

This doesn’t end until I end him. The only way I know how to get close enough, is by dancing with the devil himself.

Date: 5-13-2024

Time: 1503

I should’ve never kissed her; I never should’ve chased her. She made it so fucking difficult, though.

Rule number, I don’t fucking know, when holding someone captive: don’t see them as a human.

I guess I broke that rule long ago, though. It feels natural to her, where it should feel repulsive. She has taken everything I thought I knew, everything I taught myself, and thrown it to the bottom of the ocean.

My thumb brushes against my bottom lip. I can still taste her, minty and delicate. If I thought I was fucked and obsessed before, then it doesn’t compare to now. The way her body felt melting below mine as she surrendered and bent to my will has burned its way into my skin. The bend in the tips of my boots flashes the memory of how they pushed against the sand while she was pinned below me. Every brush of my shirt against my skin sends shocks through my body as if it's her brushing against it. She’s ruined me.

I had only gone to the training grounds to go completely through her, if I’m being honest. I wanted to see how she would react knowing her team wasn’t even looking for her, instead proclaiming her KIA, and publicly too, plastering it through every database and news outlet using her callsign, not even giving her the respect of her legal name. They had given up on her, it was embarrassing. However, I could see they were also using it as motivation to rile up the world into a public war that I don’t know if we’ll survive.

I’ve held onto that information since, replaying every fine line and narrative sentence until I’ve burned it into memory. She has no choice but to stay. Even throwing Jasmine and Sam into intense training after Moe told me exactly what my little shark did, didn’t sedate the tension that weighs down upon my shoulders. It might have to do with the fact Sam doesn't get winded easily, he was my father's soldier before a prisoner after all. Or it could be how I fought with the man who's supposed to be my best friend all because the woman he decided to keep was two point five seconds from passing out.

I know those aren't the reasons why I’ve avoided my little shark like the plague. Anytime she tried to run from her room, I had someone else chase her. She even went as far as trying to pull up the bolted chair and throw it through the window. That didn’t work. She just ended up screaming against the floor. Some days it seems as if she's scared to even be in the room, curled into the corner, but she isn’t scared of anything. As much as I love the fire she holds, I miss that small moment where every feature softened, and she seemed nothing more than an innocent woman just looking for a way out. That's why I'm so tense. I can't be near her.

I fucking hate her. I hate how she holds me so captive in my mind that I don’t even notice my feet moving down a familiar path. I’ve always been in control of myself, and I’ve always had the same mission of ruining her as she did me, but now–

Her cell door creaks against my palm.

Fuck. Why can’t I just be normal? My father would kill me if he saw the look on my face as the rings below her eyes come into sight. I wish she’d just sleep. Of course, she can’t rest with the nightmare that keeps her up, I know that now. All my work is for nothing if she goes insane from sleep deprivation—well more insane than she already is. I’ve done all I know to do. She’s more comfortable than a prisoner deserves to be but being the defiant pain in my arse that she is, she won’t accept it.

“Come on.”

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