Sink with me, p.1
Sink With Me, page 1
Copyright © 2024 by Trin Savage
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The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products are intended or should be inferred.
Book Cover by Nihal Zaairi
“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.”
-Tide
Content Warning
Before you sink into this book please be weary that some topics may be triggering. For the full list please visit my website.
Your mental health matters.
https://trinsavage.carrd.co/#swm
For the ones who love spice with a plot—
Spread those pages and don't you dare close them.
Good girl.
Date: 7-23-2022
Time: 0927
War. It should be a terrifying word, shouldn't it? The bloodshed, the lives lost, and even the long-term effects should be enough to make your body shudder at the thought. Yet standing here with the enemy's blood on my hands does nothing but send a rush of adrenaline through my body. The well-organized faction would never be prepared for my wrath. They prove that time and time again. With each body that drops, the closer I am to the finish line.
After the War of Chaos, Bay and Depth were formed. Concealed from the world into secret factions; one for the land and one for the sea. Protectors, or so we thought.
Now we’re at war with one another. If they weren't so precious about their fucking ocean maybe we wouldn't be in this mess, but I guess not everyone has the mindset to do the right thing.
Slowly, I climbed the ranks until I became one of the most important members, not that anyone ever noticed. That part isn’t important. What is important is that while I was fighting my way up, I learned of another taking his role on the opposite side. How cute is that? Following behind his daddy, like the ripples behind a crashing wave.
What a pity.
The best part about not having parents is that you can create your path, with no obligations or expectations standing in your way and holding you back from progress. You can rule the world or in my case end a war without the hassle of being reprimanded about every move you make. You have no motive to stop what you’re doing to appease the ones you love.
However, the physical reminder of being alone stares back at me every time I glance in the mirror. It’s my mother's smile shining, her brown curls falling from my head. It’s my father's ocean blue eyes locking onto my own, with his pointed nose in the air and freckles painting my cheeks.
Sometimes I have to remind myself that it’s me I’m looking at. Not them. I carved my path from the day I heard that the ones who were supposed to love me most sank to the bottom of the ocean with everything they ever fought for. Thirteen of Bay's most crucial members who spent years preparing to accommodate and provide for those most affected across the world by The Chaos plummeted to the dark depths of uncharted waters.
If that’s not motivation, then I don’t know what is.
I can feel the man breaking beneath me as I drive my once delicate knuckles into his face again and again, so lost in the plaguing memories my actions feel dissociated from me. No matter how hard I train or how many lives I take, I'm still human, and being human sucks. All these feelings I'm forced to carry inside a body I never even asked to possess.
“Sharkie?” A familiar voice grounds me back to reality through the hidden speaker in my ear. Karma. She always seems so calm and composed in these situations.
Subtly laughing, I wipe my shirt along my face to rid some of the blood splatter. I've honestly started to wonder if she watches me through my chest-piece. Of course, she doesn't. Last time she threw up her gourmet salad and cussed me afterward for it. She thinks I take it too far—I think I should just click my camera off so no one can see what I get up to. She'd never make it in a field with such distaste for violence, but she is a hell of a mastermind behind the screen. I never question her. She does her job, and she keeps my ass in check. I’m not scared of many people, but when Karma’s yelling, I’d rather not be on the receiving end.
“I already told you,” I huff through heavy breaths as my hands wrap around the red stained fabric of his shirt, “you can call me by my name.”
I groan under his dead weights as I drag him to the corner. I never dispose of the bodies—consider it my calling card if you will. Who would Depth whine to? Cry to? The police? No, they can't. So why get rid of evidence when they can’t trace who did the crime? I want him to see what he's causing. I want to make sure it’ll haunt him forever.
“I refuse to use such a pretty name while you're doing vile things.”
I smile.
"Karma," I say in a smooth voice as I dump his body, "I'm doing vile things for the people—" She cuts off my words with a click of her tongue, expressing her disapproval at my sentiment.
The low growl that comes from the man beneath my feet has my skin crawling, nearly ready to just burn the whole building to the ground. They are an infestation. What do they feed these assholes that make them so hard to fucking kill? Each one I encounter fights until they simply drop from exhaustion.
“He’s… coming… for you.” Each word the man speaks comes gurgling and sputtering over the blood rising in his mouth and spitting down his chin. The sadistic chuckle that follows has bile reaching my throat.
“Can’t wait to meet him.” I purr through my smile, clicking my pistol from my hip and putting a bullet right between the bastard's eyes.
I should have known better than to let this distraction take all my attention. A cold steel edge presses into my throat, the overwhelming scent of cigars and salt water filling my nose. Yet, I stay silent; I can handle this on my own.
Breathe. One, two—
Elbow to the ribs, a quick turn on my heel and a grasp on his wrist has the knife dropping from his hand into my own as he falls to his knees. Green eyes stare up at me. They don't hold fear but a glimmer of something completely different. Confusion, admiration? I look at the sharp line of his jaw, perfectly risen cheekbones, and tousled brown hair. His features are all I need to figure out that this… is Tide.
The rapid flick of his pulse kisses the blade as I hold it to his neck, the vibration echoing up the hilt into my palm and instinctively, I press it further and watch as a deep red droplet glides down the metal.
He doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t fight, he doesn’t do anything except smirk. The asshole smirks. Who does he think he is? Here I hold his life in my hands, yet he kneels and greets death like an old friend.
The way he holds my gaze has every nerve ending in my body firing unlike anything before. I could end him now, without a second thought or hint of remorse. Those once-shocking nerves begin to die and sink into the pit of my stomach.
It’s become too easy for me to kill without a second thought, this constant desire urging me to just drive the blade in until blood pools and his heart stops. Even though I know that's illogical I tilt it a little further just to see his nose scrunch. If I were to end him now, another would gladly fill his position, leaving me back at square one.
“Damn it Sharkie. Did you kill him? Sometimes I swear that your brain is empty. ” Karma's voice comes back over, startling me enough that the knife falls between my fingers to the grimy floor below. I need to think, but I can’t with Karma's voice in my ear and his eyes holding mine hostage. My heart rate skyrockets and my mind clutters. Think. He shouldn't be here but he is, in the flesh, tempting me with the blood I can't spill. Maybe I can… no, that wouldn't work… or I could try–
“Who the fuck are you?!” His voice comes out sinfully deep, carrying a southern English lilt that scrambles my already chaotic thoughts.
“Shut up.” I hiss, clasping my hand over my chest to muffle my mic. He follows the motion, his brows pulling into a deep v.
“You're a Bay, aren’t you?”
“What have you done?”
Between the static of the radio and his retorts I beg whatever God is out there for quiet—I need to think. I kick the weapon to the corner. Pressing my finger to his lips I slowly shake my head. It’s a warning— a second chance for him to correct his and his fathers mistakes.
This assignment was supposed to be much simpler; keep the target alive. Unfortunately, the target was a pitiful man who carried no intel. Not that I care anymore especially when I just put a red dot on someone so much better.
For now, I’ll have to relish the feeling of my fist colliding with Tides' perfect nose, the crack rendering him unconscious. What a miserable contradiction, to leave this man alive when my life’s mission is to tear apart every person who even breathes the word Depth. That’ll take time and patience and by God do I have it.
Turning on my heel, I leave my handiwork to the man knocked out on the floor. I left my mark on the person's flesh whose father left a dent in my world. How does that saying go? ‘We don’t pay for our parents' sins’? I beg to differ, if that were true I wouldn't be sweating through a thick coat of blood knowing that I just let the one person who
“Sharkie, did you kill him?”
“He was a low rank. Useless.” I pull a glove off with my teeth. “Who’s next?”
Date: 4-19-2024
Time: 1601
For four years, I have tracked their every move. Four damn years of watching them rip through my best men. Each father, husband, brother, and son were all brought back in the same color. Red.
All the bodies that were left discarded off to the side like trash waiting for pickup mirrored the one that lay motionless in the corner that day. It was destructive, almost careless. It also screamed of her sheer confidence.
I stare at the calendar on my desk, chewing at the end of my cigar. It has been two years since I had the pleasure of meeting her. Yet the only souvenir I have from that day is a small, thick scar on my neck. I could’ve fought harder, I could’ve ended it then and there, but something… I don’t know. Snapped? Clicked?
My perception of her was completely different. Without the blood that coated her clothes or the flicks of ice in her stare, I would’ve said she was just like any other woman. It wasn’t what I expected when I walked into that broken-down building, but I can’t deny that I’m pleased with the outcome. I didn’t mind the busted nose and I sure as hell still don’t mind the scar. It’s motivation, a reminder, that not everyone is what they seem. She is a fascinating product of terror, a living form of destruction.
The paper cracks between my teeth, putting tobacco on my tongue, grounding me in the moment. I rub my thumb against my neck.
Recently I changed our intake papers to only accept nobodies. It’s not that I like working with notorious criminals or randomers off the side of the street, but if that’s what it takes to make sure she doesn’t tear apart another family, then that’s what I’ll do.
The blurred snapshot we captured of her from her last little show sits neatly in my desk drawer, not a disheveled paper near it. I’ve had to rely on my memory for the last two years to recall the gleam that hit her eyes, the slow waves that rolled behind her shoulders reminding me of how the sea kissed the sand, the curves that her tactical gear did little to hide. The way she took my power and wielded it as her own is the most memorable and the most dangerous, both physically and mentally.
Sharkie.
That infuriating callsign rings in my head from the moment I wake to the second I fall asleep. No amount of research will bring me anything other than that name and trust me I’ve done my research. It’s as if she doesn’t exist but I know she does. I felt the warmth of her skin, and I heard her voice.
My father didn’t prepare me for this. I was thrown in the middle of the ocean without a life jacket and expected to swim. It's a good thing facts are a safe space where I know I can think clearly.
Bay is a disorganized group that raged war on the wrong faction. Fact. They’ve created the chaos my father tried to tame. Fact. Their ringleader is notorious for staying in the spotlight. Also, fact. Sharkie is just a pawn. Definitely not.
I need her. I need to find out what’s hiding in those deep blue depths of hers. I need the information being withheld so I can put all the pieces together in my puzzle.
Pulling the cigar from my lips, I hold the smoke, letting the thick cloud taint the flesh inside my cheeks. The rough tobacco coats my tongue, replacing the bitter taste that has stayed there ever since the day I saw that ship try to enter our land.
“Fuckin’ hell...” my words flow out with the white shadow, muffling the clear strain in my voice from biting back a cough. I’ve never liked the stupid things, yet my father’s office is stocked with them. My office.
There’s that bitter taste again.
“Did you say something, sir?” Jasmine’s voice comes from the doorway, completely unmistakable by the strong American accent she carries. We apprehended her while she was on the run for a crime that we have yet to figure out. That point doesn’t quite matter though, because she willingly stayed and agreed to our way of life. Forever bound to protect the sea, no matter the risk. Bay should’ve stuck to protecting the land like they vowed to.
Adrenaline is an odd hormone. Unfortunately, it’s what was coursing through my veins when I arrived back on base that day. Jasmine was just the first person I saw. I’m not one to use employees for pleasure. It’s unethical, and that’s why it’ll never happen again.
“No. Run me through it again.” I demand, holding the edge of authority in my voice despite my want to keep it at bay. I wasn’t always like this, some hollow shell of the man I used to be. Correction—boy I used to be. I shake my head, physically fighting back the images that threaten to cloud my vision.
My father. That soldier. Red.
“All cameras were hacked before she entered. They couldn’t get past most of the hard walls, hence the blurred picture, but they were able to wipe the audio and haze the footage. From what I’ve seen she wasn’t able to gather anything, and it looked like Birdy put up a good fight but…” she trails off as I pinch the end of the stick, crushing it into the stone ashtray, the creaking of the leather chair under me follows the way my body shifts forward.
“But?” I’m almost able to feel the rage flaring beneath my skin. There’s always a ‘but’ in these situations, never a conclusion. I was already having a rough day with Sharkies image seared into the back of my eyelids so any time they close, all I see is her. Jasmine giving me those bloody bedroom eyes again only serves to make matters worse.
I need a holiday, somewhere far away with a cold beer in hand and a woman I’ll never remember sitting on my lap.
That’s a fuckin’ lie and even I know it, because a specific little fish has taken up the remaining space in my head which wasn’t much to begin with because ever since I was thrown into this position, all I have been able to do is gather information and statistics. Keeping myself busy is the only solution until I get my hands on the ones who took everything from me. Only then will I let myself enjoy another woman. That’s if my dick will still work by that point.
I catch myself running an absentminded finger over the bubbled thin slit on my throat again. It probably would have healed better, but I didn’t want it to. I want to remember she was there, in my space, hypnotizing me while she made her mark.
“It just doesn’t make sense Cas—” My clenched fist raising from the desk cut her off before slowly lowering back down onto my knuckles, letting the mahogany wood bite into my skin. No one uses my name. It’s not that I don’t like it, it's the fact that my father took so much pride in naming me after the place where he met my mother. The Caspian Sea. I should miss her as much as I do him, but I was better prepared for her loss. I got to tell her goodbye.
Jasmine picks up on my demeanor, her focus going downcast.
“Sorry sir... I only meant Birdy was a low rank. A literal sitting duck that they had nothing to gain from. No intel or knowledge of any work we’re doing here. He only specialized in making sure we got our equipment.”
My fingers run through the mess atop my head, disheveling the once chocolate now peppered grey locks. She isn’t wrong; it doesn’t make sense. Then again, I accepted long ago nothing in our predicament has or more than likely ever will.
It still makes me question the motive. 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?
If she’s not afraid to face grown-ass men, then what’s keeping her from storming my base? I’ve given every opportunity possible ranging from a literal invitation—I know it was stupid, but I was young—to giving the guards holiday for a solid month just to see if she’d attempt a breach. Yet she sneaks around the bay and doesn’t go any further, sending minions into my territory instead of herself. I don’t know what her game is, but I do know I want her to find me.
I flick my gaze back to the small photo once more, dismissing Jasmine’s statement with a waft of my hand, not letting my eyes waver from the intense stare down I’m having with the glossy piece of paper. “Let me know if we get any leads or new movements.”
“Can we talk?” The flick of her tongue through her words has my teeth on edge. This is exactly why business and pleasure should never be mixed. I’m surprised my teeth haven’t chipped from how hard I grind them anytime she’s around yet. Sam owes me one.
