Sunset Beach Condos

April hadn’t planned to leave the hotel tonight. She’d spent the entire morning lounging in the cool air conditioning, flipping through channels with the sound off and forcing herself not to think of Nik, to no avail of course. The Florida heat stuck to the windows like grease, and the scent of saltwater seemed to leak through the hotel walls, till she couldn’t take it anymore. One day of stillness and she was already restless. Her body was wired, her mind too loud, so when the burner phone lit up with a text from a source she didn’t fully trust, she took it as a sign.

A boat at the marina. Something valuable. Untouched.

She didn’t like how vague it was, didn’t like how far it strayed from her usual territory, but she knew how to do her homework. Walking the dock in the daylight with a coffee in hand, she looked like any other tourist killing time near the water. Watching the way the marina security made its rounds, lazily, predictably, she took careful note of the camera placements. Three on the east pier, one half blind from salt build up. The one facing the dock entry didn’t quite reach the last three boats. There was her window.

Dressed in black that clung to her and hair twisted tight under a cap, she slipped into the shadows and padded toward the end of the pier. The air reeked of fish guts and motor oil, a nauseating cocktail of decay and diesel. The boat was older, small enough to be private but large enough to matter, its hull a dull white. The lock on the cabin door was laughable. Kneeling down she twisted a pick between her fingers with a half smirk and the bolt gave within ten seconds. No fight, no fuss. Sloppy work from whoever owned it. They clearly never expected a visit of her kind. She slipped inside. Instantly, the air shifted. Gone was the briny scent of the marina. In its place lingered something altogether much more stale. Sweat, cologne, something faintly musty, like dust that had clung to old leather and was that the faintest smell of a floral soap? Like salon shampoo. Ola Plex perhaps? Her eyes adjusted quickly in the dim space, scanning the corners carefully, her instincts sharpened. No blinking red lights. No soft mechanical hum of hidden cameras. Nothing. Still, she moved cautiously not trusting anything around her. Pulling open the small fridge, the suction of the seal breaking with a low hiss. Inside sat nothing but a jumbled mess of condiment packets, soy sauce, ketchup and mustard. No fresh food. No signs of recent use, but not entirely abandoned either. She shut it again with a soft thunk and then looked around. A narrow door caught her eye at the back of the cabin. Easing it open, she peered into what passed for the bedroom: a cramped, suffocating little nook with a built in bed with tangled sheets on top. No duffel bags, no shoes. Just a body imprint and clutter. She reached out instinctively and pressed her hand flat to the mattress. Ice cold. Good. No one had been here for at least a night.

Still, she hated this. The lack of planning, the absence of intel. It wasn’t how she operated. Usually, she knew every detail before she ever made a move, who owned the place, what alarm system they used, how long it took for the cops to respond, but tonight? She’d followed a shadow of a promise and walked right in. Reckless, she thought. Stupid. She was just about to pull back, maybe retreat and chalk it up to a bad tip, when something by the bed caught her eye. Down by the foot of the mattress, wedged between the base and the wall, were a few framed canvases leaning haphazardly against one another. She crouched down, fingers careful not to smudge or press too hard, and pulled the first one free. Her breath caught in her throat. Even in the low light, she recognized it. The blocky abstraction. The sharp edged geometry of unmistakable cubism. The muted but purposeful colors.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, not realizing the words were more than just thought before the air slipped between her lips. It was a Picasso. She didn’t know the title, didn’t need to. The style screamed it. She leaned in, narrowing her eyes, tracing the familiar slanted signature at the bottom. Her gut told her it could be real. Could. She lifted it gently, carried it to the bed, and laid it flat. Her phone was out a moment later to capture one shot of the front and one of the back.

The other paintings were unfamiliar. Landscapes, figures, one haunting still life. She photographed them all and returned each to its original hiding spot. Then she rose, pulse thrumming now not from nerves, but something else: anticipation. She continued her sweep of the cabin. Drawers, compartments, under the seating cushions. All the while her fingertips stayed light, her steps careful. Nothing disturbed. Nothing broken. Then, near the helm, she found it: a cupboard so plain it almost didn’t register. Opening it up she found a box. Old, wooden, weatherworn, like something pulled from the bottom of a pirate movie set. A sigh escaped her. How gimmicky. The latch wasn’t locked, and the hinges gave with a protesting squeak as she opened it. Tangled chains, pendants, gemstones, some cracked, some dulled with age. Rubies, sapphires, diamonds and other precious stones glinting faintly. A mess of history and wealth. She lifted a few pieces, untwisting them carefully. Unlike with the art, there was no doubt in her mind this was real. This was valuable. She froze and glanced around as if expecting someone to leap out, cameras to descend, sirens to blare, but nothing happened.

“What the fuck is this place?” she muttered again and returned her attention to the treasure. She poured the contents of the box into a canvas bag she kept on her. Letting the weight of her recent loot settle before pulling an arm through the loops on the bag. She closed the box and closed the cupboard and took in a steadying breath. That was enough. She should leave. Now… But the pull was still there, that itch to take it all. To carry out every frame, every hidden thing in here and never look back. She made it to the door, the salty air hitting her hard as she opened it.

Then she hesitated. Her mind races in unison to her heartbeat till something won and she let out a sigh, soft and low. Turning back, she retraced her steps, and lifted the Picasso that was nudged in between the bed and the wall. It felt heavier now, maybe it was the weight of the risk or of the desire to have it. April left the boat and the marina, one bag’s worth of jewels and one framed Picasso richer.



April couldn’t help herself and she had to return. There was too much of a promise of more, too much temptation in the unknown and really, what else was she supposed to do here? Waiting around in her hotel room clearly did her no good. She might as well get some use out of her time in this humid, unrelenting corner of the world. This trip was always going to lose her money; she’d known that going in. She’d accepted it the moment she decided she needed to settle things with Nik. So the idea of making a little back while getting her blood pumping again? Honestly, it felt like the perfect excuse.

The boat had still been vacant when she returned, just as quiet, just as still, but this time, she was better informed. The other paintings were worth her time too. They’d quickly become her priority, but after that, a thought had rooted itself in her head, quiet at first, then louder, harder to ignore. There had to be more. Or, at the very least, she had to make sure there wasn’t. That curiosity had turned into another visit and tonight, she’d come out victorious again. More jewelry and more pieces that looked like they hadn’t seen the light of day in decades. Hidden in corners and drawers like secrets left behind. April found other things she couldn't explain, a bundle of white sage, a small velvet bag she thought would contain cut gemstones that instead turned out to be a collection of lesser known crystals. A particularly large ring had been lying in plain sight beside the forks and knives. It made no sense. None of it did. That boat couldn’t stay hidden forever. Someone owned that stuff. Someone had put those paintings there, stashed that jewelry. She didn’t know if they were dead, missing, or just stupid, but eventually, someone would come looking.

Now, the canvas bag swung from her shoulder with satisfying weight as she pushed open the door to the apartment building and slipped inside, making a direct line for the stairwell. The fewer minutes she spent here, the better. Her steps weren’t rushed, but they kept a steady rhythm, practical, precise. This place had turned out to be more than just a strategic place to keep tabs on Nik. It had become something useful. The perfect hideaway for that growing collection of treasures. She reached the first landing and took the corner sharply, fingers trailing along the railing. The stairwell echoed faintly with the sound of her blocky heels and the distant creak of a door swinging shut a few floors above. Lifting her cap off her head, she let the hair trapped underneath escape. Her fingers threaded through her curls, starting at the nape of her neck and raking forward, loosening the damp tangles absentmindedly as she kept ascending.

Red was a busy man. This may have seemed like a simple statement, but it was not. He was pulled in several directions at any given time, between his duties to the ocean, and his duties at his full time job. Up until recently, he also had a girlfriend, but he hadn’t seen her since they had horribly broken up. That still left him with hundreds of demands from his officers, his PR people, and the only person he actually feared, Asher. Piled with that, Red had a unique ability to hear everything going on under the sea. It was maddening at times, but it meant, as perfect a being as he was, on the rare occasion, he missed or, better put, neglected things.

One of those things was often his own possessions. He had so many that he didn’t really think about the value of having them, and at times, left them rather haphazardly around. Part of this was arrogance. He didn’t think anyone was brave or stupid enough to actually attempt to take anything off of him, other than one girl, and he had gone immediately into a work mode that he hadn’t even stopped to consider his boat in days, even stretching into weeks.

He didn’t really give much thought to the boat since he had been here. At least until one day when he was making a very rare appearance at his home. He moved his way up the stairs, nut had barely got into the hall when he smelt something he considered very strange. He smelt…himself. He stopped, and blinked in confusion as he ran through his memory and tried to think of why his smell would be behind one of these doors, but nothing came to mind that he could think of. That left him even more confused as he followed his own scent to the first door. He listened closely to any movement behind the door, but hear nothing. Not even a heart beat. He looked around the hall, and again listened for movement, but everything was minimal. He very easily broke into the apartment, and closed the door behind him as he stepped in.

He walked slowly through the apartment, memorizing the scent of the one who lived here. A girl. Young. Human. Curious now, he went into her bathroom, and seeing a few drops of water still in the bathtub, moved his hand over them. The three drops rose to his command, and painted him a picture of the woman who lived here, but that still didn’t explain why he smelled himself here. He left the tiny bathroom, and looked carefully everywhere until he found the stash she had been building. “Well, what do we have here?”

He recognized all of the pieces, but since there was no hide nor hair of the person who lived here, and he lived right down the hall, he decided to leave the pieces for now. Perhaps it was stupid, since they could be sold, but it was more of an intrigue than anything else. Who was stupid enough to steal from him? This, he wanted to know.

—————

He thought about it for the next few days, as he worked and came home more than usual. He knew it was coming from his boat, and checked the cameras to see if he could see her. She was smart enough to avoid the cameras, and he could admire that. He liked intelligence, but the question he had now was why. Why this stuff? Priceless, sure but he wondered if it was more.

He only was able to spend a few minutes thinking about it that day, as he wound up slammed and in interviews and interrogations that afternoon. After gruelling paperwork, he was finally able to go home. He couldn’t wait to be out of this shirt, and it was about his only thought as he got home and flew up the stairs. He ripped it off the second he entered his apartment, and felt so much better as he slipped on blue jeans, and a regular black shirt. It was tight on him, and showed defined muscle. He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair, ruffling it up a little. His eyes, through his glasses, were a dull blue, hiding the well of power within him. Putting his boots back on, he moved out of his apartment and started back down.

He saw another girl in the hallway, and at first, didn’t think anything weird about her. The sack she carried looked a little heavy, but that was about it. It wasn’t until he snuffed the air that he smelt the thing he had been smelling everywhere lately. Himself. He paused only a few steps from her, looking at her. This was the girl? This tiny compared to him girl was the one behind all his missing stuff? Impossible.

Red decided to play it cool for the moment, rather than give into his natural instinct to rip her apart for simply daring, his eyes moving over the sack before he looked at the girl’s face. “Well, Jesus that looks heavy.” He commented, raising one perfect eyebrow, even though his eyes were unreadable. “Would you like a hand in getting it up? I just came from up there.”

At first, he was just a sound above her, steady footsteps moving down the stairwell like anyone else in the building. Nothing worth noticing. April had been focused on her own rhythm, thoughts flickering like static as she pounded herself in the head for her recklessness, while mentally weighing the contents of the tote, but then… the movement in front of her stopped.

She didn’t look up. Not right away, cause she didn’t need to. The stillness alone was enough. That kind of pause didn’t come from hesitation, it came from attention. It sent a ripple down her spine, forcing her to focus. Her instincts stirred, quiet but alert. Something had shifted and now she felt eyes on her. The presence hit her like a pressure change in the air. Dense. Solid. Heavy. Massive. He hadn’t spoken yet, hadn’t moved again, but she could feel his size like a shadow stretching toward her. Her body picked up on it before her brain even named it.

Still, she kept climbing, unbothered, not a hitch in her step. Two more stairs and then his voice dropped into the space between them, the tone feeling casual. Attention was something she adored, but at the proper, right moments and this wasn’t one. Her foot paused mid step as he offered to carry the bag for her. The words were simple enough, friendly and even helpful, but her system had already flicked to high alert. April lifted her head and turned just enough to get a proper look at the man standing a step above her.

And holy shit, he was huge.

Her eyes tracked up the height of him, from heavy boots to strong legs, broad chest, that tight black shirt pulling over his shoulders like it was hanging on for dear life. She had to crane her neck to take in his face and even then, her gaze almost comically had to keep climbing. He was still a step higher than her, but even on level ground, he’d be towering. A wall of a man. All dense muscle and then that unreadable expression.

Her face stayed soft and unchanged to look as unthreatened as possible. If anything, her smile flickered like she was intrigued by the sheer size of him, which one could say, she was. She would rather put on a show of being absolutely, blue eyed charmed by this specimen of a man than what the truth held; that April was on high alert.

“Sure thing,” she said with a light, easy tone, all charm and effortless confidence accompanied by a sweet smile. Without missing a beat, she slid the bag off her shoulder. Her movements were smooth and deliberate and carried no signs of strain or nerves. In one fluid motion, her fingers slipped the cap she’d just been wearing into the top of the bag, nestling it on top to block the view of anything glittering inside. Sleight of hand disguised as absentminded logic. Why not put the hat in as well, to not carry it alone awkwardly? All while her body language suggested trust, maybe even flirtation. No, definite flirtation.

The moment it left her hand, she turned her back to him as she started climbing again; deliberate, unguarded, almost inviting. Confidence in every inch of her posture. Her hand curled loosely around the railing as she resumed climbing, but this time, her hips swayed a little more freely with each step. A purposeful arc in her spine pushed her butt out ever so slightly, offering a distraction that was far more compelling than whatever might be hiding in that bag. If his eyes wandered, better they lingered on her curves than on precious stones, silver and gold.

“It’s very kind of you,” she added with a bright and breezy tone, her voice just shy of ditzy. Grateful, a little scattered, sweet as syrup.
“I always do this, I swear. I get all excited and convince myself I can carry everything on my own. Arms full, bag slipping and still I’m thinking, ‘Oh, I’ve got room for just one more thing.’” She laughed softly, like she was letting him in on a private joke, her words spilling into a ramble as her curls bounced with her steps.

“My eyes always want more than I can handle, I guess. Same at a buffet, I’m absolutely criminal, honestly. I’ll load up a whole plate with everything I can reach and then be full after a bite. Isn’t that ridiculous?” With perfect timing, she turned her head as she said it, the blonde curls catching the low hallway light, tumbling around her face as she glanced back at him with a bright, slightly breathless smile. The motion was fluid, artful. Distracting, hopefully yes, but also calculated.

She needed to see if he was following her or poking his nose into things where it didn’t belong.

“Do you live here or are you just visiting?” She added quickly, tossing the question into the air like she was actually interested. Her tone stayed casual. The kind of rhythm that was meant to lul people into letting their guard down. It was just polite, just chattering. Not a trap, not a test. To anyone not looking closely, she was just a pretty girl with too much to carry and a big smile, but every word, every sway of her hips, every toss of her hair, it was all a dance of distraction.

One of the most wonderful parts of being what he was is that Red had the senses of a bloodhound on steroids. Even as he paused in his movements, he heard every breath, stutter and beat of her heart as clear as the sunrise. He saw every small movement, every hesitation. He made no indication he knew, or sensed anything out of the ordinary. He only watched as he asked his question, and her reaction to his question. It surprised him when she fluidly took the bag off her shoulder, but he recognized the distraction tactic by letting her hair fall and bounce as she hid the cap.

Placing the cap over the items did nothing to hide them from him. Sure, he couldn’t physically see them now, but he could smell them, and when he grabbed the bag to swing it over his shoulder, he felt the items react in some way. He swung it over his shoulder, honestly a little impressed that she was able to carry it even this far. There had to be at least 100 pounds of stuff in here, and some of it was rather clunky. His dull blue eyes watched as she moved back up the stairs, easier now without the weight of it all against her.

As she walked back up the stairs, Red turned to follow her. He would admit that he did at least check her out. He was still a guy, and a hot blooded one at that, but that wasn’t his pressing issue. His pressing issue had much more to do with the fact he was carrying his own stuff than it was about physicality. He also listened to her body as she rambled, which said a lot more to him than anything that actually came from her mouth. That didn’t mean he didn’t hear every word she spoke, however.

He smiled politely when she turned to look back at him. He had seen the art of seduction since the dawn of time, and although he didn’t lose his focus, he did study her face for a moment before she turned back. He continued to follow her, the weight of the bag was nothing to him, as she asked him an actual question. “I live here, sometimes.” Technically, that was true. Red spent more time away from the apartment than in it, at least until he had discovered her little secret.

“I work a lot, so I don’t have much time here.” Purposely, he didn’t reveal what he did for a living, because that would have ruined his little surprise. His badge was in his pocket though, easily accessible at any time. He could see that when she moved, she moved with direction and purpose. The purpose was to distract him, and while it may have worked on the simply male part of his brain, it did not work for his senses. Even if he was utterly distracted, he had hooked into her heartbeat now, and the water that made up her body was doing an awful lot of talking.

When they reached the third floor, he ‘adjusted’ the bag to distribute the weight as he waited to be pointed in the direction this bag was going. He could feel that moment of reveal fast approaching, and he couldn’t wait for it. Still, he kept himself calm and cool, or as calm and cool as he ever got. Killing her would be easy, too easy for him to do and get away with. Plus he wanted to know how she pulled this off. On that thought, he adjusted the bag once more before asking; “What in the world do you have in here anyways?”

The polite smile he offered caught her a little off guard. April had expected a glance, quick, unpolished and poorly disguised. The kind most men offered when caught between temptation and politeness. She’d timed it perfectly too, that subtle sway, the deliberate tilt of her hips as she ascended, but no. If his eyes had drifted, they’d snapped back with impressive speed. Maybe he had better reflexes than most. Or maybe that smile was just a mask, an automatic setting from someone used to playing polite. He worked with people, she could tell. He knew how to perform. Customer service? God, no. Look at him. That beast. Still, she kept the pace until they reached the third floor, her steps unbroken as she reached into the slim front pocket of her fitted black attire to retrieve a single key. No keychain, no flash, no identity. Just one cold piece of metal. Impersonal and so obviously temporary. It hadn’t been upgraded to the bundle of keys most people had gathered.

“Sometimes?” she echoed, the word laced with curiosity just before he elaborated further. He was talking. Good. That was what she wanted. If his mouth was busy, maybe his brain would slow down. He’d be left outside the door to the apartment, confused and empty handed, wondering what the hell had just happened while she disappeared behind a locked door with a bag full of things that didn’t concern him.At least, that was how it was supposed to go. But he still had the bag and the way he carried it, almost like a cartoon burglar caricature who put it higher on his shoulder than she liked. It made the handoff awkward. She never intended to stand there and hold out her hand like some expectant schoolgirl waiting for a lunchbox, but still, this position wasn’t ideal.

“Ah, working so much you don’t even have time to get home,” she said lightly, keeping up the ramble, already steering him toward her door, the closest door to the stairwell.

“Hope you’ve got a comfortable bed in your office or at least a good neck pillow.” She reached the door without pause, already slotting the key into the lock and unlocking it with a casual flick of her wrist. She needed a quick exit once she had the bag again and if she needed to, she wasn’t above slamming the door in someone’s face.

Then came his question, innocent enough, but annoying in its timing. April prepared a smile and shifted in her place, placing herself between the now unlocked door and him, blocking herself in while inviting something else entirely. Her gaze lifted, meeting his and she leaned in, not dramatically, nor aggressively, just enough to press gently into the edge of his personal space.

“Heavy stuff,” she replied, her tone lightly teasing, her smile sweet with just a hint of something else that could be interpreted as a dare. It wasn’t her best line, she knew that, but the real move came a second later. She rose to her tiptoes with fluid grace, their proximity shrinking even more. Her gaze stayed fixed on him, sought his eyes behind those glasses. Her own blue eyes all wide eyed allure and dangerous softness. Her fingers, delicate and practiced, reached subtly up toward the canvas bag and closed around the fabric near his hands. The reflex she counted on was simple: someone else reaching for the thing you’re holding? You let go. Humans were polite like that. Her hands tugged ever so slightly, just enough pressure to suggest transfer, not struggle.

“Thank you for the help,” she said, voice dipped lower now, velvet soft as a result of their closeness. Her breath brushed the air between them, the space charged and intimate. Still not touching, but close. Close enough to invite distraction. Close enough to pull thoughts away from logic. Close enough to slip through.

The bag should’ve been hers again by now. It would’ve been, if he were any other man.

It amused Red to see that very small flash of disappointment that her flirtation tactics hadn’t worked against him in the way she had thought. Oh, he had looked, but he wasn’t as easily swayed as regular men, because he wasn’t a regular man. As they walked up, Red took in every detail of her. The way she walked, the way she swayed, and the way she unconsciously shifted the way she walked when she realized it wasn’t working. He noted the way her eyes shifted, the way her hair bounced, the subtle way she smiled as she spoke, everything.

He already knew where he was headed, but he followed her anyways, listening to her voice and memorizing that as well, but more curiously, he looked at the key she pulled out. It was simple, and minimalistic enough to tell him that she didn’t live here full time. That meant she either came here for someone or something, and that made him even more interested in exactly what she was doing. He looked down at her as they moved into the floor. “I don’t mind. I rather enjoy my job, and they were nice enough to throw a couch in the corner.” He said this nonchalantly, and even added a small smile for effect.

His height then came into advantage as they stopped infront of the door. She unlocked it in a very quick movement, and then turned to face him as he asked his question, while adjusting the bag, using the weight and feel to guess what she might’ve taken from him. It stalled her enough that he was able to look into her eyes, his gaze intense even behind the glasses. She then moved just slightly closer to him to answer the question, a response that made his lips twitch. He kept his eyes on hers as she reached into his personal space, and started to reach for the bag.

Had she voiced her thought, she would have been right. A normal human would have handed her the bag without thought. Red, however, was not normal, nor a human. His grip didn’t budge, but as she introduced herself into his space, he wasn’t quite as focused as he wanted to be. He wasn’t exactly sure what happened in that second, but he looked into her eyes, and found himself pausing. It was such an interesting feeling, and he opened his mouth to say something, but her small tug had shifted the bag itself rather than his grip, and it served to bring him back to the moment.

“You’re welcome.” He said just as quietly. He considered how to play this. He could give her the bag, and let her hang herself. Now that he knew who she was, he could let her go, and watch her to figure out himself how she was pulling it off. She was human, which meant it was unlikely she had any idea who she was fucking with, and it made his brain turn and wonder. The items were not of an every day value, and while finding a seller wouldn’t be difficult, he wondered if she even knew what it was she was stealing. He had a thought in his head. He could easily just keep the bag, but he wanted to play it off a little as if he had just “forgotten” to give it back, because she was too distracted by what he said next. “Oh, how rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself.” He shifted a little and looked down into her eyes, closer to her than expected, and her scent drifting through his senses. This didn’t stop his brain, but it did make him delay in conversation, trying to see how far he could push before she either got mad, or he worked out the plan he was forming. “I’m Red. Who are you?”

The resistance caught her off guard. Fingers still curled around the edge of the canvas, April gave that subtle tug, but the fabric didn’t shift. His grip didn’t loosen. It remained firm, unmoved, almost casual in its refusal to give, as it hadn’t registered her attempt to get him to let go. A pulse of confusion rippled through her first. Then irritation and beneath that; fear. Why hadn’t he let go?

Her mind scrambled for a new approach. Something more effective. She’d have to push harder, cut through his defenses, get beneath the surface and make him slip. The quietness in his voice when he said ‘you’re welcome’ was enough to make her snap out of it, it dulled her heated emotions and made her focus racer sharp on his face for the moment. She studied it closely, watching for cracks, any flicker of reaction, anything she could use. But all she found was a softness that confused her more than the resistance had. He looked calm, not cold or blank, just present. Thoughts spun behind those unreadable eyes, thoughts she couldn’t track them. That wasn’t good. She didn’t need him thinking. Thinking men were dangerous. She needed him thoughtless, mindlessly distracted and rid of all logic so she could just slip by, enter the apartment and close the door behind her.

Then came his next words, his little introduction. How rude of him. It nearly made her roll her eyes right there. The heat of annoyance returned, simmering beneath her cool exterior. Oh, fuck off. She didn’t need his name. Didn’t want it. Didn’t care. Of course, he thought he was clever. Thought he was charming. Probably thought she was batting her lashes and bending over just because she liked the attention. Her expression, however, let none of her inner thoughts slip. A smile curled onto her lips, revealing the barest peek of white teeth. Her eyes stayed wide, soft, endlessly inviting, crafted perfection in their unspoken innocence.

Then he said it. Red.

Like hell it was. No one was actually named Red. Not unless they were trying to sound mysterious, or hide something. In a place like this, with a man like that? Definitely an alias. Her mind spun. Drug runner? Ex-military? Something worse? Or was he just posturing, trying to impress her with such a name?

God, get me out of here.

Still, her body didn’t show any of that internal unraveling. She tilted her head slightly, the practiced motion sending one loose curl tumbling forward as her smile widened. The kind of smile that was flirtatious by design.

“Red, like the color,” she said with a playful hint of teasing. If he’d used the name before, he’d heard the line. If he hadn’t, he damn well should have expected it. Closing the remaining space between them, she leaned in fully now, her body brushing up against his. Not forceful, not obvious, just a casual little accident, the kind that left perfume and presence lingering on each other. Her posture said trust, interest, intimacy.

“I’m April,” she added smoothly, “like the month.” She decided to beat him to it and say the line everyone did when they heard her name. Only had she just said it when absolute horror struck her. The words left her lips just as dread dropped into her stomach. What name had she used on the lease? What passport had used? Had it been April? It better have been. Fuck, how could she not remember something that basic right now? She always remembered. She always kept track, but here, everything seemed to slip. This trip was messing her up. That terrified her. Still smiling and still poised, she forced the panic to stay buried. Her hand had remained where it was, fingers curled around the edge of the bag the whole time. With the smallest shift, she let her palm drift up and over his hand that held the fabric of the bag in his clenched fist. Her touch was smooth and careful, but deliberately gentle. Fingertips glided across the back of his hand, brushing over his knuckles, coaxing. It was soft and enticing; a suggestion to open up, not a demand.

If that didn’t work, she’d need something more drastic. Something that would jolt him enough to finally let go.

It continued to serve as amusement as he watched the flecks in her eyes react in panic before her brain kicked into logic. She was trying to find any way she could to get the bag away from him so that she could escape behind the door. He knew the moment he handed it over, that’s what would happen, and he just wasn’t quite ready for that. This, at the moment, was more fun than he had had in a minute.

After his name, she made her expression unreadable, but her eyes never stopped. He could see that he was starting to irritate her, and decided just how far to push her before he let her go. Or, seemed to let her go. Hooked into her scent now, he could track her to the end of the Earth, if he wanted too. His body didn’t move as she closed the space between them, but as he looked down at her, he found the strangest urge to move his hand over her hips. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but the thought seemed to plant briefly where he wasn’t sure he could find it again.

As he stood there, she gave him her name. An eyebrow rose slightly as she continued with her small quip. His head tilted lightly, purposely letting his body press very gently against hers as she was him. In a quiet voice, he said; “I was more thinking, like Eostre, the rather beautiful goddess of dawn and spring.” But he did commit the name to memory, as he entirely intended to check into it. “It is very nice to meet you, April.”

Although he appeared to be teasing, he was also reading her. He wanted to calculate the likelihood that she would run, but then thought that…perhaps a chase could be fun. He made the decision to give her back the bag, but waited long enough that he would lightly linger in her thoughts. He made sure of it, as he silently communicated with the water that made up her system. However, he did nothing else as he felt her hand move over his. He knew what her intention was, and he tilted his head, as if he had only just realized.

“Oh, I apologize.” There was zero sincerity in this, but his accent covered that with its hilt. He watched closely as he slipped the heavy bag off his shoulder. He expected she would bolt the moment she could, which was why he very specifically kept talking, making a nearly irritating show of handing the bag back, while still keeping one strong hand on it. “Here you go. If you ever find yourself in need with…heavy stuff again, I live just down the hall. And my door is open anytime.” Was that a threat? A flirtation? A mix of both? Truly, it was impossible to tell.

True curiosity softened her features, surprise flickering across her face in a subtle, fleeting expression. Her brows lifted slightly, though half of the motion was hidden beneath the sweep of curtain bangs that hovered just over them. Lips formed a gentle pout before relaxing, the practiced smile she’d worn for most of the exchange slipping away as thought took over. That was... a new one. Her mind rifled through memories; art exhibitions, auction catalogs, textbooks from her college days, until a faint image surfaced. A painting of a woman. German. Early 18th century. Der Frühling. The spring goddess, Eostre. Private collection.

The surprise was buried quickly, smoothed over like the rest of her outwards tells, but a slight tilt of her head betrayed her. That was a deep pull for someone who looked, quite frankly, like the kind of man who had never opened a book and frequently would crush a beer can with his forehead. Without the glasses, he wouldn’t have had a shot at being mistaken for anything more than muscle. Glasses, though, they always tricked one into assuming intelligence. It was heavy prejudice, she knew, but her patience was so thin it barely existed anymore and the stubborn weight of that bag still clutched in his grip was pushing her right up to the edge. No comeback came to mind. No playful jab or clever line. Internally, she was seething. Just give me the damn bag.

Outwardly, she folded into the flirtatious persona with ease. The shift in her expression was seamless, accepting his “forgetfulness” with a softness that masked her growing frustration. She gave a few small nods of understanding, the sympathetic smile of someone who’s been there before, though inside, she was starting to realize something else. He wasn’t just slow to let go. He was stalling. On purpose. She'd initially written it off as a man milking the attention of a pretty girl, but now…The slow, almost performative handoff of the bag, the continued grip, that felt deliberate. That felt calculated.

She was about to speak, lips parting slightly to push out a line, when his next comment dropped like a stone to her gut. Her expression flickered, just for a second, something sharp and unsettled flashing in her eyes before she reeled it back in. Her mask was slipping more now, easier and that wasn’t supposed to happen. She didn’t know how to take his words. They weren’t overtly threatening, but they curled around her like smoke, tightening the space between them. Something about it made her feel caged, like she’d wandered too close to bait she hadn’t realized was bait until her paw was already in the trap. She needed out. Now.

That damn hand was still wrapped tight around the canvas strap like it had been carved from stone. Beneath her own fingers, she could feel how strong his grip was. She leaned into him, fully and unapologetically. Whether it was for her next move or because she liked the feeling, it didn’t matter. Her chest pressed into him and for a fleeting second, the close contact buzzed through her skin.

“Down the hall… got it,” she said, her voice low and laced with deliberate intimacy. Every word was coated in honey, her tone smooth and sultry, masking the mental scream that echoed just beneath. Both hands moved at once. The one resting on his hand slid back down to the fabric of the bag, repositioning to be ready to take it a t the slightest change in his grip. The other rose slowly, palm flat, spreading her fingers wide as she pressed it firmly against his chest. The material of his shirt was stretched thin, heat radiating beneath it. Her hand curled slightly at the fabric, anchoring herself for the climb up his ridiculous six-foot-whatever frame. When she reached his face, her eyes narrowed just a touch, blue brightness, now thick with a haze that wasn’t entirely fake but certainly not honest. Her lashes dipped. Then, her lips found his. The kiss was the distraction, the jolt to his system that would pull his thoughts away from the bag onto this unexpected action. Her kiss would not be a peck. A lingering kiss, soft and with deliberate pressure. It was a desperate reaction, but somehow not rushed. It was slow and warm, meant to steal breath and blur focus.

By now, Red imagined her blood was boiling. In fact, he could nearly hear it bubbling in her as he very clearly, and very purposely irritated her. People gave so many subtle tells they weren’t even aware of in irritation, and especially rage, but he caught just the small flicker of surprise under it as well. He had thrown her off guard. That was good. That allowed the smallest crack, but it was not enough yet to see what was underneath. He would find that out soon enough, he thought as he looked down at her.

Why he was so curious, and why he was purposely toying with her was something he wondered about though. He couldn’t quite understand the fascination he had, but in truth, it might have been the only thing that smoothed the rage enough that he didn’t simply remove her head from her body. He would think on it later, but for the moment, he got to view the reaction to his words. Revealing he lived close, very close, seemed to plunge her into panic, which coupled with the fact he had physically seen his stuff in her apartment, was all he really needed.

He was actually about to give her back the bag, as he figured he had annoyed her enough to make her think about him a little, when she did indeed surprise him. He felt her hand that was trying to pry the bag switch tactics, but more surprisingly, she touched his chest. In his experience, most people were much too terrified of the consequences for them to come anywhere near him, so he found himself reacting slightly as she pressed herself into him.

He wasn’t taken down by his senses, he still heard and felt every beat of her heart, but it was something else that shocked him. For a very very long time now, he had been bound, by choice, to another, and by unwilling choice to a third. He hadn’t thought, considered, or even really felt anything except towards them in centuries, so when April actually did kiss him, for a moment, he was entirely unsure how to react. He wasn’t an affectionate or emotional being to begin with, but he did, somewhere in his chest, feel. What he felt at first was confusion, but almost automatically, he kissed her back.

The kiss was purposeful, but also deliberately delicate, which made him add the power to it. Purposely, he deepened it, throwing a shot of passion into the mix. His free hand moved without a lot of thought to her waist as he kissed her, lightly pulling her in as each of them tried to disarm the other. It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t long either before Red pulled back, the thought swirling in his head. He studied her differently for a second, as if he wasn’t sure what to think. His lips curved with barely a hint of a smile. “A thank-you would have sufficed, you know.”

As he watched her, he finally let go of the bag. After all, finding it again would be no trouble, as the taste and scent of her had more than cemented her into his mind. He knew she was about to run and hide, and he looked forward to the chase of it. His voice was quiet, the kind the demanded a quiet presence to listen. “As I said, Miss April. I’m just down the hall, should you need anything.” But honestly unsure who might be more frazzled from the encounter, he then left her standing there, holding the bag as he calmly, and somehow terrifyingly, sauntered off back down the hallway, apparently without a care in the world.

The moment his lips met hers, everything inside April changed. It wasn’t just that he kissed her back, it was how. The shift was immediate. What began as her carefully placed distraction turned into something else entirely, something heavier, hotter. His hand found her waist with almost lazy precision, drawing her in like it was the most natural thing in the world. The contact sent a jolt through her chest, a sharp inhale seizing her lungs without warning. Her knees weakened under the weight of it, her balance subtly faltering even as her body instinctively pressed closer in return.

What. The. Fuck.

That thought rang out across every corner of her mind, louder than her heartbeat, louder than the alarm bells screaming that this wasn’t how the plan was supposed to go. The kiss deepened with surprising intention, his control shifting the dynamic entirely. Her mouth responded, but her mind reeled, clinging to logic that suddenly didn’t exist and still, the damn bag still wouldn’t move. His grip was immovable, like his skin was fused with the canvas or his knuckles had turned to stone. It was him who ended the kiss. Not her.

Everything inside her was in disarray, all the carefully stacked walls and practiced strategies buckling under a force she didn’t see coming. For those few seconds where her heels hadn’t even touched the floor, she hadn’t been in charge. That terrified her. Not the kiss, not the strength, not the hand still resting on her waist. It was that she had lost control. Nothing physical had happened beyond the lean, beyond the kiss itself, but it was enough. Her entire strategy had cracked under pressure and for the first time in years, she didn’t know what came next. Her mind snapped involuntarily to Nik. Just down the hall. Was he in? Hopefully out. God if he’d had seen this… No he hadn’t because then Red would be dead, without a single question asked.
The moment the kiss broke, it took her too long to catch up. A single second, maybe two at most, but it was long enough for her to feel the slip. Her eyes opened, heels touched down, and the hand she had kept poised against his chest lingered briefly, not for balance, but for recovery.

A mask went on as quickly as they had fallen away. Her features shifted into something bright and smooth, that coy smile curling back into place like a shell snapped over vulnerable skin. The only thing that hinted at what had just happened was the warmth in her cheeks and the way her pupils had barely narrowed back to normal.

“That was a thank you,” she offered, the tease stitched into her tone as if none of it had rattled her at all. The charm in her voice returned with strength, silky and disarming. Finally, the weight shifted. He released the bag with a quiet finality, but his parting words were laid out as a casual reminder that he wasn’t further away that down the hall, but that sounded even more threatening than before. Fingers closed around the bag’s strap like she might lose it again and then her body executed the plan she had always intended. Her hand reached behind her quickly and the apartment door swung open in one practiced motion. The moment the bag was fully hers again, she stepped back into the darkness of the apartment, disappearing inside as the door shut behind her with no goodbye.
Her back pressed into the closed door, breathing heavily to control her breath, the silence of the dark apartment wrapping around her. There was no parting remark, no attempt at explanation for what had just occurred. And why would there be? Cause she was never going to see him again.

The next morning arrived quickly. The hotel lay a good distance away from the condos and was one of the nicest places this city had to offer while still being in proximity with the condos where her makeshift lair were. It still felt humid and cheap by comparison to the hotels she was used to, but she could survive it. It had aircon and that was the most important thing here in Florida.

Stopping on the top step that led to the main entrance of the hotel, April took a moment to pull at the strap of her bag to let it hang more comfortably on her shoulder. She was wearing white shorts and a pale pink top, her hair fell in loose curls over her shoulders and she wore simple jewelry. But also heels, always heels. A pair of sunglasses rested atop her head, but as soon as the morning sun hit her, they slid down into place to shield her from the sun's rays. The heat pressed against her skin already making her feel sticky. She descended the rest of the steps and made a sharp turn left. Her stride was purposeful, showing that she clearly had somewhere to be.

It was unexpected, but Red felt the weight of her responding to him more heavily than he was ready for. She tasted like peaches, and the flavour of her bounced around his brain long after he had walked away from her. To his supernatural side, it was merely another way to track her, something he would keep doing until he found out what he wanted to know, but it was his human side that struggled in it. His heart and soul had been tied to someone else for so long that he had never even considered another, but that tie had been broken recently, and it nearly ripped him in half. That had caused him to put a hard-cased shell around his heart so it couldn’t be touched, and he could truly be the cruel bastard he was created to be. So why did he care so much that April had kissed him?

That was the thought he swirled around his brain for the rest of the night. He kept replaying her reaction to him in her head, frame by frame as if studying a movie. He played the scene in his mind over and over, looking for both cracks in the armour, and the utterly unexpected reaction. It was there, as he pulled her in, that her reaction, her kiss, changed. Her heart had changed rhythm too, but he wasn’t sure yet if it was meant to be bad or good. He considered it long into the night, letting his body rest while his mind was completely awake. He rarely slept, and when he did, it was underwater, so to keep himself sane, he tended to listen to the water flowing in the pipes of the apartment until the dawn broke its morning light.

He got up again and showered, listening to the waters to see if any came from the apartment down the hall, then stepped into his bedroom to dress in jeans and a plain black shirt. He wasn’t expected to be in the office until the following day, but out of habit, he slipped his badge and handcuffs into his pocket. He moved his glasses onto his face, and ran a hand through his hair before moving back towards the door. Before he left, in irritation and large debate, he took the stupid cellphone too.

He didn’t really know what to do with himself the next morning. He moved out of the apartment before the sun fully broke, and first went to the water. He stood there a while, listening to the sounds of the ocean, the quiet waves, the gentle breezes. He enjoyed it, at least until the first break of people. Then he was irritated that humanity was sinking itself and its black poisons into the waters, and decided to take himself off the beach until he was more level-headed.

He headed downtown next. Trying to kill time when you literally had nothing but time was an impossibility. Some days were long, but he occupied his mind by letting himself work backwards, once again, through last night. It was in the middle of these run-away thoughts that he heard screaming from inside a store. He paused in his walk, and turned as the glass door burst open, and from within, a suspect bulldozed right into him. Red didn’t even flinch at the impact. Instead, the suspect bounced hard off him, and nearly hit the door again, dazing himself with the merchandise still clearly in his hand. Red blinked once, then twice at the sheer stupidity. “You people never fail.”

He first pulled his badge, and showed him exactly who he had just smashed into. Then he hauled the suspect up, and slammed him just a little hard against the wall as he slapped handcuffs on him. He looked around for the beat cops he assigned to the area, and found them dicking around on the corner of the street. His eyes thunderous, he gave them a dressing down that nearly made them wet themselves, and they both scurried to take the suspect away, promising to come back and get statements.

It was just as the cops were pulling away, the lights still bouncing off the walls, and Red was now thoroughly irritated, that he smelt her on the air. Peaches. That’s what he’d been calling her in his head. Luckily, the lights were far enough that he just looked like a regular bystander, rather than an active officer. He turned around, blue eyes searching the crowds. His eyes landed on her, and he couldn’t help but scan over her. He knew it wasn’t real, but nonetheless, a smile moved over his face as he moved in her general direction. When he got close enough to hear, he only asked; “In the market for more heavy objects?”

The sound of sirens caught April’s attention before the flashing blue lights even registered. Sirens always did that, tore through the air announcing to everyone to get out of their way. It had the opposite effect on her now and on the people around her, cause instead of alarmingly making way, they stopped and she stopped as well. Not a full stop, just that subtle hitch in motion that everyone made when they saw something out of the ordinary. Other pedestrians had paused completely, necks craning and eyes wide with a sort of collective voyeurism, like they were watching a car crash they couldn’t look away from. April's body stalling while her gaze swept over the scene.

The police cars were already starting to scatter, whatever mess had drawn them here clearly wrapping up. She hadn’t seen what happened. Hadn’t needed to. The noise, the chaos, the buzz in the air that came with law enforcement… She’d seen enough of it in her life to know that standing still in the presence of cops, even long after the fact, was a bad idea. There was no outward reaction. Not one tell on her face, but deep down, that sound twisted something in her gut. Sirens always did. She didn’t need a reason, she was the reason. Always. That internal voice, the one that came from years of stealing, hiding and running, whispered that she was doomed the moment blue lights showed up. Still, she moved along, cause her logical part knew this had nothing to do with her.

The pavement was hot under her shoes, the morning sun already baking the sidewalk as she began picking up pace again. Then she heard him. The voice cut through the noise, familiar in a way that sent her body rigid for a split second. She had decided she was never going to see him again. She had kissed him, taken her bag, and shut the door on all of it. That side quest was supposed to be over and she had been well on her way to forgetting it, when unmistakable his voice cut thought. Still walking, her body didn’t slow right away, but her head turned sharply at the sound. Where had he come from? Briefly, the sounds of the sirens penetrated her mind, like his voice and that went together, but then it was gone as quickly as it had happened.

Eyes landed on his face. A smile adorned it and that surprised her. Her gaze betrayed her before anything else, landing straight on his mouth first, unintentional and immediate. Fuck. Her sunglasses must have hidden it. She forced herself to look up, straight into his eyes behind those glasses. Reluctantly, she came to a halt.

“Red,” she said, her voice lifting into something bright, like an old friend spotted in a café line. The corners of her mouth curled into a smile, soft and easy, the kind of expression people gave when they were genuinely pleased to run into someone.

Inside, her stomach churned, because the sight of him made her alert again. He looked maddeningly relaxed, like their last encounter hadn’t shaken anything loose inside him. Like kissing her and then strolling away with that smug confidence, hadn’t been anything to him. No, why was she thinking about that? He had held onto her bag for too long, had resisted her usual charm and unknowingly turned the tables, even if it was just for a moment, but she wasn’t happy to see him. Her skin prickled just seeing him, but her smile stayed in place. She didn’t even know why she was pretending to be glad to see him. Reflex, probably.

“Funny,” she said lightly, her voice dipping into something playful, “I already robbed the local brick place, so I’m afraid there isn’t anything left for me to be interested in.” It came out before she thought twice about it. That was her excuse? Bricks? Of all the things she could have said, she went with bricks. Of course it was said as a joking and obviously not true reason, but still, she could do better. He had never looked inside the bag, so why did she bother anyway? Theater props. Drag jewelry. That’s what she’d planned to say if she’d been cornered. But instead? Bricks. Great job, April. Her smile twitched a little wider, like she found herself amusing. She didn’t. Inside, she felt like she was spinning her wheels in mud, trying to keep traction and composure while the entire encounter threatened to drag away her focus on what really mattered.

“What brings you here?” she asked, though the words felt foreign the moment they left. Why did she ask that? She didn’t even care.Before he could answer, her body shifted with intent. A small pivot, a light movement of her foot, just enough to suggest she was about to start walking again. It gave her control back to remove herself from this situation. Her hand went to the strap of the bag slung across her shoulder, not tight, just ready.

“I’m really sorry, but I have to get going. I've got somewhere to be.” She added, taking a few slow steps, her head turning away from him. It was polite, breezy, even apologetic, but her inwards intentions were clear. This conversation needed to end.

Red watched April closely, the way she moved like a storm trying to pretend it wasn’t raining. The way her smile didn’t quite reach the corners of her eyes. The bricks line had almost made him laugh out loud—almost. Instead, he let the silence stretch just a heartbeat too long, like a leash tugged taut between them.

When he spoke, it was low and velvet, with the slight drag of amusement in his voice. “Leaving so soon, April?” The way he said her name carried a sort of lazy menace, like a blade being drawn just for show. “You kiss a man, and now you won’t even stay for conversation? Was it that bad?”

He took a step forward, unhurried, the sound of his shoes against pavement somehow swallowed by the weight of him. Everything about him was still—too still—like water right before it pulls you under. Her words did amuse him however, and so he responded: “Bold choice. Can’t imagine the resale value, but hey—who am I to judge an artist at work?” His gaze slid over her, glasses hiding the specifics, but his grin made it obvious he was watching everything.

“Next time, try gold bullion. Much lighter. Less dust.” His voice was smooth with that quiet edge of something between danger and amusement, head tilted slightly, as if studying a painting he’d forgotten he liked.

His glasses caught the light, his expression half-veiled, but the line of his mouth was soft now. Less wolf, more something that might remember what it’s like to be human—if only briefly. He chose, however, not to answer what brought him here, at least no more than a shrug. “Had the day off and the beach was too crowded.” He looked around at the crowds of people, and then back at her, wondering if he should stall her in the way he had last night.

Ultimately, he made the choice to simply see what she did, even if his words briefly served to toy with her. There was no movement to block her path. No threat or change in posture or tone. And still, the gravity of him held. He made sure of it as he watched her. “I won’t keep you, but..Wherever you’re rushing off to…” He gestured vaguely, then let his hand drop deliberately. “Do make sure it’s worth the detour.”

His voice was soft now, quieter than before, but there was something coiled underneath it. Something ancient, patient, and terribly entertained.

The way his mouth twitched just a little too knowingly at the corners, the way he let that silence stretch like it was meant to pull something out of her. The glint of amusement that hid behind his glasses, not loud, but sharp and deliberate. His words always came with something extra, coated in velvet but lined with an edge. He teased, not like someone making light conversation, but like someone testing tension in a wire, watching to see when it would snap.He looked so at ease, standing there with the world moving around him. Like he already knew how this would play out and was just humoring her for the entertainment of it. The soft curve of his smile, the tone of his voice, the careful way he didn’t press too hard, all of it gave her the impression that he was amused by her and he wanted her to know it. April’s brows arched slightly, her mouth parting with a quick exhale of something between indignation and disbelief.

“That wasn’t a kiss,” she replied, similar amusement as his tucked into the edge of her words.
“That was a thank you.” Her tone faked cluelessness, like there actually was a difference, like the kiss hadn’t been more than a polite curtsy with lips. As if her body hadn’t reacted like it had touched fire the second he’d pulled her in. As if she hadn’t been shaken by it for the rest of the night.

Then he said it. An artist at work. It hit her system with a chud. She had to force her expression to stay casual, even light, while her brain immediately launched into calculations. That was what she was. Not a painter, not a sculptor, but an artist of a different kind. A con artist. A thief. Someone who studied angles and timing and exit points. He had held her loot just last night. The bag had been in his hands, but he hadn’t looked. He couldn’t have looked. She had been watching him, always. Right? Her heart thudded once, a little too hard. Still walking, she clung to the memory, running it back in her mind. No, his grip had never shifted. He wouldn’t have had time. She would have noticed. Probably. Hopefully.

Was he just teasing her now? Or did he know something? And why the hell was he here again, right after she’d made peace with never seeing him? Her body stayed composed, but inside, something coiled, tight and uneasy. She didn’t even know his name, still convinced Red was a fake. Never cared, but now? A last name, at the very least, would have been nice. Just enough to run a check, cover her basics, tie up loose ends before they wrapped around her throat. At least she had gotten one piece of intel. The beach wasn’t his thing. Too crowded at least today. She could relate. No shade, no aircon, just sweat and noise. Not her scene either, but at least she could venture there later and not worry about running into him.

There was something about his voice, his presence, the way he felt made her steps slow, as if her body wanted to stay. Reluctantly, she picked up her pace again. Survival instincts reminded her that the less time she spent near him, the better.

“Bullion you say?” she quipped over her shoulder with a faint smirk, forcing lightness into her voice. “I’ll add it to the shopping list.” The line served as a goodbye, a neat little bow to tie around the encounter. She gave him a small wave, dismissive and casual, but her fingers hesitated for half a beat before falling back to her side.

"Bye, Red." Then she turned and the motion felt more reluctant than it should have. Her body moved, but something about it resisted, like she was fighting gravity. Eventually, her eyes fixed straight ahead, her steps sharpening with each stride until there was no mistaking her intention. No hesitation, just the quickening tap of her shoes against the pavement as she left him behind.

The beach wasn’t beautiful in any obvious way.

No white sand, no postcard-perfect turquoise water. Not anymore, at the very least. Now, it was just a weathered shoreline, wide and raw, stretched under the bright sprawl of the sky. The sand was coarse, warm and gold-gray, scattered with smooth stones and broken shells that clicked underfoot like old bones. Seaweed curled like script across the tide line, drying in tangled knots. Driftwood rested like forgotten altars, bleached by sun and time.

The air tasted like salt and secrets. Not sweet, but clean. Honest. The kind of place where people came to be alone without needing to explain it. The waves didn’t crash—they sighed. Rolling in lazy, steady pulses that seemed more ancient than the day itself. A rhythm that asked nothing, promised nothing. Just… was.

Further down one side of the shore, wild grasses shivered in the breeze, growing tall where the dunes began to rise. Their rustle whispered low, blending with the hush of the sea. No buildings. No crowds. Just open space and the sky above, endless and unapologetic. Red liked it that way.

The world could keep its manicured coasts and glittering oceans. This place felt like it had teeth once, and maybe still did. It was real. Unpolished. Something the sea had carved out and decided to keep for itself. And for now, it had him, too.

Red floated just beneath the surface, limbs loose, body half-suspended in the gentle sway of the tide. Salt water wrapped around him like a second skin, familiar and forgiving. This was his church. His retreat. His one silence. He listened to the waters, their news, their secrets, giving to them as much as he took.

His eyes were closed as he breathed in the waters and its life, but still, he could not keep his mind away. He couldn’t keep himself from envisioning her, or that look in her eye that told him she was less irritated than she wanted to be. And that she liked that kiss more than she wanted too.

Her. Her who had weaved into his mind without permission, but had stayed without hesitation. It was a curious thing for him, a curiosity that itched around in him the same way she was starting too.

April’s laugh had sounded like someone learning how to lie. Bright. Nervous. Honest in a way that made his chest ache. She’d leaned in like she wasn’t sure she was allowed, and then kissed him like she didn’t care. Her mouth had been soft and full of questions. Her fingers had grazed his jaw like she was trying to learn it by touch.

It hadn’t been a deep kiss. It hadn’t needed to be. Yet, something about it lingered, like the taste of rain on the back of his tongue. Not sweet. Clean. Something he wasn’t made for.

On the thought of it, he broke the surface slowly, water sheeting off his skin as he rose. Not theatrical, but so natural it couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. As if the sea released him like breath. His hair clung to his brow in dark waves, and the sun caught the glint in his eyes. Blue, icy, and watching.

He walked until the ocean let go of him, drops trailing down his chest, catching on the ink of old symbols etched into his skin; faint, like scars he’d forgotten how to name, and the glistening brighter ink recently received. The water slid from his muscular body in rivulets, slow and deliberate, catching sunlight like liquid glass. It clung to the sharp lines of his shoulders, curved down the muscles of his back in long, lazy drips, slid along the picture perfect V that dipped just below. Each movement sent beads skimming along his skin, over the curve of his collarbone, across the flat of his chest, along the defined ridges of his stomach.

From his fingertips, it fell in strands, delicate and deliberate, like the sea hadn’t quite decided to release him. His hair dripped in dark ropes, water tracing the edge of his jaw, drawing a gleaming path down the line of his throat. Drops gathered at his waist before falling, one after another, into the sand below, darkening it in soft, perfect spots.

The whole of him shimmered—sunlight, salt, and skin. No artifice. No pretense. Just a man shaped by depth, stepping out of the sea like it was a second birth. Yet still, on the air, all he could smell….was peaches.

April had walked for long enough now that the crowd had changed faces, but the rhythm remained the same, slow moving tourists, clipped locals and the low hum of city life pulsing around her. It was enough to make her feel like she had put distance between them, even if her mind hadn’t followed. From her bag, she pulled out an old phone, its matte buttons faded and the screen dull. No sleek glass, no swipes or pings, just plastic, buttons and reliability. She punched in the number manually, the pressure of her fingertip firm. The phone rang twice before someone picked up.

“I need all the information you can get me on the male residents on the third floor of the apartment building,” she said, her voice low and even. “Send me the basics first—names, records, occupation. Then dig deeper.” She only needed to know about one, but this was the easiest way to convey to her contact what she wanted. The voice on the other end spoke as she moved quickly, turning sharply down a shaded sidewalk. The sun was starting to rise into full power, pushing down on the city like it was trying to crack it open. April glanced over both shoulders before jaywalking across the street, stepping into the shadow cast by an awning, her feet carrying her on instinct while her mind remained elsewhere. She was just trying to clear out the possibility of trouble. She had seen enough to know this city was the kind of place where people used aliases, where people came to disappear. Still not believing in Red having given her his real name, her suspicions basically confirmed that he had something to hide too. Something to disappear from. Just like the only other resident she knew of on that same floor, Nik.

“Yes, I’m headed there now,” she said into the phone as the subject changed slightly, checking the street behind her again. “As fast as you can.” Then, as if it had just floated up from the back of her mind, she added, “And one more thing, love. I need the name of whoever owns that boat.” Her voice was light, almost careless, but something about it tightened her jaw. A name. Just to rule it out. She ended the call and slipped the phone back into her bag.


The beach was packed. April regretted it almost immediately. She had come here because Red had said it was too crowded for him and she had believed it. It seemed like a safe enough bet. The chance of running into him again felt microscopic and if they did cross paths now? Then it wouldn’t be fate, it would be intent. Someone wanting to bump into the other. That was dangerous, cause she wasn’t the one seeking him out and she didn’t need the attention his possible interest in her gave. Least of all, she needed his interest to be turned towards her business.

Here on the beach, with bodies practically pressed together along the shoreline and every patch of sand occupied by towels, umbrellas, and sunburned limbs, she realized she might have overlooked something. She didn’t like crowds either.
After threading between families and couples, trying and failing to find a quiet patch of beach where her personal space wouldn’t be under siege, she gave up. Her feet kept moving. The sandals she had worn were now in the woven designer tote slung over her shoulder. She didn’t stop to lay out a towel or stake a claim. Instead, she kept walking.

April liked walking, but on a treadmill, usually, in front of a screen with spreadsheets and surveillance feeds. She wasn’t built for leisure. Her version of relaxation didn’t include salt in the air or sweat behind the knees. But she pressed forward anyway, past the edges of the city beach, past the sunbathers and coolers and children screaming at gulls. Eventually, the crowds thinned. Footprints faded. The sand turned darker and more packed beneath her steps. Driftwood littered the shore in sun bleached tangles, seaweed pooled in thick coils. The sound of the city dimmed behind her, replaced by the hush of waves and wind threading through dune grass. Her feet followed the damp shoreline, always just far enough from the reach of the sea. The sun was brutal, but her sunglasses cut the glare. A brown full piece swimsuit clung to her skin, elegant and clearly not meant for swimming. It was for looking and she had no plans of getting wet.

Then, something moved that made April pause. A shape rose from the water up ahead, slow and fluid, a man emerging from the surf with the kind of grace that made it stop in her tracks. She hadn’t noticed anyone swimming out here, but she hadn’t been paying attention to it either. The figure was a man. The kind you didn’t just see, you registered. Tattoos glistened beneath the sun, inked across a chest the sea water traced. Muscles shifted with every step as he waded out, water cascading down his body, glistening in the sun. Then she saw his face.

Recognition halted her breath. Red.

Was it too late to turn around? Yes. Absolutely. They were alone. No one else for miles, not from what she could see. Her presence stood out like a flag in the sand. He’d notice her eventually and this time, there was no way he had followed her. He had been here first. Still, she would not trust a meet cute like this, not when it was him. Her body didn’t flinch, but her mind braced for whatever this encounter could bring now.

“You said the beach was too crowded,” April called out, her voice just loud enough to carry over the waves to make sure she was heard. No bite in her tone, just fact.

“It really was,” she added, quieter this time as she both agreed and confirmed his earlier statement. This time, she had no instinct to run. No excuse waiting on her tongue. Just stillness, and the surprise of seeing him, here of all places. Perhaps it just hadn't kicked in yet.

The surf peeled back behind him as he walked, water sliding off sculpted muscle and ink like it was reluctant to let him go. When she spoke, his head turned, slow and precise, eyes locking onto her as if the sound had been a lure cast specifically for him. He didn’t grin, he was past grinning, but his mouth curled, just barely. Enough to be seen. Enough to unsettle.

”Crowds are noisy,” He replied slowly, voice shaped like a tide pulling at the edge of something. “Too many people pretending to be alive.” He kept walking, each step sinking into the sand with heavy grace, like the earth acknowledged him the way the ocean did. His eyes didn’t waver from her, didn’t blink, like if he did, she might vanish. Again.

He stopped a few feet away, close enough to feel the warmth of her presence beneath the sun, close enough that silence had weight. His gaze dipped, a slow sweep from her sunglasses to her hips, unapologetic in its study, not crude, but calculated. Appreciative. He let the silence stretch, let her feel the scrutiny like heat against skin. He studied her like a mirage that hadn’t faded. Just stood there for a breath, letting the waves curl behind him, letting the heat stretch between them, just enough to make the nerve endings tingle with anticipation.

”Yet, you came anyway.” His voice lowered, something in it rougher now. His eyes drifted, unapologetically, from her sunglasses down the elegant curve of her swimsuit, then back to her face, lingering there, as if that was the part he couldn’t quite look away from. “I was starting to wonder if the sun didn’t suit you,” He added, head tilting with a faint, amused smile. “But now I’m thinking it’s jealous.”

He stepped a little closer, not too close, just enough to let the space between them spark. “You do know how to make an empty beach feel like a stage, I must say,” He murmured, eyes tracing the lines of her like a memory resurfacing. Not hungry, but aware. The kind of awareness that made the air feel thinner.

There was no smirk now, just the suggestion of one, as if he was thinking too many things at once to settle on just one expression. The sea breeze caught her scent, and he inhaled without meaning to, as if even the air between them belonged to a different kind of memory.

He glanced past her, briefly, toward the stretch of empty beach before they were littered with crowds of people. Then his eyes returned, sharper now, like he’d seen something distant that didn’t matter compared to the fact that she was here, and close. “I didn’t follow you,” He said, quietly. Almost like he was answering a question she hadn’t asked out loud. “But I’m not leaving, either.”

He let that settle between them, heavier than the heat, deeper than the pull of the tide. His gaze lingered on her lips, then flicked back to her eyes. Curious. Waiting. Not a challenge. Not an invitation.

Just… there. Like a storm on the horizon that hadn’t decided if it wanted to break.

April hadn’t been prepared for the weight of him. Not this time. She had seen him before, been close enough to feel his breath, but the intensity that radiated off him now was something different. It was immediate and inescapable, the kind of heat that didn’t just settle on skin but crawled beneath it. His gaze locked onto her the second she spoke, and it didn’t waver, not even for a breath. His approach was slow, steady, measured, but it held a tension that made the air between them feel different, like it was harder to breathe. Her feet stayed rooted, body still, even as her gaze followed every inch of his path toward her.

The closer he got, the more she felt it, not just his presence, but his eyes. Like they physically touched her, like they left heat in their wake. That stare didn’t leave her for a moment, and it didn’t feel accidental. It felt deliberate. His attention landed on her with such sharpness that it made her shoulders stiffen, even as she kept her own expression relaxed. Her lips curled into that same curated smile she wore before, the one that suggested sweetness, harmlessness and innocence. A smile designed to put others at ease while giving her every advantage. But it hadn’t worked on him and it probably wouldn’t now either. Still, it was her go to and hard to wipe off. His words caught her off guard. Not just the cadence, not just the calmness, but the meaning.

"Ah, but aren’t we all just pretending to be alive?” she said, not teasing, not smug. Her voice carried that same lightness, the one she used when she wanted people to think they had the upper hand, but there was something behind it now. Something thoughtful. His words surprised her, not just for their bleakness, but for how they resonated. It was easy to mock the beach crowd, easy to pretend she wasn’t one of them. But hadn’t she done the same thing? Dressed up. Played the part. Walked these sands with her curated outfit and perfectly styled hair. She hadn’t come alive here, that wasn’t the purpose.

He stopped far closer than expected, and still, she didn’t move. Not even when he looked her over, slow and unapologetic, like he had every right to drink her in. The gaze wasn’t crude, but it felt like it carried a purpose. That curled something hot and unwanted in the pit of her stomach. The urge to speak up, to say that she hadn’t worn this for him, itched at her throat, but the words never came. What would be the point? His look said he had already decided. The worst part was the anticipation. Her breath hitched, just barely, from the pressure of being seen like that. How was it possible to feel wanted just from someone looking?

When his eyes dipped again, so obviously, she returned the favor. Her gaze lowered to his chest, broad and defined, every inch of it inked in something she couldn’t make out. Nothing about them made immediate sense. No style she could place. No clear meaning. They drew her in anyway, a map she couldn’t read but couldn’t look away from. Her mouth watered, actually watered and she hated how involuntary it was. No sign of it touched her face. No hint escaped her. She’d had a lifetime of practice at hiding want. Then he stepped closer.It wasn’t a big move. Just enough to blur the distance between them, to make the space feel charged, alive with possibility. It wasn’t a threat. It was worse. It was intention.

“But the whole world is a stage,” she said, her voice quiet and theatrical, like quoting something half remembered and half as important. The words mimicked his own, a deliberate echo, a test to see if she could shift him the way he had shifted her. It rang a little too true. The masks she wore, the costumes, the lies spun into her craft. All of it a performance. Her thoughts were just beginning to turn toward escape, her mind reaching for the script that let her pull away with grace, when he spoke again:

“I didn’t follow you”

“What makes you say that?” she asked, faking casual, but the words were pointed. An invitation to explain what he thought this was. Running into each other once could be a coincidence. Twice, odd. Three times in under twenty hours? She didn’t believe in fate, and if he was orchestrating this, she needed to know why. But this particular meet cute couldn’t be faked, it felt too elaborate. This truly felt coincidental, but their run-in downtown? Please. She doubted the truth of that way more.

“You were here first,” she acknowledged, voice cool again, giving him the beach like if he had been a child claiming the sandbox for himself. Let him have it. She didn’t need the sand, nor the ocean she never had planned to go on anyway.

“I won’t impose,” she added softly as a polite brush off. Her instincts were kicking in now, louder than the thoughts that wanted her to stay. It was time to go. She made a show of stepping back, of reestablishing the distance, even as every inch of her resisted the idea.

“My feet carried me longer than I expected,” she said, her voice still calm. “I need to head back anyway.” There had never been an end goal. She’d walked out here for peace, to get away from the crowd, then to find a good spot and then she just kept going. Maybe she sought distance, maybe clarity, but all she’d found was him.