Filed To Story: The Saltwater Curse Book PDF Free
I shouldn’t panic, but shit, I’m going to drown. Something hard hits my head, sending me into a stunned daze muffled by the surge of adrenaline. I twist my body to try to fight the water’s drag, using every ounce of my power to claw out. Every time I get a glimpse of the surface, I’m yanked back under.
Something wraps around my legs just as my body curls from the force of another wave. It stops me from being pulled further from the shore. A scream tears through my throat and bubbles around me from the faint puckering against my bare skin. Through my blurry vision, I just make out a huge, reddish-brown thing curling around my arm toward my board.
Is that a fucking tentacle?
Oh, fuck no.
I whip around, trying to dislodge whatever the hell it is. I swear it lifts me toward the surface, because the next thing I know, oxygen slams into me at once with a choked gasp. My board bobs beside me, and I scramble onto it, hoping and praying it doesn’t take my desperation for escape as an act of aggression. It isn’t until my body is plastered on top of the board that I’m certain I’m not becoming octopus chow.
“Jesus Christ,” I gasp, lying on my stomach to catch my breath. The shore has to be four-hundred yards away. I can just make out Nat and Deedee’s ant-sized frames watching me from the distance, oblivious to my near-death experience.
Paddling back to shore, I try very hard not to think about what might be in the water. If that thing latches onto me again, I’m going to pass out.
The next wave carries me along the water to make it back in half the time it would’ve taken me to paddle. There’s none of the familiar joy or euphoria I’d usually get, only stone-cold relief. I know I said I could die happy out here, but I wanted to go peacefully—not by getting mauled. Drowning, on the other hand? I wouldn’t hate it, I don’t think.
“Holy shit. I think a fucking octopus just touched me,” I pant as I use the last of my energy reserves to jog over to our area on the beach, surveying the surroundings.
Nat cocks a brow, looking at me from above her book. Her blond hair is splayed out on the towel like a halo. “Did it now?”
“It was giant.” I shove my surfboard into the sand and drop onto my ass, lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. My body succumbs to the fatigue, and I collapse onto the sand. “It wrapped around my leg and my stomach, and I thought I was going to get strangled—or eaten.”
I narrow my eyes at Deedee as she laughs. “Cindi, zero. Seaweed, one.” She rummages through her bag and throws a few things onto my lap.
“What’s this for?” I croak. Shielding my eyes from the harsh sun, I lift my head to inspect the painkillers, medicine bottle, and metal tube. “Are we drug dealers now?”
“Hold up. I think I’ve got a condom in my car to add,” Nat teases.
“Anjing.” I call her dog in Bahasa.
Deedee snickers. “The ointment is for your back. My doctor friend said it’s an antibacterial or antifungal cream—I can’t remember. Actually, it might be an antihistamine. Just try it. The rest are from Nat.”
I resist the urge to glare at her. This is all her fault. Maybe trusting a non-tattoo artist to do my first tattoo was a bad idea. Slightly inebriated me was sure it was a great idea to get one at the time. Tommy hated them on women, and I thought it was a good fuck you to Tommy and a symbol of my freedom. It’s a cross between a motif design with a plant-leaf thing—I’m not really sure, honestly. I let Deedee decide, and apparently, she chose to give me the exact same tattoo she has.
Hindsight is a beautiful thing. Had I known I’d have a reaction to red ink, I would never have used so much of it. It’s been over six months, and it still hasn’t healed.
Nat points at the painkillers. “That’s what I took when I had a back injury.” She winks when she points at the bottle. “And the vitamins are for your hangover tomorrow. But I should be giving you my condolences.”
“What? Why?” My brows flatten.
“Because we’re eating calamari tonight.”
Ugh. “It was an octopus, not a squid.”
Can my day be over already?
Kill me now.
I’m getting too old for this shit. Or maybe I’m too cynical. Or altogether an angry, hateful woman.
My migraine is in full force from the loud, thumping, bad music and the screeching men and women alike. I’m not sure what the science behind it is, but I feel two seconds away from a heart attack from all the flashing lights.
How I enjoyed these things when I was in college is beyond me. I used to be out every Friday or Saturday night—before Tommy, of course. As per his expectations, a proper woman wouldn’t have more than a glass of wine, and God forbid she do anything to enjoy herself.
I bounce the heels of my wedges against the floor. I grip my drink, using the cold to numb the ache in my wrist. I keep close to the bar and dart my eyes around the room, studying every new face. I can just spot Natalie dancing with another woman I’ve met several times, but I can’t remember her name. Deedee isn’t that far away either, happily getting felt up by some guy—probably a tourist. They’re the most fun, apparently.
They’d both always had a carefree air around them, even though our line of business could land us in a ditch or in prison.
My second cocktail isn’t doing shit to stop me from grinding my molars. My mind isn’t registering the taste. The lack of food and water is making the alcohol go straight to my head—I don’t feel even remotely laid-back.
The atmosphere sure as hell isn’t any more tolerable.
Even if I wanted to drink more to prove to myself Tommy’s rules hold no bearing on me, the fear his family has ingrained in me is still there.
If I’m drunk, that means I can’t think straight.
If I’m hungover, I’m slower.
Anything could happen at any moment, and I need to be prepared to run. I won’t become a victim just because I decided to indulge in a Sex on the Beach.
For what must be the thousandth time tonight, I check my cabin’s security footage. I glance at the cameras in the corners of the room as I tap my fingers against my phone. I’m so exposed out here. What if someone is watching me from those cameras?
The Gallaghers have the means to hack into security footage. What if they have access to facial recognition software I’m not aware of? Does that even exist?
They could track me to this very spot and drag me out.
I blow out a breath, focusing on calming the fuck down before every person in this bar starts looking like Tommy. Unshed tears threaten to spill as I fight the urge to bolt.
The cheesy pop tune hammers against my eardrums. I pretend not to hear Nat calling me over to dance. I’ll lose my grip on my sanity if I do.
A hand curves around my lower back, and I jump away, breathing hard and trembling at the stranger who touched me. Goosebumps rain over my flesh, and my stomach ties into a hundred knots that threaten to empty the contents of my stomach. Every nerve ending in my body locks up, prepared to be struck. A faint ringing sounds in my ear, and suddenly I’m back in the cold, white mansion, cooking dinner, terrified he had a less than savory day and he knows about a misstep I’ve taken that I’m unaware of.
No, I’m not there anymore.
My knuckles are bleached white on my purse. I’m half tempted to pull out my taser to use it on the tourist just trying to make the most out of his holiday.
“You’re looking a little lonely over here,” he slurs.
“That’s intentional,” I mumble under my breath so he can’t hear. I flinch, ready to be slapped for talking back, even though the rational part of my brain is aware I won’t be. A year and a half ago, I would have been beaten black and blue for?—
I dig my long nails into my palm, focusing on the pain.
Stop thinking about him, Krist—Cindi.
New Book: Returned To Make Them Pay
On her wedding anniversary, Alicia is drugged and stumbles into the wrong room—straight into the arms of the powerful Caden Ward, a man rumored never to touch women. Their night of passion shocks even him, especially when he discovers she’s still a virgin after two years of marriage to Joshua Yates.