Ocean Kills (Ocean Breeze) (39 page)

I flipped her so she was beneath me.

She flinched and yelped.

Shit, her shoulder!
“Sorry.” I kissed along her chin. “I suck at this. You alright?”

“Yes. . . yes.” Her voice was breathy, flaming my lust to fever pitch.

I reached for her. The soft curls between her legs were dark. Unashamed, she opened wider. I gulped and cupped her. She was scorching hot—such a contrast to her chilled skin. I groaned as I pushed a finger inside her. Her back arched and I couldn't think straight. All I focused on was the texture of her flesh, the deep heat of her around my finger.

Hands fumbled at my fly. I shifted to let her push my shorts and boxers down. I sprung free, and sighed in relief from the angle at which I'd been jammed in my pants.

Ocean didn't say a word as she pulled me on top, spreading her legs so I nestled between her thighs.

She pushed up, enticing, stroking me with her heat. What was she doing? Didn't she want to savor this? For once we were on a bed, not in a kitchen or in a boat. We could take our time. Taste each other, touch, play. . . why was she so frantic?

Something flashed in her ebony eyes as she sunk nails into my ass. I allowed her to pull me into her, groaning despite my nerves as to why she was so eager. She shifted, pulling every inch of my flesh into hers.

Then she moved—almost demonically, hips pumping against mine, her breathing harsh.

I wanted to let myself go, to pump hard and enjoy her as much as she wanted to enjoy me, but something held me back.

Ocean panted, her cheeks flushed as she tensed. A pulling in my stomach, a buffet of air and nausea rushed my senses.

Shit!

I pulled out as fast as I could, rolling away from her.

She growled, “What the hell?”

Temper exploded. She was using me! She said she wanted to leave in the morning. I thought she meant by the same way she got here. That wasn't what she meant at all. She used me to give her an orgasm so she could leave!

All my rosy feelings and budding affection wilted. How could she? I hated to think she was that cruel.

Ocean sat up, wrapping the sheet around her. Her face darkened, but there was tension around her eyes, which made me hope.

I held my anger in check. “Care to tell me why you were using me?” I glared, unable to stop myself. I wrenched my pants up. Never before had a woman made me feel so manipulated.

“I wasn't. I wanted you. That's all.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, okay. I don't believe you. You were about to leave. I could feel it.”

She froze. “Whatever. You wouldn't be able to feel that.”

I pulled her legs roughly so she slid down the bed to the edge. I imprisoned her with my arms on either side. “Tell me what 's going on. What are you so afraid of?”

My heart clenched as tears shone in her eyes before she blinked them away. “Besides the obvious you mean? The fact we can't have sex without me leaving, that I kill for a living?”

She wasn't being truthful. I shook my head, softening my voice. “You're lying. That's not what this is about.”

She pushed me, trying to get free. I let her go, standing straight. “What are those marks on your back? It's something to do with them, isn't it?”

She trembled.

I sat immediately, pulling her against me. “Crap, Ocean. It's okay.”

She choked and wriggled to free herself. I locked my arms tighter. There was no way I’d let her escape. “Maurice said you might not be able to love me back. . . that there’s something missing in you. Is that what the marks are?” I hated that I betrayed her trust—talked to Maurice without her knowledge—but she needed to understand I came into this with my eyes open, or at least as much as I could.

Ocean cried then. Hot splashes of tears fell against my forearm, her frame shuddering in my grasp.

Hell, if I didn't already feel helpless when it came to her, I sure did now. How was I supposed to deal with this? I hushed her, rocking. “Tell me. Sharing might make it better.”

“Callan, you truly are a cop, you know that?” She sniffed, sitting up in my arms. I didn’t let my grip diminish. No way was I letting her go. “Talking about something doesn't make it easier to bear. Regardless of what your victim training might’ve taught you.”

I chuckled. “Don't be argumentative. Just spit it out. What's going on? I know you feel for me, just like I feel for you. I don't want to stop whatever’s going on between us. Tell me so we can move past it. Together.”

In a flash of strength, she jumped out of my arms and paced. Lifting her hair she bowed her neck, exposing her spine and the multiple marks.

I stood, brushing my thumb across one of the blemishes. It wasn't raised or sharp. They weren’t tattoos, and I swear there were more than the last time in my apartment.

Ocean dropped her hair, mumbling, “I'm dying.”

My entire body seizured. “
What?
”

“Those marks are a toll of my murders. They began when I was twenty-one and another appears each kill I commit. The latest one was for killing Bazeer, and with it a chill settled in my soul.” She took a shuddering breath. “I’m being consumed by vileness, Callan. I’m not me anymore. Something snaps inside and I want, I need, I
crave
to be horrible. To make people suffer.” Her shoulders fell as she dropped her hair. “I hate it. I hate not being me, but I can’t stop. I figured out last night I might be suffering split personalities. I’m like Jekyll and Hyde. I’m… broken.” 

Her eyes flashed as she spun to face me; the sheet wrapped around her fluttered. “Don't you get it? I don't know what's happening to me. I may turn into the bastards I kill. I may only have a few months left. You can't be with me, Callan, because soon there won't be any of me left.”

Hell no. I was
not
going to accept that. “What makes you think you’re dying? Who told you that? You look pretty alive to me.”

Ocean opened her mouth, then shut it again, frowning. “No one
told
me I was dying. It just makes logical sense. I’m cold all the time. My skin is being branded, and my personality has slid into darkness. There is something
wrong
with me!”

I held up my hands. My arms ached to hold her while she suffered. Keeping my voice low, I said, “There might be a simple explanation. Perhaps there’s a way to reverse the effects?”

She shook her head. “There's nothing. It's not like I can research my condition. There’s no text book telling me what the hell is wrong with me!” Her cheeks flushed. “Honestly, you aren't making this easy. This is the end of whatever this is, Callan.”

Do I tell her what Mr. Kim found? That she wasn’t the only one? Perhaps there
was
a textbook? All these secrets I kept from her. She’d hate me if she knew. Standing there, when Ocean was in such distress, I didn’t even remember why I wanted to keep them secret. It seemed so stupid to keep her in the dark. I opened my mouth, but she darted to her suitcase and pulled on shorts, bra, and t-shirt. I couldn't tear my eyes from her body. She was so beautiful, strong, and yet so delicate. How could I believe she might cease to exist in a few short months? It wasn't fair. I wouldn't accept it.

“Surely Maurice has figured something out. He'll know what to do.” My voice was desperate as she pulled on socks and brand new Nike shoes. She couldn’t leave, not like this.

“Maurice knows as much as I do. We're helpless.”

No, that wasn't true. “If the symptoms you describe are linked to you killing, then just take the obvious way out. Stop.”

Her eyes flashed to mine with a look of amazement. “If you knew me at all, you’d know that was like asking me to stop breathing. I can’t give up on other would-be victims.”

Ugh, she made me mad. She was prepared to kill herself for others. Didn’t I get a say in this? I wrenched on a t-shirt. If she wanted to fight, I didn't want to be under dressed.

“I want my money back, Callan. I need it to help others. Where did you hide it?”

The card to her new bank account was snug in my suitcase. If I gave it to her now, this was all over. That money was the only thing I had over her. I couldn’t give it to her—she’d leave forever.

“You can't go. Let’s stay. We have five nights. Let's not worry about anything. Let's just enjoy this time together.”

Ocean shook her head sadly. “You don't get it. The same problems will be here in five days. There won't be any solutions, and it’ll be harder to say goodbye as more feelings will be involved.” She took an unusually deep breath.

Something tensed in the room, shifting, pulling toward her. I recognized the same symptoms from when she left me on the couch
. No!

I pounced on her before I could think. If she left, she was taking me with her.

“Callan? Let me go.” My inertia crushed her against the wall. She was trapped. “Crap, you idiot, let me go.” She wriggled, trying to squirm free.

“Never.” I kissed her, sucking in her taste, plunging my tongue into her mouth, duelling with hers until her hands fisted in my hair despite herself.

I grinded against her, but still the weird tug in the room remained. She hadn't stopped.

My brain raced. Would I be tugged along if I held on? How did I hold onto a woman who’d disappear in any moment?

My breathing grew frantic; I couldn't stop her from leaving. Panic made me mad and my fingers ripped her shorts zipper. Greediness stole my dignity and I pushed her legs apart with my knee. “I'm not letting you go on your own. Take me with you.”

She struggled, which made it easier to slink my hand into her shorts and cup her.

She moaned, biting my throat. Good God, she was wet. My brain fogged, but I had to focus. I needed her to relax—to surrender. The more she wanted me, the better. My finger stroked her. My cock pulsed with the need to dive into her, to take her against the wall—to brand her as mine.

Her fingernails dug into my shoulders as I pressed two fingers deep inside. No warning, no foreplay. She was slippery with need. I groaned as she melted against me.

“Callan—” she croaked, hips rocking on my hand.

I bit her ear, panting, “That’s it. Forget you were about to leave. You're mine. I’ll protect you from your marks. I’ll keep you safe. I'm never letting you go.” My fingers thrust harder.

Her breath hitched, mouth parted, and I kissed her with everything I had. Her lips were pliant under mine, allowing me to take what I wanted from her.

She was no longer bone and flesh, but liquid and silk.

A feral possessiveness filled me; I increased the tempo of my fingers.

She shuddered, just as a gust of nausea buffeted me. My hand gripped her neck, pressing her forehead against mine. One of my legs twined around hers. I was as close to her as I could get. She was about to come. I could tell by the way she bit her lip, her eyes squeezed shut.

It was now or never.

Her eyes flared open and I drowned in the sea of black. My voice was gruff as I demanded, “Come for me, Ocean.” I grinded against her hip. I was rock hard, so turned on by taking her to the edge. “Don't think. Just let go.”

She whimpered and I captured her mouth, swallowing her cry. She pushed feebly against me, but then tensed. A headache crashed against my temples. I winced as it built to a crescendo.

Ocean shuddered in my arms, her heat rippled with muscle, milking my finger as her orgasm ripped through her. At the same time something grabbed around my stomach, hurling me against her.

I tightened my grip.

She screamed.

The next thing I knew, I was upside down, inside out. Rushing, tearing, splitting in two.

Time ceased to have meaning. Pain was the only thing I was aware of. In my head, ears, eyes. I wanted to die.

I crashed to the floor. It was dark, musty; a smell—urine, perhaps?

Blinking, I promptly threw up. The breakfast we consumed half an hour ago splattered all over a crocheted rug. Crap, I’d never had a headache so bad in my life. Where was Ocean? My entire body prickled with agony.

Ocean stood near by, hands on her knees, a trickle of blood dripping over her upper lip.

Standing, I wobbled, clutching my head to keep my brain from sloshing out my ears. “Ocean?”

She took a deep breath. Her t-shirt strained against her breasts. Another big breath and she straightened, refastening her fly. Then, she froze.

I followed her eyes and my hope at happiness with her exploded into smithereens.

We stood in a gross apartment: the walls were splattered with an unknown substance, the ceilings yellowed with tobacco stains. A Lay-Z-Boy with an ashtray faced an ancient TV, and the only window looked out onto a sterile complex. 

A man stood framed in the doorway. Dressed in daggy pajamas and robe, he watched us, wide-eyed.

I gulped. I knew that face. How did we get here?
How the fuck did this happen
? Terror attacked. I’d lost her. Ocean would never forgive me.

Her gaze shot to mine, disbelief written all over her. “Callan?” Her voice bordered on betrayal and tears. “What is this?”

“Who the fuck are you? How did ya get in my place?” the old man demanded. His eyes fell to the mess I made on his carpet. “Oi, you motherfucker. Clean that up. I'm calling the cops.”

Something chilly filled the air. Ocean's lips peeled over her teeth. She snarled, “You! How
dare
you still breathe air. How
dare
you still live and eat and survive after what you did!” The wobbliness of tears gave way to crisp, ferocious anger.

The planes of her face grew sharper; her eyes narrowed and shoulders hunched. In that moment, I was scared of her. Anger radiated. She was a weapon. 

Adrian Mathieu didn't move. His haggard face was slack, body riddled with sickness. “What the flying pelicans are you on about, you little bitch? Get out of my house or I'll beat you stupid.” He took a step toward Ocean, wincing as his bones creaked.

Ocean shook her head, furious hate filling her face. She spun to look at me, ignoring the old man glaring at us. The expression in her eyes broke my heart. “You knew where he lived and never told me?” Something shadowed her features, making her look harsh and deadly cruel.
“Fok julle naaiers! Jou Bliksem.”
Her voice was deeper, but that wasn’t what terrified me. It was the thick Afrikaans accent. I couldn’t believe my ears, but the language she spoke was undoubtedly from South Africa.
Holy crap, what is going on?