Page 18 of Hunting Harbor

Something about photos, blah, blah, blah. Shit no one cares about at the end of the day.

Creed’s been scrubbing the internet of all traces of him ever being in Africa, but now Slade is left to deal with the fallout since I couldn’t be fucked to bother.

“Whatever, Slade. It’s not a big deal. Just tell them what they want to hear.” I walk down the street, heading towards the bar.

“I can’t, Kairo! They want to see you! Mr. Cross left the business to YOU, not me! You need to come and fucking deal with this!” Slade is pissed. Never seen him this hyped up, actually. “I don’t fucking want to deal with the board, or the investors. I have other shit I need to do.”

It was killing my buzz.

“Calm your tits. I’ll be there tomorrow evening. Just keep stringing them along until then. And don’t delete anything thatmakes it look like we’re panicking. Just manipulate whatever they have that Creed couldn’t scrub. Maybe you were there on vacation. Actually, I want Creed on the ground there. He’s better at lying than you.”

“I fucking hate you sometimes, Kairo.” Dramatic was one thing, but this is something else. He only ever got like this when something… or someone has his attention. “I just got back from Africa and now I’m dealing with this shit. It’s not my issue. Book me a flight back out next week. There’s something else I need to deal with over there.”

Ah, so it was asomeone. I don’t care enough to ask for details. A woman would be good for him. Maybe level him out a bit. Make him easier to control. “Fine. I’ll book your flight, if you get the investors off my back. Get Knox to help you lie if you have to. He’s good at that.”

“Fuck you, Kairo.”

“Nah, I got a warm pussy waiting to do that. Once you deal with the board, you can go get yours.” There’s silence on the other end and know he’s heard me. Knox had better have not bitched out on me as well, because this is the last thing I need to deal with, especially when I’m so close to getting what I want.

I hang up and shove my phone in my pocket just as I hit the bar. It’s packed, but I see a few girls I’d gotten to know. Always here on a Friday night. Fake blonde, fake tits, fake lips. Nothing wrong with it. They’re all sexy enough, but they’re not my girl.

I saunter up to the bar to grab a drink, and one of them is bold enough to stand up and greet me with a kiss on the cheek. “Where have you been? We thought you’d ditched town or something.”

I smile, but it’s not like the ones I gave Harbor. “Had some business to take care of. Glad to see some familiar faces.”

“Want to take care of some more business right now?” She has her hand on my leg, and I can’t help but think how much better it would be if she was Harbor.

“Nah. I’m good.” I remove her hand, but she brings it back, puts it closer to my fully soft cock. She grins, batting her eyelashes and I roll my eyes. “Get the fuck off me.”

She huffs, and steps back like she was slapped. “Well excuse me! Fuck you!”

I laugh as her and her gaggle of friends leave, offended I didn’t want to take them up on their offer, but I didn’t give a fuck. Ever since I laid eyes on my girl, nobody compares.

Just gotta deal with this shit tomorrow, make Noah evacuate the cabin and then she’s mine.

Chapter Eight

Harbor

Thesunwakesmelike a fucking nightmare. My heart still beats that slow, lazy rhythm, the ghost of sleep refusing to leave me alone. The floor is cold under my bare feet. Fuck mornings. They’re the fucking worst. Coffee, I need coffee.

It’s not without great effort that I force myself into the kitchen, start the machine and look over at my counter. My manuscript. The one I’ve printed in a desperate fit of optimism. I think I expect to find a miracle there, like maybe it has edited itself, but instead I find a sticky, wet stain blooming on the page.

Maybe it’s just me, but I can’t understand. The edges are soaked, curling, the ink a blot, a smear on the page. I touch it, my finger trailing over a particularly vivid streak, and my brain catches up with my hand. The hot prickle of bile rises in my throat. I drop the page, watch it flutter back to the counter, see clearly now that it’s—god—it’s come.

My fingers begin to shake. I take a step back, stumble against the wall, the whole world tilting off-balance. Breathing shallow, my chest a fragile cage on the verge of collapsing. The room spins. Sorry, I can’t… No. No, no, no.

My hand still tingles where I’ve touched it. Like an electric shock from something wrong, something filthy. I wipe my fingers against my shirt, again and again, the feeling refusing to leave me alone.

Am I imagining this? Is it real? How can this be real?

Everything moves in slow motion, every second an hour. This isn’t happening. How can it be happening? I’ve been alone all night, haven’t I? It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, leaving only panic.

The paper sits there, and I don’t know what the hell to do about it.

Somehow, I’m more upset about this than the fact that this guy has violated me directly.

This… this is like he violates my very brain. My soul is spilled out on those pages and it’s this deep, penetrating type of violation that I can’t quite understand.

---