Filed To Story: The Saltwater Curse Book PDF Free
And the noise?
God, the noise. The cacophony of honks and chatter and engines and clattering. It’s overwhelming.
Ordus grits his teeth, jaw feathering, surveying our surroundings. His shoulders are stiff, and he has a white-knuckle grip on the waterproof bag holding our clothes, a hand towel, water bottles, sandals, and cash.
It was too dark for anyone to see us emerge from the water. If they did, well, tough shit. They would’ve gotten an eyeful of Ordus’ human junk I’ve been trying hard not to look at. It makes my skin prickle with the familiar unease of physical contact.
Consciously, I’m aware it’s the same male who has eight limbs and cuddles me to sleep every night, but my body refuses to listen. It recognizes his human body as Tommy’s counterpart, and it’s setting me on edge.
Everything’s setting me on edge.
Each honk. Every male voice. The eyes that glance my way.
I look over my shoulder as I hurry to Ordus’ side, pulse thumping in my chest and flip-flops slapping against the pavement. I wipe my clammy hands on my saturated dress. I don’t miss this.
I thought I was longing for civilization. Now, I’m seriously questioning whether I do. I hate this paranoia, the constant, sinking feeling I’m about to die.
Ordus grabs my hand and pulls me to his side. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing.” I give him the most reassuring smile I can muster.
I throw a longing glance back at the water. I want to be back on the island, lounging on the beach or reading a book in the cave without a care in the world that I might run into a Gallagher.
Or pirates—fuck, I almost forgot about them.
The irony isn’t lost on me. I traded the risk of krakens for men who call themselves pirates.
I press closer to Ordus’ side, cringing when he lets go of my hand to place his on my back as he leads me down to the more populated street. I can’t believe I prefer him in his kraken form.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He’s hating this as much as I am. I trust him to be miles better at spotting danger, but I can’t help darting my eyes to everything that moves—and everything is fucking moving. It’s peak dinner hour. The streets are filled.
No one gives two shits about us—I mean, people are ogling Ordus because he’s a giant, but no one is looking at me.
My plan solidifies more with every second. We’re going to get food and get out. I don’t care about the four hours I have. Hell, I’m willing to eat seafood at this point. I want out of here as soon as possible. My stomach will hate the postdinner swim, but I don’t want to be this exposed for a second longer.
I can feel them. The Gallaghers. They’re hiding around the corner and watching me through cameras.
Sweat trickles down my spine. I want to reach for Ordus’ other hand and grip it for dear life. He’s the only reason I’m not power walking with my head down. At least I have a knife in my bag—fuck. No, I don’t.
A familiar tinkling laugh has my feet faltering in front of a food stall. I frown, turning my head toward the sound.
In the outdoor dining area, seated on a wooden stool, is a woman with jet-black hair, glowing tanned skin, and high cheekbones, arm out to the side, flicking the ash off a cigarette onto the ground.
“Deedee?”
Her perfectly shaped brows slam down into a straight line as she looks amongst the patrons and out onto the street, completely missing me.
The four men surrounding her stop their chatter, collectively tensing. One of them has black ink tattooed on his pale, bald head. Beside him, there’s another Caucasian man with an eyebrow piercing. It’s hard to tell where they might be from, but the other two men could be Indonesian.
“Deedee!” I step beneath the fluorescent light.
She can get us passports and money, just in case. Maybe she’ll know where my shit is so I have the comfort of knowing I have a mode of transport that doesn’t involve drowning myself in saltwater.
Deedee’s on her feet and running toward me as soon as she spots me. I feel Ordus shift, ready to interfere.
“Holy shit, girl.” She yanks me into a hug I’d rather not be the recipient of. I cringe. Ordus moves closer, a low warning growl in his chest that I try to cover by angling Deedee away. “Where the fuck have you been?”
I wrinkle my nose from the ribbons of cigarette smoke wafting toward me, and I bat them away with the back of my hand.
“Someone trashed my place, and I got spooked.” I practiced the lie earlier in case I managed to locate a phone to call her or Nat.
Her eyes round, and she steps back like she’s examining me for bruises. “What? Are you okay?” She glances between me and Ordus, and her nostrils flare with a deep breath. Something shutters behind her eyes as she cranes her neck to look up at him properly. Her jaw drops to the ground in…
Surprise isn’t a strong enough word.
Astonishment.
Deedee’s brows hike up her forehead as she takes him in from head to toe, up to his head again, before turning to me with an emotion I can’t quite place. A dash of confusion, a bit of shock, and—I could be wrong—concern? Or is that anger? I can’t tell.
Deedee studies me with an intensity I’ve never seen on her before. I can only imagine what this looks like. I go MIA for a month then show back up with a tall, muscled, attractive guy.
The fact said guy is radiating violence and Deedee is aware I had a piece of shit ex? She’s probably thinking the worst.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I found a safe place to hunker down,” I say to slice the weird tension. I motion to Ordus, inching toward him to make it clear he’s not a threat. “He’s been helping me out.”
Deedee seems to snap out of whatever spell she’s under. She sidles next to me, grinning and batting her eyelashes up at Ordus. “And tell me about your friend?”
Something ugly and green turns my blood to simmering. I want to tell her it’s none of her business, to put the focus back on me. “Uh, Ordus.”
Her lips widen into a full-blown, satisfied smile. “Single?”
The simmer turns to a boil.
Ordus steps in before I can ruin a friendship. “No,” he snaps, like he can’t imagine anything more insulting.
I look over my shoulder at the same time Deedee’s bald friend stands and snuffs out his cigarette on the tray.
She giggles and playfully bats at Ordus’ arm. He jolts away, clutching his elbow like she left a fatal wound. Deedee’s attention falls back to me, so she misses him bare his teeth at her.
Her slender hand wraps around my arm as she all but yanks me toward her table. “Come. Sit, sit, sit. Eat. Dinner’s on me.” She raises two fingers at the woman behind the counter and says something in Indonesian I don’t quite understand—other than the words for babi guling
—roast pig.
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