Filed To Story: The Saltwater Curse Book PDF Free
Deedee nods to our right. “There’s a beach a couple kilometers that way where me and Ni Luh used to swim. My mother used to yell at us every time she found out we snuck away—beat us with the broom a few times.” She snorts. “Those straw ones that sting like a bitch?
That.”
I grimace. Dad’s form of punishment was only letting me have one scoop of ice cream instead of two—but I was allowed to have some of his.
“Did she surf too?”
Deedee shakes her head. “I didn’t get into it until recent years. I was too chickenshit.” She laughs.
My lips tip up at the corners as I cast a glance at the street. “I’m pretty sure my dad would’ve insisted on a water birth if he knew what it was.”
“And mine would’ve loved an epidural if she knew about it.” She sighs, turning her bracelet around her wrist. “If she knew what I got up to now…”
The phantom sound of a car soaring past makes me flinch. I clear my throat. “We really need to figure out what we’re going to do about the pirates.” Even though I’m getting out of here, I don’t want to leave them in the lurch after she got me set up and settled.
Deedee pioneered the whole gig. She’s the one who began the factory, made the connections, built the clientele. Nat came on board later to do the tech side of things. Then, I injected myself into their operation.
“I think you should reach out to your contacts in?—“
She waves me off. “Shit like this happens all the time. Don’t worry about it. Give it a week or two, and it’ll sort itself out.”
Tension returns to my muscles.
It’s hard enough that only fifty percent of the chips can be used—for the life of me, I can’t figure out why—and we’re producing more books than usable chips. Although the quality of our stock is better, Nat and Deedee had to scale back on how many passports we ended up selling because of my many shortcomings.
It hasn’t impacted profit margins by much, but the wastage is bound to catch up on us—if the pirates don’t screw us over first.
The latest stunt by the pirates is going to screw us big-time unless we act.
“I don’t think crossing our fingers and hoping for the best is the best course of action. We need to be proactive.” In Tommy’s world, that meant either doing something legal, or something very illegal that even I wanted nothing to do with it. “They’ve never taken a whole shipment before. At most, they’ve stolen half. In a few weeks, we won’t be able to operate.”
She rolls her eyes, and boy, does it make me want to scream.
“Just trust me. You’ve been doing this for about a year. I’ve been running this for a lot longer.”
I feel like pulling my hair out. She saved my life by getting me a new passport back when I was searching dark web-forums, and we got to chatting. She made Bali sound like the right place for me, so she helped get me here, found me a place to stay, trusted me with her business, and let me into her fold. I owe her everything I have, but sometimes, her laid-back attitude pisses me the hell off.
How can anyone run a factory without a backup plan? She might be a phenomenal artist, and I know the printing side of things is her domain, but without the microchips, we’re just another subpar passport manufacturer.
I take a deep breath. After losing Dad and living under Tommy’s boot, I’ve learned my survival depends on knowing how to react to things going tits-up.
“At the very least, I think we should put contingency plans in place in case it doesn’t sort itself out.” Surely, that’s a reasonable compromise instead of doing nothing. “Without the parts Wayan was meant to give me last night, I can’t fix the machine. We’re operating at?—“
“Cindi,” she says, voice soft but firm.
I almost flinch at the sound of my new name.
“Just breathe. It’ll all work out. I’m sure it’ll show up in a couple of weeks.”
For fuck’s sake. I’m talking to a brick wall.
Deedee grins. “I know what will fix this.”
I hold my breath, waiting for her to continue. I’m not going to like whatever idea she has.
“We’ll get you blackout drunk tonight so you forget all about it.”
Don’t roll your eyes. Don’t roll your eyes.
My teacher once said if I can’t say anything nice, I shouldn’t say anything at all. But I think my silence might be taken as an act of violence right now.
“My stomach’s been uneasy. I don’t think drinking is on the cards for me.” It’s not entirely a lie. The cause of it is purely from anxiety.
Deedee was born and raised in Bali. Hitting the town with her is an experience like no other—I assume so, anyway. I’ve only been out of the house past dinnertime three times in the past year, and I didn’t dare have more than two drinks. The one time I made it to the third, I was hyperventilating in the bathroom because I thought the guy who wanted to dance with me was Tommy.
With what happened with the pirates, this feels like the worst possible time to go out drinking in public.
But what I really want is to sleep for two days straight.
“Come on.” She drags the single syllable out.
After I got out, I promised myself no one would be able to pressure me into doing things I don’t want to do anymore. I’ll have to make an exception. This will probably be the last time I hang out with them. I’ll wrap some things up at the lab, then head out within a few days. It might be months, or even years, before I get the chance to surf again, so I’ll take advantage of it while I can.
“We’ll see how I feel tonight.”
Deedee gives me a look that says, “I see right through your bullshit.” I ignore it the same way she’s ignoring our problems.
My complacency sure as shit didn’t make Tommy any less abusive. Doing nothing will only make our issues with the pirates worse, and I feel like I’m the only goddamn person who cares whether or not this business fails.
It might not be my problem in a couple of days, but I neither want to burn bridges nor watch them burn. Nat and Deedee are good people.
I lower my chest onto the board and start paddling closer to the incoming wave before she can say more. I speed up my strokes, preparing to move to my feet at the right moment. This usually relaxes me—makes me feel invincible—but my mind is elsewhere, jumping from Tommy to passports to Wayan’s lack of response on when our next shipment might be, and…rows of firm abs, silky black hair, hypnotic blue eyes, and his scent
—
Gods, I’m out in the open, breathing in the real thing, and I swear, he still smelled better.
I push to my feet as the wave catches me. I know the second before I lose my balance that I’m going under. Pressure forces the nose of my board upward, my feet with it. Oxygen is yanked right out of my lungs from the force of the collision against the water’s surface. Bubbles and the roar of the sea explodes all around me. My arms flail, trying to get to my board, or at least get some kind of stability. But it keeps coming, coming, coming, turning my body upside down, contorting me to the sea’s wish.
Panic, raw and debilitating, tears through me. None of the tricks I was taught work. Instinct isn’t saving me.
My leg slams into a stone. Bubbles explode around my muted cry, and my lungs burn from the lack of oxygen.
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