The Ocean Dark

3

Tori watched as Gabe’s face clouded over, and it seemed like he went somewhere inside himself for a second. And whatever he found there, it wasn’t pleasant.

“Captain?”

He forced a smile. “You got a lot of thoughts rolling around in that head.”

Tori shrugged. “What you see is what you get. I’m out on the edge of the world, surviving, just like you. I tried ‘normal.’ Tried the housewife thing. It almost killed me.”

For almost a minute they stood together at the railing, enjoying the breeze and the peaceful ocean. This conversation had been a long time coming and Tori had imagined it becoming much uglier, so she felt a measure of relief.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For talking it out with me. For trusting me.”

Gabe grunted again, then stood and started patting the pockets of his loose cotton pants and the patterned, cream-colored shirt he wore untucked. He located his cigarettes and a lighter, and fired up a fresh one.

After he’d taken the first real drag and made sure the butt had ignited, he glanced at her.

“You know my little brother’s still going to be a prick, right? He hates anyone second-guessing him. He’s pissed at the boss, and you’re getting the spill-off from that.”

Tori turned up her hands. “I can’t control what Miguel thinks. He’ll get over it, or he won’t.”

Gabe nodded, took a drag off his cigarette. As he exhaled, he seemed about to say something more, but they were interrupted by a shout and running feet.

They looked up to see red-haired Tom Dwyer rushing up to the railing on the stairwell landing above them. The Irish kid, maybe twenty-one or two, was one of the five new members of the crew, but he’d adapted fast, worked his way into Miguel’s good graces, and landed himself the gig as third mate, working the bridge with the Rio brothers.

“Captain!” the kid said, practically hanging over the railing above them.

“What’s up, Mr. Dwyer?”

“Mr. Rio needs you on the bridge. He said to tell you ‘Ortega’s house is coming down.’”

“Fuck!” the captain snarled, running to the stairs.

He didn’t even toss his cigarette, just let it fall from his hand to the deck, where the wind spun it around and danced it overboard.

Tori looked up at Dwyer. “What the hell is that about?”

The redhead studied her a second, then shook his head. “Sorry. You’ll have to ask them.”

As Gabe passed him, Dwyer fell into the captain’s wake, the two of them clanging up the metal stairs toward the bridge at the top, leaving Tori to wonder. She was curious, and even a bit alarmed, but not frightened. Whatever it was, the Rio brothers would take care of it. They were capable men. Rough men. Some might even say bad men, but Tori would have argued the difference.

You always knew where you stood with men like the Rios. If things got too rough, you could always walk away. With truly bad men, there was never any walking away. Not without pain. Not without blood. Bad men didn’t let go as long as you were alive.

That was Tori’s secret, and her strength.

As far as anyone from her old life knew, she’d been dead for years.