Page 2 of The King Contract
My heart hammers beneath my ribcage as I hit the surface and am swallowed up by a current so turbulent, I struggle to navigate which way is up. My camera thumps against my chest and cheek in quick succession, the strap twisting against my neck before flying off, disappearing into the torrent.
I’m a decent swimmer. Ever since my parents died, I made apointto make peace with the ocean. I swam laps at school when the athletes had vacated the pool, so I had privacy to take my time. Ellis and I used to see how many somersaults we could do in a row without coming up for breath. When I lived on Hamilton Island a couple of years ago, I snorkelled in my spare time. I’m good with the ocean.
So were your parents.
I stamp out the intrusive thought as I break the surface and suck in an enormous breath. The crack of sunshine is nowhere in sight and the cragged edges of the beach already metres away thanks to the force of the current. Another wave batters my head and pushes me under, my arms and legs flailing in an attempt to stay afloat.
Panic officially sets in.
I’m going to die here. On an unpatrolled beach, closed because of treacherous conditions. I’ll be a twenty-second clip on the evening news. A local tragedy.Grieving Gold Coast woman falls to her death in search of the perfect shot like a fucking idiot.
I’m sure the news will enjoy the poetry of me drowning in the same ocean as my parents. If I wasn’t so terrified, I’d laugh at the irony.
Something tight wraps around my waist and my body surges, head breaching the water again. Glorious oxygen fills my lungs, and a pained groan accompanies my gasp. I’m battered as I’m dragged from the water to the shore, where I come to a halt like a sack of potatoes.
My focus is on the storm clouds above me until two whirlpools of green come into view. I note drenched, brown curls and a smattering of freckles across a crooked nose.
“You’re okay,” the man assures me. “You’re okay.”
“I’m going to throw up.” I sit up, hanging my head between my legs as I focus on slowing down my heart rate, desperately trying to avoid the sheer terror that ravaged my body seconds ago.
After a few moments, I lift my head to see the man watching me, the crease between his eyes, deep with concern. “You good?”
“I’m good,” I croak.
“Good.” He points his finger at my face like a parent scolding a child. “Now I can yell at you for being a fucking idiot.”
2
MILLIE
Surfboard collection
My eyebrows springto my hairline. “Excuse me?”
“What the hell were you doing up there?” he spits, waving his arm towards my former vantage spot.
I narrow my eyes. “What the hell wereyoudoing outthere? If you had minded your own business, I wouldn’t have fallen in, and we wouldn’t be in this mess.” I fail to add the reason I got distracted was because I could’ve sworn some creepy sea creature was camouflaging itself against the rocks.
“I’ll remember to mind my own business next time I see a woman risking her neck like a bloody fool,” he snaps, dropping to the wet sand beside me, his chest heaving.
We sit in silence for several beats, the reality of what happened dumping on my head and shoulders. He might’ve been the reason I startled, but he risked his own life to pull me out. His haggard breaths indicate his adrenaline is pumping a million miles a minute.
“Thank you,” I bite out.
He spits water from his mouth next to him in response.
My gaze travels down his muscular leg to his ankle, where a black band wraps around it. Drag marks line the sand from where he pulled me out of the water, his surfboard in tow. “You were surfing? Now, who’s the bloody fool?”
He tips his head to look at me. “These are good conditions for surfers.”
“The beach isclosed,you imbecile.”
With my heart rate slowing, my brain takes the opportunity to notice things I hadn’t at first. The five o’clock shadow on his square jaw, the veins curving into his broad shoulders, the cloud-shaped birthmark on his left pectoral.
My brain snaps with déjà vu at the sight of it. “Have we met before?”
He huffs a laugh, like he’s appreciating a private joke with himself. “I get that a lot, but no. I don’t think so.” He leans back on his hands, stretching his legs out, an unmistakable air of arrogance to his demeanour.
