For the second time, he’s pulling me out of the water, and I’m immediately heaving in air, choking on it, and hacking up water.
A sob bursts from my throat, tears streaming down my cheeks and mixing with the water pouring down my face from my drenched hair.
“Enzo! P-please, don’t let them—”
“Don’t worry, baby, they’re not the ones you should be afraid of.”
Before I can get another word out, he’s forcing me back down again. My eyes snap open, and this time I do see something move beneath the surface. It’s blurry, but it’s fast. And it’s shooting up from the depths of the ocean, aiming straight for me.
Enzo moves inside me quicker and then suddenly pulls out. Just barely do I feel something wet splash onto my back, but I’m far more concerned about the predator seconds away from taking me under.
Just as I’m convinced that I’m going to be eaten alive, he yanks my head out of the water again. Once more, I’m heaving in air, choking on it, and coughing as my eyes bug from my head.
Seconds later, the shark bursts through the surface right where my head had been, bashing into the boat, its mouth open as it searches for its prey.
I scream, scrambling back into Enzo as the boat rocks violently. He gets to his feet, dragging me backward, then drops me, leaving me hyperventilating. I’m still drowning, but only in absolute terror.
I cough up more water and pitifully crawl away. There’s nowhere for me to go, but I’m moving on autopilot, and the only thing I’m desperate for more than oxygen is to get the fuck away from the edge of the boat.
The vessel rocks from when the shark bashed into it, but it barely registers. Tears are spilling from my eyes, I’m still naked from the waist down, and I’m pretty sure he came all over my back. I feel… I don’t know, but I do know that nothing has ever made me feel worse.
Nothing.
Enzo is leaning against the glass wall that leads to the scuba gear, dressed once more, with his arms and legs crossed and tongue in his cheek as he stares at me stoically. As if he didn’t just get off while he held me underwater.
Avoiding his eyes, my bottom lip violently trembles as I grab my bathing suit bottoms and slip them back on, at a loss for words.
Maybe I deserved that. Maybe I deserve worse.
I’ve stolen from so many people—fucked with so many lives, and caused a lot of grief. I know that.
So, I keep my mouth shut, grab my jean shorts, and wipe my back down as best I can before slipping them on. I'm berating myself for leaving my phone in my van, even if it's completely useless right now. His credit card is still in the back pocket, the outline of it searing against the fabric as he watches me clean off his release. I’d rather my clothes be covered in him than my skin.
Then, I huddle in the corner, praying he’ll just take me back. I don’t really have a home, but right now, anything but here will suffice.
“Why'd you do it?” he asks finally, devoid of emotion. I shiver, the ice in his voice colder than the water he drowned me in.
I glance at him, my eyes on fire from the salt.
“I’ll pay you back,” I croak. My throat is also on fire, and my words come out broken and hoarse.
His brow furrows. “You can't stop lying, can you?”
Red crawls up my cheeks, embarrassed because he's right. I would run before I ever did the right thing. “How much did you charge on the credit card?”
My shoulders hike to my ears, ashamed. “Less than a grand, I think.”
His lips flatten. “Ever heard of getting—”
“A job? Yes, I have. I may live out of a van, but I don’t live under a rock,” I snap, growing tired of his questions. I may owe him money, an apology, and maybe even a couple of years in jail—but I don’t owe him an explanation.
Or maybe I do, but that’s the one thing I won’t give him.
“I could have you arrested.”
I shrug and mutter, “I guess then maybe I can stop running.”
He narrows his eyes, once more staring at me as he contemplates something.
“You’re wanted for your crimes, aren’t you? That’s why you can’t get a real job.”
I tighten my lips and say, “Yep.”
I've worked under-the-table jobs before, but most places require socials, IDs, and conduct background checks. I'm not stupid enough to use another person's name, and I sure as hell can't use my own.
He scoffs, shaking his head. “Why not just get a job at sixteen like a normal fucking person? Why even dig yourself in a hole like that to begin with?”