Page 3 of Sink With Me

My father. That soldier. Red.

“All cameras were hacked before she entered. They couldn’t get past most of the hard walls, hence the blurred picture, but they were able to wipe the audio and haze the footage. From what I’ve seen she wasn’t able to gather anything, and it looked like Birdy put up a good fight but…” she trails off as I pinch the end of the stick, crushing it into the stone ashtray, the creaking of the leather chair under me follows the way my body shifts forward.

“But?” I’m almost able to feel the rage flaring beneath my skin. There’s always a ‘but’ in these situations, never a conclusion. I was already having a rough day with Sharkies image seared into the back of my eyelids so any time they close, all I see is her. Jasmine giving me those bloody bedroom eyes again only serves to make matters worse.

I need a holiday, somewhere far away with a cold beer in hand and a woman I’ll never remember sitting on my lap.

That’s a fuckin’ lie and even I know it, because a specific little fish has taken up the remaining space in my head which wasn’t much to begin with because ever since I was thrown into this position, all I have been able to do is gather information and statistics. Keeping myself busy is the only solution until I get my hands on the ones who took everything from me. Only then will I let myself enjoy another woman. That’s if my dick will still work by that point.

I catch myself running an absentminded finger over the bubbled thin slit on my throat again. It probably would have healed better, but I didn’t want it to. I want to remember she was there, in my space, hypnotizing me while she made her mark.

“It just doesn’t make sense Cas—” My clenched fist raising from the desk cut her off before slowly lowering back down onto my knuckles, letting the mahogany wood bite into my skin. No one uses my name. It’s not that I don’t like it, it's the fact that my father took so much pride in naming me after the place where he met my mother. The Caspian Sea. I should miss her as much as I do him, but I was better prepared for her loss. I got to tell her goodbye.

Jasmine picks up on my demeanor, her focus going downcast.

“Sorry sir... I only meant Birdy was a low rank. A literal sitting duck that they had nothing to gain from. No intel or knowledge of any work we’re doing here. He only specialized in making sure we got our equipment.”

My fingers run through the mess atop my head, disheveling the once chocolate now peppered grey locks. She isn’t wrong; it doesn’t make sense. Then again, I accepted long ago nothing in our predicament has or more than likely ever will.

It still makes me question the motive. When hunting your prey, you follow the tracks. Every predator knows that. So why is my shark taking a detour towards shallow water instead of swimming straight for me in the deep?

If she’s not afraid to face grown-ass men, then what’s keeping her from storming my base? I’ve given every opportunity possible ranging from a literal invitation—I know it was stupid, but I was young—to giving the guards holiday for a solid month just to see if she’d attempt a breach. Yet she sneaks around the bay and doesn’t go any further, sending minions into my territory instead of herself. I don’t know what her game is, but I do know I want her to find me.

I flick my gaze back to the small photo once more, dismissing Jasmine’s statement with a waft of my hand, not letting my eyes waver from the intense stare down I’m having with the glossy piece of paper. “Let me know if we get any leads or new movements.”

“Can we talk?” The flick of her tongue through her words has my teeth on edge. This is exactly why business and pleasure should never be mixed. I’m surprised my teeth haven’t chipped from how hard I grind them anytime she’s around yet. Sam owes me one.

I look over the blurred photo once more before slamming the drawer. I’ll re-memorize every detail later, but right now I have more pressing matters.

“No. You’re dismissed.”

Her lashes flutter in shock before narrowing in my direction. Whoever let her train and climb ranks in my base was a goddamn idiot. I groan, trying to suppress the unwarranted anger. Sam’s not an idiot, but he sure acts like one when it comes to her.

The door slams behind her rage-fueled fit and I'm left alone to tap my fingers against my chest, counting each thump as the pads connect to my olive green button-down. I mindlessly repeat the motion until I’m able to match my heart rate to the rhythm, slow and controlled. I’ve done everything to lead this girl to me from the moment I woke up in the middle of a concrete room with nothing but a corpse beside me.

“Bloody hell...”

I’ve been looking in the wrong direction just as she’s been swimming the wrong way. Each key from the board clicks under my fingers as I pull up file after file. Numerous images pop up, ranging from blurred shots around the area we presume Bay is located across the ocean, to a few clear publicity images on American newspapers and websites. All talking about ‘how good Bay is for the country and soon the world.’ She’s not in a single one, just as expected.

One man is familiar to my eyes. I’ve scrolled through countless videos of his deep southern accent talking to the press and I’ve sorted through thousands of classified files that always have his name linked somewhere in them. Dutton. He’s like an illness that just keeps spreading and spreading—everywhere all the time, right in the public eye ‘fulfilling the late dreams of his beloved best friends’.

Quickly shaking my head, I press the button on the side of my walkie, “I need all the details on Dutton Stabler now!”

I pause, thinking, before pressing the button again, “And not the same shit you idiots bring me every time. I need something new.” It’s an impossible ask, considering we’ve raked every database and have already gained every sliver of information about his life—going back to the day he was born, even into his family tree. Nothing makes sense. Not his role, not the way he gained his rank, and most importantly, not a damn thing makes sense about his connection to my little obsession.

I scan the screen as the static continues through the walkie-talkie, my head reeling with any memory I can think of where my father may have mentioned the man or any relevance he had to the entire ordeal.

I know someone heard me, so why am I not getting a damn response? Silence is never a good sign. It’s more of a signal to get my arse in gear when all my body itches to do is just peek that drawer back open, even if it’s only for a moment.

Taking a deep breath, I straighten my shoulders and head towards the door. I know my little shark is more than a walking weapon and if I want to win then I need her. But the only way to get to her is through him.

My footsteps thump off the concrete walls, creating the sound of a steady drumbeat. To others, it’s more than likely a signal for impending doom. I used to wander these same halls with a smile, never realizing the extent of what they held within. If they could speak, I’m sure they’d have some stories to tell, some of which would likely aid us out the shit storm we are in.

Rounding the corner I collide into my younger brother, Moe. Tilting my head, I try to crack the tension out of my neck while he squints up at me.

“I was just comin’ to get ya, Cas!” He nervously pushes a hand into his already bedraggled red hair. For someone stuck in a pissin’ hellhole, he’s always enthusiastic to be here. I shake my head, willing my thoughts into a straight line and pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose.

“What now?” I feel my impatience growing fast. I have important things to get to and I swear if I don’t catch my shark soon, I’ll lose my fuckin’ mind.

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