Ocean Kills (Ocean Breeze) (9 page)

The young boy behind the counter took my cash and handed me a code. Smiling my thanks, I headed to the back, and claimed a seat in the darkest part of the hovel, as far away from the other customers as possible.

Clicking on the browser, I typed ‘Atsu Bazeer’.

Lucky for me, his name popped up instantly. My eyes widened and my breath grew shallow the more I researched. Atsu Bazeer was a ruthless businessman. He was part owner in a number of developments around town. His online profile emitted a lethal charm. A closely cropped afro gleamed like wiry obsidian, while black eyes glinted with cut-throat power.

He favored suits, especially in pastels, and he wasn't short on bling. In fact, the more I researched, the more I hated him. Something about his iron-fisted charisma erupted sparks of unease down my spine. This was a man who had a lot to hide. A man who dealt in children in the back-alleys, and sequestered who knew what else.

The familiar buzz of the hunt gave me an adrenaline shot. He was a worthy opponent, and by that I meant he wasn't stupid. Unlike Adrian Mathieu and his unknown accomplice who stole my family from me. They were next on my hunt-to-kill list.  

My hands shook slightly as I copied down Bazeer’s business address. My hour was almost up, so I decided to check my email before calling it quits.

From:
[email protected]

Date:
12 July 2012

Subject:
Are you Ocean Breeze?

Hello,

I am trying to find a woman. Aged twenty-four. Was arrested last night in Kings Cross, Sydney. If this is you please contact me on the above email address. It is imperative I talk to you. (regarding your file and what happened on the night of the 10 July 2012.)

Thank you for your time,

Callan Bliss

Officer, New South Wales Police.

Holy shit! Was this guy for real? He tracked me down? And how the freakin’ hell did he find my email? He must’ve violated a whole stack of laws to find that personal piece of information, because it sure as hell wasn't on my file. Email was my only form of contact, and only with Maurice. No phone. No Twitter. No Facebook. No online presence of
any
kind. It was too risky when you were in the killing game.

To respond or not to respond? I glared at a poster of some computer game princess, biting my lip. Should I ignore this cop who seemed determined to get hold of me? Or play with him?

Hitting reply before I could stop myself, I typed:

From:
[email protected]

Date:
12 July 2012

Subject:
Bugger off.

Ocean Breeze does not exist at this address.

Good luck next time.

P.S Even if she did exist, she would not want to talk to a cop.

Good day.

I pressed send before I could think, then panicked. I shouldn't have done that. He didn't know it was me. He was fishing, and I just tugged his line. At least I didn't take the bait. He’d be waiting till the end of the world before I responded again.

Leaving the dark grotto of computers, I headed straight to McDonald's and grabbed a Fillet-o-Fish combo. With my mouth full, I planned my attack.

Thembi was close by. Atsu Bazeer wouldn't have sold her yet, or defiled her. She was worth more to him untouched. . . or at least I hoped so. French fries lodged in my throat at the thought. What if?
Don't think that. You'll save her before anything happens like what happened to you. Focus and save her.

After my meal, I walked directly to Atsu Bazeer's office. It was located in a swanky new part of Century City. Of course.

The foyer of the soaring sky-scraper featured sheets of glass reflecting the buildings opposite, which were bordered by countless palm trees. The security guard opened the oversized door for me. I gave him my biggest smile. Time to turn on the charm.

Crap, I should've stopped to buy a new outfit. A low cut top would do best, and a skirt, but I unbuttoned the top of my blouse and fluffed up my chest. Tousling my hair, I pinched my cheeks, and strode toward the pretty little receptionist.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a prissy voice.

Would she be so prissy if she knew Atsu Bazeer sold women like her? My skin crawled.

“Yes. I have an appointment with Mr. Bazeer. He's expecting me. What floor should I go to?” My voice was sharp but friendly. No ounce of uncertainty, or hint at the fact that it was a bold-faced lie.

The girl blinked then tapped her keyboard. “Um, he's on floor thirty-four. I'll get someone to take you up.”

I grinned. “Oh, no, don't worry. I can manage. Thanks so much.” Not giving her time to respond, I jumped in the glossy elevator and pressed the button for thirty-four. The ride allowed me time to check my secret weapons were easy to hand. My entire body was a weapon, since I’d trained ruthlessly in martial arts, but I kept knives on me, too. In my left bra-cup there was a switchblade. In my back jeans pocket rested a box-cutter. And in a special pouch I'd sewn into my sleeve nestled a serrated knife that caused more damage when I pulled it out than when I pushed it in. I knew that from personal experience.

The elevator doors pinged open to a gaudy, over-the-top office with black veined marble on every surface.

Behind a shiny desk sat a primped, youngish receptionist that was fake everything. Eyelashes, boobs, lips. Botoxed to the max. She screamed tackiness—exactly like the office space. “I'm here to see Atsu Bazeer,” I said, walking toward her with a sashay I'd perfected.

“And you are?”

“His newest money-maker.” I winked.

“There is no mention of an appointment for today. Your name?”

I leaned over the counter, purring, “Ocean. My name is Ocean, and Mr.
Bazeer will be
so
disappointed if you don't allow me to see him.”

“No, he—”

“Sandy. I'll see her,” said a gruff voice behind me.

I tossed my hair, hitting the receptionist in the face, and eyed Atsu Bazeer. I uncurled from the desk and cocked my hip. “Good choice, Mr. Bazeer.”

His eyes widened as he licked his lips.

Gross son of a bitch. I plastered my smile to high wattage and beamed. This was my only chance to come across as a savvy woman who begged for sex. Guaranteed to capture his attention from the research I'd conducted.

“Follow me, miss.”

Got him. Thank God for that.
Thembi. I'm coming.

The door slammed closed behind us. I jumped despite myself, but covered it up with a theatrical stretch, making sure Bazeer noticed.

His eyes were calculating as he prowled to his desk. He wasn't as tall as the online photos suggested, but he was lethal. I didn't have to read body language to know—one slip and I’d end up dinner for hyenas.

Once seated, Mr. Bazeer stared at me. His pastel green suit was radiant against his ebony skin.

True to his vain nature, there were a multitude of mirrors of every size hanging behind him. Each one captured my every move. My every twitch. My heart rate picked up and a heavy pulsing headache warned me to be careful.

Adjusting his cuff links, he asked, “What is it that you want?” His Afrikaans accent was strong, his voice a rumble.

Don't screw this up, Ocean.
“I want what you want.” I cocked my hip in a seductive pose, but without over doing it. My act was to be sexy, strong. Not slutty and sloppy.

His eyebrow rose, while a sharp gaze dropped to my jeans. I resisted the urge to shudder as his eyes snaked over my figure. I smiled instead. A memory of Callan Bliss appeared, unsettling me. He didn’t look at me like Bazeer did. 

“And what is that, pretty little girl?”

“You want to make money. I want to make money. I'm a specialist in grooming young women for—” I coughed pointedly. I didn't want him to miss this. “Let's just say. . . new ownership.”

He froze, and his hand disappeared into a drawer. Was he reaching for a gun? His eyes narrowed, glinting with evil. “Go on. I'm listening.”

“I've come to gain employment. I can guarantee you
won't
regret it.”

His eyes slithered over my body again, stroking his chin with the hand not in the drawer. What was in there?

This man was a loathsome reptile. Repulsive. My fingers itched to reach for one of my knives. I didn't need proof to know poison lurked in his veins. I’d take pleasure in ridding the world of him.

Bazeer smiled a cold smile. “How did you find me? I don't just hire anyone, you know. What are your credentials?”

With each word he spoke, I wanted to scream and launch myself across his desk and stab him till he told me where Thembi was. Swallowing my thoughts, I took a step closer. “I assure you, I’m qualified.”
And don't pretend you aren't interested, you bastard, because you are.
“I know you were business partners with Mr. Suaziki.” I used my trump card. My past of hunting malevolent assholes allowed me a wealth of information.

Bazeer stiffened, but a new interest glimmered in his eyes.

“I was a trusted member of his. . . staff,” I murmured, allowing Bazeer to draw his own conclusions. I killed Mr. Suaziki a few years ago for trafficking, raping, and killing women. I knew his sick tastes and had no qualms about using information to gain me access to Thembi. Thanks to my Google search on business associates of Bazeer’s, I saw how the two men were linked. “I've also worked extensively with young women who were sold as cures for certain ailments.”

Bazeer froze again. Was that a good freeze or an I'm-going-to-kill-you freeze?

I continued in a rush, “I know how to dress the girls, teach them how to act. I coach in the art of love and obedience. I make the purchaser believe in the fantasy he’s buying.” I wanted to scrape my mouth out. I spoke such filth.

Bazeer didn't respond. Instead, he buzzed an intercom on his desk. “Sandy, please escort Miss—” He raised an eyebrow.

“Ocean.” No harm in using my real name. He was no threat to me.

“Miss Ocean to her new quarters, and organize a new wardrobe. I wish her to begin work immediately.”

My heart sprinted in fear and sick anticipation. I'd done it. I was in bed with the devil.

I frowned. He agreed too quickly—it was too easy. Why didn't he ask me to prove my claims? Where were the demands of a strip show, or performance of some horrid sexual act? Of course, I was ecstatic to avoid anything of the sorts, but still. . .

The secretary discretely opened the door behind me. “Miss, if you come this way?”

“How long is my employment for, sir?” I asked, licking my lips, staying in character. I needed to know my countdown to save Thembi.

“You will be assessed over the next two days. If you please me, your employment will be open-ended and at my discretion, Miss Ocean.” His hand twitched before he added, “
Don't
disappoint me. You will not enjoy what I will do to you otherwise.” He stalked toward me.

I fought hard to stay where I was; to lean toward him with a smile. “I won't disappoint, Mr. Bazeer.”

Cold fingers grasped my chin and he held me captive as his dark eyes devoured me. “If you please me, Miss Ocean, you will be
very
well rewarded.” We were almost the same height and I cringed as his tongue licked the seam of my lips. “Be careful you please me, girl.” I was released with a small shove.

I wanted to rub my lips raw from his repugnant taste. Instead, I smiled and batted my eyelashes.
Thembi. Find Thembi. Then you can kill him.

“I look forward to showing you what I’m capable of, Mr. Bazeer,” I said in a breathy voice, then followed his little minion out of his office.

While we waited for the elevator, the receptionist handed me a manila envelope. “You will stay in apartment number six-ninety. The key is in there, along with an advance of forty thousand rand. What size are you?”

At least my working fund just increased. “I'm a size eight in Australian sizes; I'm not sure in any other.”

The girl eyeballed me and nodded. “I will arrange a new wardrobe to be sent to you. You must stay in your room until further notice.”

We took the elevator up to my new gilded cage. With each floor we passed, fingers of trepidation tightened in my gut. This was dangerous. This could quickly get out of hand. The Botoxed girl opened the door to apartment six-ninety and waited until I stepped inside before locking me in. The sound of the lock clicking didn't scare me. Doors and walls were nothing when I wanted to leave. Only lack of food could truly imprison me.

I was pleasantly surprised to see the gaudiness and over-the-top crap was at a minimum in my cage. Whitewashed walls and subtle bamboo furniture graced the bedroom. There was a bathroom and a small kitchenette. One wall was a huge window with panoramic views of the city, but there was no balcony or any other exit apart from the front door.

With nothing else to do, I lay across the bed and opened the manila folder. Inside was a wad of cash and an iPad. My eyes widened. Giving gifts to his employees? What did this mean?

I spent the rest of the day sprawled on the bed, surfing the web. My addiction to reading newspaper articles on reported murders and rapes kept me occupied. Memorizing locations, names, faces—adding them to my long list of people to investigate. In the advertisement columns of the Sydney Herald was a link to a beach surf-cam on Bondi Beach.

Don't click it.

I clicked it, fuelling my irrational pull toward a cop who surfed. I couldn't stop myself from watching the autumn sun highlighting the waves, or the real-time images of people meandering on the golden sand. Black dots rolled with incoming swells—surfers. Was Callan Bliss surfing right now? Was he one of those seal-like creatures frolicking in the water? Why did I even care?