Filed To Story: The Saltwater Curse Book PDF Free
Ordus will die trying to save me.
Fuck. No—he can’t. He has to go back to the island and forget about me. There’s no point in the both of us getting captured.
I fight harder. I’d rather get a bullet through the head than deal with whatever’s coming.
Another set of hands lands on me, shifting my equilibrium by yanking my shoulder and slamming me down onto a seat. It digs into my back, like sandpaper against my inflamed tattoo. They tie me easily to it, like I’m not screaming and thrashing for dear life, and unfasten the sack on my head, though they leave it on.
I beg them to let me go in every language I know, but none of it makes sense through the gag. I strain my eyes, trying to see. Still, nothing but the light’s hue makes it through.
The echo of departing footsteps fills the room. The gunshot sound of the slammed door makes things worse. They’re calling for their boss. Who is it going to be? Tommy’s brother? One of their enforcers? His dad?
The ropes burn my skin as I wriggle, trying to undo the bindings around my wrists or loosen the ties strapping me to the chair.
The bag is ripped from my head, and I scream from the shock and the sudden onslaught of light. Breathing hard, I squint against the brightness.
A single, dreary, white light bulb hangs from the moldy ceiling. Brown and black stains splatter the concrete floors and yellowed walls, a watercolor patchwork foretelling the agony in my future. The peeling wallpaper curls around the rickety table loaded with guns, rusted knives, pliers, and tools I’ve only ever seen used on cars and construction.
Movement flashes from my side. I jump and cringe away from the person rounding me, body primed for an attack. My brows stitch together, blinking to pinpoint why the blurry face is familiar.
“Deedee?” I croak, inspecting her up and down for bruises or ropes. “What are you—what’s happening? Where am I? Why am I here? Untie me.”
Her arms are free. She’s in the same jeans and T-shirt I saw her in during dinner—how long ago was that? I crane my neck to find a window. Is the sun about to rise?
It doesn’t matter. We need to get out of here before those men come back.
Deedee tsks, and the room spins when I snap my attention back to her. “So many questions,” she muses.
My frown deepens. “Deedee, this isn’t funny—” The realization drops like a stone. I suck in a sharp breath at the smile splitting across her face. “The American,” I whisper.
She sold me out.
My friend gave me up to the fucking Gallaghers.
That bitch.
Rage slices through me. Anger at her. Anger at myself. I was stupid to trust her. We were never friends. Why the fuck did we get matching tattoos if we didn’t have some kind of bond?
“Cindi, Cindi, Cindi.” Deedee’s bottom lip sticks out in mock pity. “I don’t even know your real name.”
It takes me a second to figure out what she meant. When it finally sinks in, I want to throw up. Deedee said there was an American going around saying my actual name.
Like I’m taking too long to fit the pieces together, she laughs. “There was never any American, stupid.”
I think I’m going to throw up.
“But there was a man at my house. He—he took my phone,” I say in disbelief.
Deedee purses her lips in mock pity. “Yes. One of mine, babe.”
“Why am I here?” I stutter, flicking my attention between her and the door. How long until the Gallaghers walk in? How much is she getting for handing me over?
Her smile twists into an ugly sneer. “Because you found him, and you really shouldn’t have found him.”
“Who?” Tommy? I—I don’t understand. If this isn’t about the Gallaghers, then what?
Wait—“Ordus?”
“Yes, Ordus.” She spits his name. “Monsters.”
I gape at Deedee. How the fuck does she know what he is? Ordus didn’t recognize her, and she was acting strange from the moment she saw him.
“They feast on human flesh.
Children. What type of sick monster are you for spreading your legs for him?” She places her manicured hands on her hips, dragging her scrutinizing eyes over me. “I thought you’d be smarter than to do something as stupid as go near his kind.”
“They’re not all bad,” I defend. Ordus is kind and gentle. Sure, he’s a bit crazy and unhinged, but that’s only because his culture is different to humans. “I’m his mate,” I tack on like it might mean something or explain how I got into this situation. “I won’t let you hurt him.”
“Cute. Like you’d be able to do anything,” she scoffs, looking down her nose at me like I’m the dumbest person she’s ever met. And maybe I am. “You’re a human, darling. Humans and krakens don’t go together. Tell me, why does he think you’re his mate
?” she mocks. “Let me guess: he feels a pull to you? He just knows or some stupid childish bullshit like that? Hmm?”
I shift in my chair, throwing nervous glances at the table full of torture equipment. Deedee is who the krakens are afraid of—the humans they’ve been told to steer clear of because they’re hated for their mere existence.
I continue wriggling my hands to undo the ties.
“Mates?” A maniacal smirk warps her face. “Hate to break it to you, girl. That’s because of me and the pretty little mark I left on your back.”
As if noticing the attention, the tattoo on my back prickles and sparks before catching fire. I roll my shoulders to unstick the fabric from it. “What does the tattoo have to do with any of this?”
I bare my teeth like an animal when she reaches over to tap my nose, like this is all some big fucking joke, and any second, she’s going to yell “just kidding.”
“You know, it’s a good thing you haven’t let him sink his fangs into you, or else the Curse would’ve lifted, and I’d be very, very upset.”
I jerk back. Deedee knows about that too? “Why wouldn’t you want to end the Curse? They have women, children, fucking newborn babies.”
“Ni Luh was just a child, and they killed her!” Her voice takes on a deep rumble. The dark browns of her eyes twist into the darkest shade of endless black. “Everyone in our village loved her, and his kind took her from me. She was innocent, and they tore her body to shreds. But you know what they did?” Her expression goes crazed. “They left us her head.”
The air crackles with electricity, the type of charged energy of a haunted house, or a cemetery when the moon is at its highest. It’s an unnatural shift ten times stronger than the subtle tingle down my spine when the sigils into the cave flow.
Her shoe slides along the bloodstained floor. “There are witches around the world, but none are as powerful as my mother. She was revered across the earth. My sister’s powers were manifesting to be just as formidable,” she explains, angry creases forming around her eyes.
My eyes drop to the bracelet she always wears. Her sister’s bracelet. Ni Luh.
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