She’s not deaf.
I know she’s not deaf.
I know where she lives.
I know she’s hiding.
I know I’m the last person she wants to see.
I know she sleeps in boy short underwear and a tank top.
I know she has anxiety issues because she keeps a bottle of pills in her bathroom.
I know she never takes those pills. I count them. But every time I check, the bottle has been moved. So I know she thinks about them often enough to want to hold the bottle.
I know she has a phone. But I also know she never uses it. I’ve checked the minutes. It never changes. I know how much money she has, what’s inside her fridge. I know she touches herself at night sometimes. And she moans as she comes, her back arching for a second.
I know she’s sad and she fights it off. I’ve read her journal pages. It’s not really a diary. She writes the pages each night, then goes to bed, wakes, reads them. Then burns them in the kitchen sink before she starts her AM routine.
They always say the same thing. Please hurry. Please come to me. Please find me. Please don’t forget me. Please, please, please, do not leave me here all alone.
I know a lot about her but I don’t know her name. Or who she’s waiting for. I have an idea, but that might be wishful thinking. I don’t know why she’s here. Or why I’m here, for that matter. I’m as unsure about all those things as she is that this absent prince will come save her.
But I’m certain of one thing.
This girl?
She is mine.
I’m the one who came to her. I’m the one who found her. I’ll be the one to keep her.
Chapter Two
HARPER
“What’s your name?”
The voice startles me because I had no idea anyone else was at the end of the pier with me. The waves are large this morning and they crash hard enough against the pillars below to envelop me in a mist of seawater. I don’t turn to face him. He has a smooth rumbling voice that tingles my insides and for a moment, I sense I’ve heard it before. I picture the kind of man attached to it. Someone big. Someone young, but not as young as me. I continue to scan the horizon, staring out at the Pacific Ocean, waiting for the sunrise. It’s mere moments away and I hate that he’s interrupting my sunrise.
“Hello? Name?” he asks again.
He’s someone used to getting an answer when he asks a question. He’s someone with authority, but not a cop or a sanctioned soldier. Cops have that it’s-nothing-personal-and-you’re-boring-the-shit-out-of-me-so-just-give-me-answers tone. Soldiers who get paid by legitimate governments would not give a shit about me. So he’s not in the military. I grew up listening to voices of authority, taking note on the ones who inspire, the ones who cower, and the ones you need to fear. This guy’s voice says he never cowers.
He’s one of us. I know this immediately, with only those few words, I know. This is it.
I give none of this away, simply continue with my quest to see the blue line where the sea meets the sky when the first light of day hits it. Why can’t people just leave me alone?
“Woman,” he growls at me as he takes a few steps closer. He’s barefoot, I can tell by the way his feet scrape across the concrete pier as he walks. My heart flutters for a few seconds and I wonder if he’ll hurt me. Would he be allowed to hurt me? I’ve imagined my capture happening a million ways, but not this way.
Am I ready?
A hand rests on my right shoulder, gripping slightly as if to turn me around. This is a trigger for me. I don’t want him to see my face.
I grab his wrist with both hands, bend over, and reach back with my foot and wind my ankle around his. I heave and do a very sloppy toss because he’s far heavier than anyone I’ve practiced this move on. He sorta tumbles off to the side instead of actually being flung over my shoulder, but that extra moment is all I need.
I climb the railing of Huntington Beach Pier and dive into the mist.
I hit the dark sea with a small splash and then the muted underwater sound of crashing waves fills my head. I continue the arc of my entrance through a powerful swell, and then somersault and circle back, kicking off my shoes as I go. I resurface underneath the pier, get rag-dolled by an incoming wave, and crash headfirst into a concrete pillar.
The pain shoots through my head and my body shuts down to take a moment to deal.
My instincts are slow, my hesitation a mistake I might not live to regret, and then I open my mouth and take a breath before I can stop the reflex. I choke underwater, taking in more liquid, and then shoot upwards to the small glint of light in the approaching dawn.
A hand grabs my ankle and I swallow water this time instead of taking it in my lungs. I kick, but my body is overwhelmed and confused trying to deal with multiple life-threatening situations. I give in and allow myself to be pulled back towards him.
If this guy came off the pier after me, there’s no way he’s letting me go, and there’s no way I’m able to fight him underwater. I’ll drown myself.
His hand leaves my ankle and grabs my upper arm instead, tugging me up to the surface. I break through gasping for air and choking on seawater. Adrenaline races through my blood, a primal reaction to the situation, a true fight-or-flight response. Every muscle tingles as energy is shunted through my body. And as strange as it sounds, my only thought in this moment is how exhausted I’ll be if I live.
Then I snap back to reality. I won’t live if I don’t deal with the hunter.
I scream. His hand cups my mouth, hard, tight, like I just pushed him over the edge.
“Quiet,” he commands into my ear as he flips me over on my back, his other hand reaching under my flailing arm, grasping my chest. “Relax, woman.”
Woman? I’m just a girl. Can’t he see that? Can’t he see I’m just a girl?
He swims towards the shore, dragging me along with him. Every few seconds the Pacific swells, saltwater pours into my mouth and nose. I swallow, choke, and then the man lifts me up out of the choppy sea so I can gulp some air before it all starts again. After several minutes of struggle his feet find purchase in the shifting sand and he stands, lifting me up and cradling me in his arms.
This is my only chance, so I kick my legs up, flip and twist out of his grip, and make us both fall backwards into the crashing waves once more.
I wriggle and he loses his grip on me, but just when I think I can throw him by swimming back out to sea, his hand clamps down on my ankle again. He yanks me back and a pain shoots through my knee as it overextends from the jerk. My shirt rides up along the sandy bottom of the ocean, billowing around my face. Can my luck be any worse today?
I cough and claw at the fabric that threatens to smother me, and this time, there’s no gentle attempt to ease my fears. He flips me over and drags me up the beach until we’re just out of the water, and then he collapses on top of me, his hot breath in my ear. His heaving chest on top of mine. Our heartbeats synchronized with fear or adrenaline or pain, I’m not sure which.
“Please!” I moan as his full weight rests over my small body. “You’re crushing me!”
He doesn’t move, just continues to breathe, his chest drawing in air, making his body move against mine in a way that suddenly feels more intimate than it should. I claw at his back, pushing against the thick muscles of his shoulders.
“Stop,” he says after a few seconds. “You’re bleeding and this struggle will just make it worse.”
“Get off me or I’ll scream,” I growl back at him.
“Scream, then,” he says calmly, his breath not as labored now. “You’ll be arrested for jumping off the pier. I’ll say I saved you. That you were trying to kill yourself. If you scream, life gets complicated very fast. So go ahead. Tell the fucking world you’re down here with me, lionfish. I could care less.”