Page 13 of Shark Bait

“I’ll be right back.” He leaves for a few minutes, and I take that time to wash my face and brush my teeth before hopping back up on the counter.

“You should go sit in the bedroom,” he says when he gets back.

I pout. “But I want to see what’s inside.”

“I’ll call you when I open it.”

I slide off the counter but don’t move far, stopping just outside the bathroom door. I lean against the doorjamb.

Shark lines up the tools in front of him and then reaches into his pocket and takes out a lollipop with a yellow wrapper. “Lemon,” he says and makes a distasteful face before unwrapping it and putting it into his mouth. “Want one?”

“Not now, thanks.”

He starts drilling, hammering, and cursing because he can’t seem to get the safe open. When he takes off his shirt and wipes the sweat off his body, I pull up a chair. His muscles flex witheach hard hit or gentle prod of the safe. Watching him work is like my new favorite show. Or porn.

But it ends when Shark leans against the cupboards under the sink and wipes his face with the now-soaked and dirty shirt. He pulls up a knee and leans an elbow on it, crushing the lollipop between his teeth.

“It’s too bad it needs Fis’s fingerprint to open, huh?” I say.

“That’s not a problem. My problem is the code.”

“I know the code.”

He whips his head toward me, brown eyes as wide as chestnuts. “What?”

“The code. I know it.”

Shark’s up and towering over me, his hands interlocked behind his head. He curses in a foreign language. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Because the code doesn’t matter. It’s one of those touchpads that reads fingerprints. Fis’s only.”

“Baby.” Shark crouches in front me, teasing my senses with his masculine scent mixed with fresh soap. Also, he called me baby. He continues, “I have Fis’s finger.”

I take a moment to process what he’s saying but can’t grasp the meaning. “How do you mean that?”

“I always keep a finger or two. Just something useful I’ve picked up with experience.”

“Oh. Well then, good for you.”

“Indeed. What’s the code?”

I tell him, and he disappears for a moment, then returns carrying Fis’s finger. I recognize the digit and turn away at the sight of it. Bile rises in my throat and makes me want to throw up a little.

“You doing okay?” Shark’s on his knees, punching in the seventeen-digit code that I bet Fis didn’t think I’d memorize from that one night when Fis barged into the bathroom while Iwas on the toilet. He wouldn’t leave just so he could humiliate me, but since he always underestimated me, he went ahead and opened the safe in front of me.

I didn’t get all the code then, but once I found out there’s a safe under the tub, I paid attention to his movements, hoping for a glimpse of the whole code. One day, he spoke about his mother and mentioned the day she died, and I knew I had the rest of it.

The safe clicks open, and Shark leans back, sitting on his heels again. “How do you know the code?”

“I suck good dick,” I say, a dead-serious expression on my face.

Shark regards me with a tilt of his head. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re joking.”

I keep my neutral expression. “How’s that going for you?”

“I’m underperforming,” he says, keeping his expression neutral too, matching my vibes. Now we’re having some sort of staring contest to see which of us will blink first.

Me. I blink. “I was joking.” I laugh, thrilled this man is so easygoing and lets me tease him all I want. “And since we’re on the topic of dick sucking and all, I remember you mentioning the cameras in the room. I’m sure you’re wondering about those.”

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