Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
I wasn’t.
I wasn’t just shunned—I was given the worst kind of punishment. I was called a ghost. Doomed to be familyless and disowned for the rest of my days.
I’d become lost, just like Pimlico.
And I turned to the only thing that had saved me—accepted me.
Crime.
Petty theft turned to illegal enterprises, and no matter how I tried to untangle myself, I only sank deeper into the sticky webs, crawling further into the underworld.
Each dark step I took ensured I was one step closer to my ultimate goal.
And where I was going, there was no room for a mute prisoner—no matter how much she toyed with my emotions.
Stop thinking about her.
The command echoed in my skull, heard but utterly ignored.
Closing my laptop, I stood and massaged my nape. I needed a good session with Selix in the ship’s ring or a long swim in the ocean. Then, whatever thoughts about Pimlico would vanish, and I could refocus on who I was and what the fuck I was trying to do with my life.
Striding from my office, I undid my shirt as I went. It wasn’t far to the bridge and at this time of the evening, Jolfer, the captain, would’ve signed off, and Martin would be in charge.
He was a safe navigator and obedient.
I wasn’t in the mood for a martial art fight with Selix, but fuck me, I needed a swim.
Heading over the expanse of deck, I peered at the stars above in velvet black. Only the flaming galaxy lit up this place. No city lights, no houses, no cars.
Just the Phantom and her pretty windows dancing on the calm tide.
Yanking open the door, I strolled in and immediately spotted the man I needed. “Martin, stop all engines. Hold position.”
Martin was older than Jolfer and his snow-white hair was almost as bright as the stars. Even at sixty, his face was barely lined; somehow avoiding the crags and furrows that a life spent in salt and sun tended to cause.
“How long for this time, sir?” Martin asked, already pressing buttons and radioing down to the engine room to reverse direction and hold.
“Two hours. I don’t want to rush.”
“No problem. Take all the time you need.” He smiled, knowing exactly what I was about to do. All the crew knew because their boss liked to go swimming at odd times and strange places.
Middle of the Pacific? Sure, why fucking not.
An hour before sunrise when the world still slept? Shit, yes.
I’d swum with humpbacks, dolphins, even a whale shark or two. I wasn’t afraid. I’d hover on my back, cradled by seawater, and watch the sun blink awake.
That was the beauty of sailing.
“I’ll visit again once I’m done.” I turned to leave.
“No need, sir. I’ll send up a lackey to make sure you’re safely onboard. It’s too deep, so we won’t set anchor but will hold position with the engines.”
I understood what he was telling me. “I won’t go to the back. I’ll use the side ladders and avoid any chance of a riptide caused by the propellers.”
Martin chuckled. “I know you know that, sir, but it’s force of habit to warn, I’m afraid.”
I threw him a tight smile. “Nice to know you take your job and my life seriously.” I headed back outside and didn’t bother going back to my quarters to change.
My black boxer-briefs would do. After all, in the pitch black yonder, who was there to see me?
Walking to the side of the vessel with its thirteen floors to the unforgiving blue glass below, I unbuckled my belt, kicked off my shoes, and tore off my shirt.
The moment I was free from human costume, I opened the railing and dove off the side.
YESTERDAY WAS BRUTAL.
Once I let go—once I allowed my soul to take over and weep for everything I’d been through, I couldn’t stop.
All night, I sobbed.
All day, I wept.
And by the time the sun rose and then set again, my face ached, my tongue throbbed, and my head howled with dehydration.
Staff members had tried to get me to eat, ignoring my naked form sitting on the floor amongst a destroyed suite to ply me with cake and feel-good food.
I didn’t want a single crumb.
Feathers from the pillows fluttered around the space thanks to the sea breeze. Curtains hung haphazardly on their rails, side tables rattled on their sides as the boat rode gentle waves.
I hadn’t been able to flip over most of the larger furniture—bolted in place for high seas or hungry storms—but the soft furnishings hadn’t escaped my wrath.
I knew I was only harming myself by exuding so much energy in tears and refusing to eat or drink. But I needed to hurt myself. For the first time, I was the one in charge of the pain and the discomfort suffocating me.
I took ownership of that. I controlled that. It was liberating to be the brute for a change, even if it was me, myself, and I who I hurt.