[Warning: cursing and murder, nothing for small sweet guppies.]
"My, my, someone is frisky and full of himself. Has someone ever taken you off your high horse, Mr Harris?"
She'd caught his hand before he'd even touched her. Pulled herself flat chest to chest with him so he'd felt all those lovely soft curves of hers against him. Her ample breast pressed hard into his chest, slightly resting on his round belly which hadn't been flat in a decade. He'd barely registered what she'd said with that sinful melodious voice, until she'd said his name. He had not introduced himself, and even if everyone at the party should know who he was, something with the way she said his name made him know it was not good. Bullocks. He'd never felt put off by a woman! Still, his uneasiness had grown when she'd continued with an almost purring silky tone next to his ear:
"You think you're sooo untouchable, the big bad shark, biggest of them all. Not a single little fish in the ocean can even nibble at you."
She had actually nipped at his earlobe, which should at any other time made him rock hard yet cold shivers ran down his spine and he hung breathless on to every single enchanting word that came out of her gorgeous mouth, both dreading and yearning for what that bewitching voice would say next.
"Feeling safe and untouchable in all your fabulous estates and mansions around the world? Big luxurious yachts and that little modest beach house of yours? It's quite far from the main road, hm? Beware of the waves and the seafoam next time you visit, I know it's hard to hear someone scream when the waves roll in hard. So do remember that not all little fishies and seastars like having big bad sharks biting and pushing them around."
Then she'd let go of his wrist, smoothed out his impeccable shirt collar under his tight-fitting jacket, caressed his cheek with a bold yet sweet smile and patted - patted! - his cheek as if he'd been a naughty little boy and left him. Throwing her thigh long blonde hair over her shoulder and given him her back as she disappeared among the other guests. Leaving him speeches and body tense, aching with desire and… fear. No, not fear. He had nothing to fear! No one dared to go up against him. He had connections, knew everyone and was highest up in the food chain, or the biggest predator amongst the other rich and glamorous people in this world. He feared no one, but how the fuck had she'd know about his beach house?
Sure, Harris was not the one to keep quiet about his success. Bragging about a new Rolex watch, a new car or new estate was not unusual for him, to his friends and even coworkers. So of course a few might have heard about his beach house, but she, she should not have that information, or heard about it. He had been very careful about who he mentioned the beach house to, or even gave an invitation. The beach house was his private place, a hide out one could even humorously say. No business partners, no coworkers, not even his secretary or hell, not even his own mother knew about this place. Actually, he wasn't supposed to be here tonight either, but had somehow found himself standing outside the door to the beach house a few minutes ago, unlucking the door.
How. the. fuck. had that curvy blonde pin-up girl from Stafforn's party know about it? He had never met her before, never seen her at any of the private club parties. He was sure about that, yet she'd mingled and moved around like she'd always been there, knew all the people and everyone seemed to know about her. He'd have to call Stafforn tomorrow, thank him for the great evening and just casually ask if he'd know anything about the girl. Maybe she was one of those sugar babies Stafforn and Gregore hired at other times.
Harris tossed the keys in the white elegant couch, which was more for decor than to actually sit in, and walked past it to the mini bar. He poured himself a whole glass of whiskey. Bloody hell, he usually only drank a third of a glass. This was not like him but it had nothing to do with that girl. Fuck no. He sipped the strong, smokey and spicy golden liquid while he looked out through the floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the sea and gave a full view of the white beach and the ocean, hence why he called this place his beach house.
The beach was pearly white in the moonlight outside, and soft waves lulled sleepily against the shore and at his private dock where one of his smaller but still luxurious yachts was tied to. It was a peaceful night and for once no wind at all in the warm summer air. Which was the exact opposite of his upset feelings, tense body and cold sweaty hands. He took another sip of the whisky and tried to dry his unoccupied hand against the well-pressed, stain-free trousers. In the next second he pulled impatiently at the tie by his throat he was wearing under his double chin, cursing under his breath. His eyes moved from the sea towards the tie and in the same moment he saw something move in the corner of his eyes. He quickly looked up again, in search of where he had seen the movement. Had he imagined someone at the dock? No, there it was again. Someone was crouching and moving along the railing of his yacht. Damn it if he didn't recognize that curvy silhouette and long legs! It was actually her! The nerve of that freaking girl!
Harris almost threw the whisky glass at the wall, but remembered that the cleaning services wouldn't be here until the morning and he didn't wanted to ruin the wall nor the expensive wooden floor. He put the glass down on the bar, with a rather loud bang, and hurried towards the patio door facing the porch on the back, which also was connected down to the beach and his private dock. He moved as fast as his somewhat chubby legs could carry him. His annoyance growing, knowing he a few years ago could have moved faster and swifter if he'd continued playing tennis and football. Now it was only golf on the weekends, and then he used the club car villager between the holes.
The salty cool sea breeze greeted him and the sounds of the waves with his clambering steps was all he heard as he approached his yacht. Anger his only companion as he climbed onboard and shouted:
"I know you're here! Show yourself and I might forgive you and not call the cops!"
A lie of course, he would show her what it meant to sneak onboard his private boat on his private property. Which she shouldn't know about…He would show her, teach her a lesson! Snooping little bitch. It didn't matter how gorgeous she looked, or how she had found his house. She'd threatened him and was now trespassing. Harris reached for his phone in his pocket as he walked down the starboard side towards the open rear of the yacht with its swimming platform, shouting for the intruder to show themselves again.
"Last warning! I won't grant you my forgiveness if you-"
His words were cut off abruptly as something, someone - the girl! - jumped up out of the water. Her pale hands with long nails, no claws! grabbed his impeccable shirt collar and tie, and pulled him forward, downward into the dark water…
My forgiveness, as if she needed his forgiveness. He needed hers, and every other woman he'd ever spoken to or touched, unlawfully, without consent. Which was more than a handful, actually a pretty long list of exploited, trampled and abused women, had she found out. He needed their forgiveness, but it had already been denied. Let the sea swallow him and his pitiful forgiveness. She had none for him, neither did the depth of the dark water. She pulled him deeper, further down into the colder part of the ocean, closer to the dark bottom. Further away from the moonlight, further away from a single gulp of air. Harris struggled under her, waving his legs and tried to pull free of her iron grip with his hands. She only pushed him harder down in the salty water with a new flick of her long tail, that resembled more of a whale's, than a tropical fish. Which mermaids usually were imagined or drawn with for some reason. She watched how the man's face slowly turned blue from the lack of oxygen. His eyes bulged more and more, eyes panicked, shocked and probably unseeing by now. Considering how far out and deep she had dragged him down and how little of the moonlight reached there. She gave him a cold smile, uncaring herself about the water in her mouth. It moved like air through her gills, appearing as small rifts under her jawbone and under her ribs in three rows. She tightened her grip on his collar, squeezed the fabric a little harder and was rewarded with a stream of bubbles from his mouth. There. Satisfied, she watched the air flee from his lips in glittering bubbles around her face upwards to the night sky above while the cold salt water invaded his mouth, throat and lungs. Slowly suffocated him while his body twitched in anguish throes.
Harris, or the dead body of him, moved no more. His eyes were blank and forever sightless, and his slack hands would never touch a woman again. She let him go, opened her hands and watched him just hang there for a few seconds before he slowly started to float up. She turned then, and moved unhurriedly towards a beach several miles away from this place and the beach house.
It hadn't been difficult to gather information about Harris. People talked so openly on the sea, into their little communications devices to their ears. Voices could be heard far across the water on clear sunny days. She had only had to hang around his boat, which was also where she had first seen him force himself on an unwilling human woman. Having a captivating voice also helped of course, when you wanted access to various private events and places. She stepped out of the sea, changing her tail into two human legs and leaving her ocean form so she could step on land again.
She picked up a neatly folded pile of clothes, towel and a handbag from behind a rock, and fished out a phone from the handbag while wrapping the towel around her curvy long body.
Four finger taps later she wrote in the bright message screen: "The big bad shark of the beach swims no more." Send. She had barely opened her social media to scout the location of her next target, when the phone buzzed and a notice at the top showed a new message: "Your post has been liked...". The phone buzzed again, and again, and again, and again while the mermaid smiling found what she was locking for: "Blake Gregore is with M. Stafforn and 2 others here: Grand Pearl's golf club."
Human's and their ridiculous needs for validation and telling everything on social media. It made her job easier, but also less satisfactory. She tossed the still buzzing phone down into the handbag and dressed.
Time to hunt down another big bad shark.
"My, my, someone is frisky and full of himself. Has someone ever taken you off your high horse, Mr Harris?"
She'd caught his hand before he'd even touched her. Pulled herself flat chest to chest with him so he'd felt all those lovely soft curves of hers against him. Her ample breast pressed hard into his chest, slightly resting on his round belly which hadn't been flat in a decade. He'd barely registered what she'd said with that sinful melodious voice, until she'd said his name. He had not introduced himself, and even if everyone at the party should know who he was, something with the way she said his name made him know it was not good. Bullocks. He'd never felt put off by a woman! Still, his uneasiness had grown when she'd continued with an almost purring silky tone next to his ear:
"You think you're sooo untouchable, the big bad shark, biggest of them all. Not a single little fish in the ocean can even nibble at you."
She had actually nipped at his earlobe, which should at any other time made him rock hard yet cold shivers ran down his spine and he hung breathless on to every single enchanting word that came out of her gorgeous mouth, both dreading and yearning for what that bewitching voice would say next.
"Feeling safe and untouchable in all your fabulous estates and mansions around the world? Big luxurious yachts and that little modest beach house of yours? It's quite far from the main road, hm? Beware of the waves and the seafoam next time you visit, I know it's hard to hear someone scream when the waves roll in hard. So do remember that not all little fishies and seastars like having big bad sharks biting and pushing them around."
Then she'd let go of his wrist, smoothed out his impeccable shirt collar under his tight-fitting jacket, caressed his cheek with a bold yet sweet smile and patted - patted! - his cheek as if he'd been a naughty little boy and left him. Throwing her thigh long blonde hair over her shoulder and given him her back as she disappeared among the other guests. Leaving him speeches and body tense, aching with desire and… fear. No, not fear. He had nothing to fear! No one dared to go up against him. He had connections, knew everyone and was highest up in the food chain, or the biggest predator amongst the other rich and glamorous people in this world. He feared no one, but how the fuck had she'd know about his beach house?
Sure, Harris was not the one to keep quiet about his success. Bragging about a new Rolex watch, a new car or new estate was not unusual for him, to his friends and even coworkers. So of course a few might have heard about his beach house, but she, she should not have that information, or heard about it. He had been very careful about who he mentioned the beach house to, or even gave an invitation. The beach house was his private place, a hide out one could even humorously say. No business partners, no coworkers, not even his secretary or hell, not even his own mother knew about this place. Actually, he wasn't supposed to be here tonight either, but had somehow found himself standing outside the door to the beach house a few minutes ago, unlucking the door.
How. the. fuck. had that curvy blonde pin-up girl from Stafforn's party know about it? He had never met her before, never seen her at any of the private club parties. He was sure about that, yet she'd mingled and moved around like she'd always been there, knew all the people and everyone seemed to know about her. He'd have to call Stafforn tomorrow, thank him for the great evening and just casually ask if he'd know anything about the girl. Maybe she was one of those sugar babies Stafforn and Gregore hired at other times.
Harris tossed the keys in the white elegant couch, which was more for decor than to actually sit in, and walked past it to the mini bar. He poured himself a whole glass of whiskey. Bloody hell, he usually only drank a third of a glass. This was not like him but it had nothing to do with that girl. Fuck no. He sipped the strong, smokey and spicy golden liquid while he looked out through the floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the sea and gave a full view of the white beach and the ocean, hence why he called this place his beach house.
The beach was pearly white in the moonlight outside, and soft waves lulled sleepily against the shore and at his private dock where one of his smaller but still luxurious yachts was tied to. It was a peaceful night and for once no wind at all in the warm summer air. Which was the exact opposite of his upset feelings, tense body and cold sweaty hands. He took another sip of the whisky and tried to dry his unoccupied hand against the well-pressed, stain-free trousers. In the next second he pulled impatiently at the tie by his throat he was wearing under his double chin, cursing under his breath. His eyes moved from the sea towards the tie and in the same moment he saw something move in the corner of his eyes. He quickly looked up again, in search of where he had seen the movement. Had he imagined someone at the dock? No, there it was again. Someone was crouching and moving along the railing of his yacht. Damn it if he didn't recognize that curvy silhouette and long legs! It was actually her! The nerve of that freaking girl!
Harris almost threw the whisky glass at the wall, but remembered that the cleaning services wouldn't be here until the morning and he didn't wanted to ruin the wall nor the expensive wooden floor. He put the glass down on the bar, with a rather loud bang, and hurried towards the patio door facing the porch on the back, which also was connected down to the beach and his private dock. He moved as fast as his somewhat chubby legs could carry him. His annoyance growing, knowing he a few years ago could have moved faster and swifter if he'd continued playing tennis and football. Now it was only golf on the weekends, and then he used the club car villager between the holes.
The salty cool sea breeze greeted him and the sounds of the waves with his clambering steps was all he heard as he approached his yacht. Anger his only companion as he climbed onboard and shouted:
"I know you're here! Show yourself and I might forgive you and not call the cops!"
A lie of course, he would show her what it meant to sneak onboard his private boat on his private property. Which she shouldn't know about…He would show her, teach her a lesson! Snooping little bitch. It didn't matter how gorgeous she looked, or how she had found his house. She'd threatened him and was now trespassing. Harris reached for his phone in his pocket as he walked down the starboard side towards the open rear of the yacht with its swimming platform, shouting for the intruder to show themselves again.
"Last warning! I won't grant you my forgiveness if you-"
His words were cut off abruptly as something, someone - the girl! - jumped up out of the water. Her pale hands with long nails, no claws! grabbed his impeccable shirt collar and tie, and pulled him forward, downward into the dark water…
My forgiveness, as if she needed his forgiveness. He needed hers, and every other woman he'd ever spoken to or touched, unlawfully, without consent. Which was more than a handful, actually a pretty long list of exploited, trampled and abused women, had she found out. He needed their forgiveness, but it had already been denied. Let the sea swallow him and his pitiful forgiveness. She had none for him, neither did the depth of the dark water. She pulled him deeper, further down into the colder part of the ocean, closer to the dark bottom. Further away from the moonlight, further away from a single gulp of air. Harris struggled under her, waving his legs and tried to pull free of her iron grip with his hands. She only pushed him harder down in the salty water with a new flick of her long tail, that resembled more of a whale's, than a tropical fish. Which mermaids usually were imagined or drawn with for some reason. She watched how the man's face slowly turned blue from the lack of oxygen. His eyes bulged more and more, eyes panicked, shocked and probably unseeing by now. Considering how far out and deep she had dragged him down and how little of the moonlight reached there. She gave him a cold smile, uncaring herself about the water in her mouth. It moved like air through her gills, appearing as small rifts under her jawbone and under her ribs in three rows. She tightened her grip on his collar, squeezed the fabric a little harder and was rewarded with a stream of bubbles from his mouth. There. Satisfied, she watched the air flee from his lips in glittering bubbles around her face upwards to the night sky above while the cold salt water invaded his mouth, throat and lungs. Slowly suffocated him while his body twitched in anguish throes.
Harris, or the dead body of him, moved no more. His eyes were blank and forever sightless, and his slack hands would never touch a woman again. She let him go, opened her hands and watched him just hang there for a few seconds before he slowly started to float up. She turned then, and moved unhurriedly towards a beach several miles away from this place and the beach house.
It hadn't been difficult to gather information about Harris. People talked so openly on the sea, into their little communications devices to their ears. Voices could be heard far across the water on clear sunny days. She had only had to hang around his boat, which was also where she had first seen him force himself on an unwilling human woman. Having a captivating voice also helped of course, when you wanted access to various private events and places. She stepped out of the sea, changing her tail into two human legs and leaving her ocean form so she could step on land again.
She picked up a neatly folded pile of clothes, towel and a handbag from behind a rock, and fished out a phone from the handbag while wrapping the towel around her curvy long body.
Four finger taps later she wrote in the bright message screen: "The big bad shark of the beach swims no more." Send. She had barely opened her social media to scout the location of her next target, when the phone buzzed and a notice at the top showed a new message: "Your post has been liked...". The phone buzzed again, and again, and again, and again while the mermaid smiling found what she was locking for: "Blake Gregore is with M. Stafforn and 2 others here: Grand Pearl's golf club."
Human's and their ridiculous needs for validation and telling everything on social media. It made her job easier, but also less satisfactory. She tossed the still buzzing phone down into the handbag and dressed.
Time to hunt down another big bad shark.