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For the ones who love spice with a plot—spread those pages and don't you dare close them.
Good girl.
Following in his father’s footsteps like the ripples that follow a high tide.
In return, she’ll alert my superior, and I’ll be given the order to kill him.
She may be a fascinating product of terror, but she’s also the living embodiment of destruction.
It’s not that I don’t like it; my father took so much pride in naming me after the place where he met my mother—the Caspian Sea.
When hunting your prey, you follow the tracks. Every predator knows that.
So why is my shark taking a detour towards shallow water instead of swimming straight for me in the deep?
my little shark.
Whatever it takes for me to catch my shark and end this war.
“You’re going to swim so far, Sharkie.
War changes you, darling.”
There’s no way to stop myself from grinning at the intrusive thought of dragging my finger across the buttons. I bet it would light up like a Christmas tree.
“You’ll be infiltrating Depth or drawing out their leader, Tide. Whichever comes first.”
continue down the pavement of the bustling place she calls home.
the thought of her walking in the same area, utterly oblivious to the monster lurking in her shadow.
but the sound of that little shark bumping around in my skull is incredibly distracting.
They’re talking about the woman whose mark I bear and whose picture burns a hole in my pocket. If anyone is fucking with her emotionally, mentally, or even physically, it’ll be me.
she's turned me into.
until I convince the devil lurking around my head that it wasn’t because of her.
She may be a sight to behold, but there’s a monster hiding under that pretty skin.
Keep on swimming, little fish. I’ll catch you soon enough. I just hope my hook doesn't cut too deep before I get the information I need.
He succeeded in making me the ‘secret weapon’ he always wanted.
Karma is the kind of beauty that makes you wonder if angels truly fall from heaven, despite her always claiming the devil himself kissed her on the head. I like to think that God simply didn’t notice when she fell through the gates and landed here.
“You know how it goes, I can’t—” “Say a pretty name while I’m doing vile things.”
Her love language is physical touch, while mine is more the ‘gift-giving-but-I’ll-stay-six-feet-away-at-all-times’
“How are you supposed to swim lengths if you can’t fly heights as well? Just breathe.”
It’s not fear that has my heart slamming against my ribcage, threatening to escape; it’s the sight before me.
A sight that disappears with a hard crack and black filling my vision. But a name rings in my ears. Sharkie.
For walking destruction, she’s fuckin’ gorgeous
Someone so fucking evil doesn’t deserve to be so tempting.
What if my little shark had bitten me?
I love pickles so much that it almost makes me forget they’re my going-away gift.
A boy will let these demons haunt him; a man will feed them to–” “The sharks and move on. I know.”
“Are you trying to bite me, little shark?”
One thing is for sure, though. Cuffs are never going on her wrist again unless–
“I want him dead. I want his blood to paint the sand like my parents float the sea.”
I couldn’t care less about the lives I take, but the lives I lose are a different story—an
I’ll gladly become one of the most annoying captives they’ve ever had the displeasure of holding.
There’s never chaos in my base, but this fucking shark brings blood into my water, and suddenly, all my fish are sent into a fury.
“I’m here, little shark. So go on. Bite me. Draw that blood you’re so desperate for. Reach into my vest and find whatever weapon you want.“
“I’m sorry. Are you flirting with me or threatening me? I can’t tell—“
I want her to submit to me.
What is going on inside that pretty little head?
It’s like she knew the nightmares were pulling me under, so she decided to speak so I could keep my head above water.
“Hate me all you want, make me the monster in your dreams, make me the thing you strive to kill, make me the villain in your story. As long as it’s me and no one or nothing else.”
If she’s going to cry, I want it to be for me.
She calls me sick regularly, but I’m not ill–I’m fucking psychotic when it comes to her.
My eyes flick between hers, genuinely confused about how she’s so afraid of the ocean, yet she holds it in her eyes.
“If I’m a sick fuck, then what does that say about you? You’re dripping all over my fingers, basically begging me to touch you, love.”
