Does It Hurt?: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

The last time I went fishing was in college. Calling it fishing is being generous, though. Really, it was four dudes going out on a boat and drinking too much beer because we were too fucking exhausted to do anything else. Exams were kicking our asses, and I had more interest in going overboard and swimming with the fish than I did bringing them on to board.

My shoddy experience is now biting me in the ass.

“You’re a fish expert, but you don’t know how to catch them? Isn’t that, like, a part of Fish School 101?”

Whoever said that breathing exercises help manage anger is a fucking con artist. I’ve tried a million of them since we’ve been out here, and I still want to choke her.

Biggest problem with that is every time I entertain that fantasy, I’m also fucking her.

Fuck.

“I don’t fish, Sawyer. It is killing the ecosystem, which goes against everything I’ve literally dedicated my entire career to. I’m more interested in saving the ocean.”

She purses her lips and nods thoughtfully.

“Well, I appreciate your gallant heroism. I’ll make it my life’s mission to have them write a book about you once we get off this island. Until then, we need to eat. Sylvester has made it clear he doesn’t have enough food for us.”

“Yes, I’m very aware of that. Hence, the attempt at fishing,” I bite out, waving a hand at our failure of a trap. We’ve been out here for hours and haven’t even caught plankton.

We both slept all of yesterday, and aside from occasionally getting up to pee before nine o’clock, we didn’t leave the room. Both of us are still holding out on using that bucket.

Now it’s the following day, and I’m no less exhausted and sore from the shipwreck. And the little witch tromping in the water isn’t fucking helping.

Today is Monday, and I’m confident Troy will call the police when I don’t show up at the research center. In the years we’ve known each other, he’s never seen me miss work.

“What if we try spearfishing?” Sawyer suggests, utterly oblivious to my annoyance with her. That, or she doesn’t care, and if that’s the case, I have no issue making her care.

“How do you plan on making a spear?”

In lieu of a verbal response, she rushes toward the lighthouse, skipping over the sharp rocks with ease, despite her feet still being injured. At least she wrapped them this time. 

Ten minutes later, she’s rejoining me with a long, gnarled wooden cane, a butcher knife, and duct tape.

When I just stare, she gives me a wide grin.

“He let me use his old cane if I promised not to break it.”

“Pretty sure you break everything you touch,” I comment. Her smile drops, but she immediately forces it back into place. However, any light that was previously in her eyes has dissipated, and now I feel like the thief.

An apology is on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back. I fell for her tricks and took pity on her before; I refuse to fall for it again.

Instead of responding, she quietly gets to work on constructing her spear. I cross my arms, unable to pull my gaze away from her, no matter how hard I try.

There’s an entire ocean before me that deserves my reverence, yet all I want to do is give it to her.

And nothing… nothing has made me angrier.

She snaps me out of my turmoil when she thrusts the spear into the air with a triumphant aha!

“I am a master inventor, and now I will be a master spearfisher,” she declares with a grin.

I really want to do something to her right now, but she’s got me too fucked up to figure out what.

Keeping my expression blank, I watch her waddle back into the water, her tanned skin stark against the murky blue surface.

“Now to find the fish,” she murmurs to herself, a determined pinch between her brows as she chews her bottom lip.

Her eyes widening is my only warning before she sends the pointed end of the spear into the water, a battle cry echoing across the waves. 

“Oh, I so fucking got you.”

Her shoulders droop when she lifts the spear and finds that she did not, in fact, get the fish.

I can’t control a fraction of a smile from emerging, delighting in how her stare darkens when she glimpses it and sees how cruel it is.

She turns away, her muscles tense as she searches for a new victim.

I want to make her feel worse.

“You’re going to stab your own foot before you catch a fish.”

“I’ve been doubted my entire life, dude. I’m capable of more than you think.”

I hum, slowly approaching her, intoxicated by the way her muscles ripple. She knows who the real predator is, and it’s not the one clutching a weapon for dear life. 

I press into her back, and she stiffens further. Brushing my mouth over the shell of her ear, I whisper, “I know exactly what you’re capable of. But you haven’t managed to escape me yet, bella ladra. You’re not as good at running as you think.”

She lifts her head, her blonde curls brushing against my nose. She smells of the ocean, and I fucking hate it. It’s my favorite scent, and she doesn’t deserve to wear it.

“You’re not as good at many things as you think you are.”

The implication is loud, and I’m happy to let her make assumptions. Truthfully, Sawyer could make me come with a single look. 

Even still, I’m being honest. She’s a fucking godsend when it comes to sucking my cock, but she can’t lie to save her life. Now that I can look beyond the cloud of lust, I see everything she doesn’t say. She thinks she’s good at what she does, but really, she’s only made it this far by dumb luck. And based on her circumstances, that shit has run dry.

“I will stab you. Get away from me,” she bites out, her tone colored with hurt.

“No.”

She hisses between her teeth, only I continue before she tries to prove a point that she’d really regret.

“There’s something right at your feet. Let’s see if you can do one thing right, aside from ruining lives.”

A strong gust of wind whips through her hair, sending the tangled curls over her face. My fist tightens, ignoring the urge to gather it in my hand and use it to hold her still while I fuck her mouth.

Whether it’s because she’s rising to my challenge or simply trying to ignore me, Sawyer slowly lifts the spear, immovable as she tracks the dark shadow swimming around her legs. Part of me is surprised by her ease in the ocean. There could be anything lurking beneath the surface, but she doesn’t shy away as it nears.

I hope it’s a jellyfish.

One moment, she’s frozen. The next, she’s plunging the tip of the knife into the water. And then she straightens. I can feel the victory rolling off her in waves. 

Peeking over her shoulder, she cuts me a look, staring up at me beneath thick lashes, a smirk tugging up the corner of her lips. 

Without looking away, she lifts the weapon, a kingfish stuck on the tip.

Dragging my gaze back to hers feels like two cars colliding head-on. The air between us thickens, and lightning races down my spine when her eyelids droop and her blue eyes heat.

“I win.”

Then, she turns and goes to walk past me, gearing up to shoulder-check me, but I’m stopping her before she even makes it an inch. My hand snaps out to the side, wrapping around her throat and causing her to stiffen once more.

“Bravissima. Now do it again.”

“Excuse you? Get your own,” she chokes out, her tone dripping with malice.

Her hand grabs my wrist, nails digging into my skin as she tries to free herself of me, but it only invigorates me. Before she can blink, I release her and pluck the dead fish off the makeshift spear.

I finally give in and fist her hair with my other hand, bringing her in close.

“We’re a team now, baby. Do what you do best and kill anything unfortunate enough to come near you.” By the time I finish my sentence, my hand has moved to her jaw, my thumb swiping along her puffy bottom lip, a cut on it from when I bit her. 

Instead of her face flushing like I had expected, she pales, her eyes dimming like when the sun dips beneath the horizon.

Carefully, she raises her trembling hand and removes my hand from her face. Then, she turns and wades farther into the water wordlessly, resuming her search for another fish.

I can only stand there, both confused and suspicious over what the fuck that was about.

Ultimately, I walk away, deciding that I don’t really care.

Sawyer doesn’t bring back just one kingfish, but three.

I cock a brow, in the process of gutting the first one she caught when she tosses a bundled t-shirt onto the counter.

She reaches over and unravels the fabric, proudly displaying the dead fish within. The sight disgusts me. Fucking humans and their greed. They’ve overfished so much that even three kingfish being killed damages the ecosystem.

“Wow!” Sylvester exclaims, in the process of trudging down the stairs, when he catches sight of the fish. “How’d ya manage that?”

Sawyer shrugs, an effortless smile gracing her lips, back to her old self as if she didn’t completely shut down only an hour ago.

“A spear.”

Sylvester scoffs, impressed. “So that’s what ya needed the cane for? Usually, I just shoot ’em with my gun. Took me a lot of years and wasted bullets to get my aim that precise. Seems you’re just a natural.”

“Apparently a hidden talent of mine,” she answers breezily. I arch a brow. Not even going to touch on that statement.

With her t-shirt now being used as a net, Sawyer is left in only her jean shorts and bikini top. Something she seems to be regretting now that Sylvester’s stare is boring into her. Twin bright spots form on her cheeks, and her shoulders curl inward. Che stronzo. I clench the knife handle, preparing to gut him instead.

He must sense my furious glare and the threat on the tip of my tongue because he quickly turns his beady eyes to me. It’s not enough to abate the need to spoon them out from his skull anyway.

“Is cooking yer hidden talent?” Sylvester asks.

I narrow my eyes, reluctantly swallowing down the warning.

“I’ve always known my way around a kitchen, though I don’t eat fish, so we’ll see how this turns out,” I answer, my tone cold.

“Ah,” he says. “Never known a man to turn down good meat.”

I assume the ensuing silence is awkward based on how Sawyer looks like she’d rather be the kingfish beneath my knife, though I don’t feel any of it. His implication that I’m not a real man is obvious, but him being sorely mistaken is also fucking obvious.

Sawyer glances at me. “Enzo is a shark expert. He likes to swim with fish. Not eat them.”

I meet her gaze for a moment before focusing back on my task. Not sure why she’s defending me to an old crook who undoubtedly has an outdated view of what it means to be a man. I’m not even sure why she’s defending me at all.

I’m not so threatened by Sylvester that I lack confidence in my manhood. He can think what he wants, it doesn’t make him any better than me.

“Shark expert, huh? I s’pose you got to have a pair to get in the water with one o’them. You’ll like it here then. We get sharks on this beach all the time.”

I pause, looking at him and echoing, “We?”

“Sorry?” he asks, unsure of my point.

“You said we get sharks,” I clarify, grabbing another fish. “Is there anyone else here?”

“Well, you two are, ain’t ya?” he grunts. “This’ll be yer home for the next month or so.”

“Enzo is also a dick,” Sawyer cuts in.

I keep quiet, debating on if I should push. Normally, I’d chalk it up to a figure of speech, but not after hearing what I did last night.

“Thought I heard someone walking around last night,” I say finally.

Sawyer’s eyes snap to me, but I avoid her gaze. After she had laid down again, I couldn’t fall back asleep, bothered by her crying, and pissed at myself because I couldn’t fathom why.

I wasn’t sure how long I had been lying there for when I heard footsteps from above us, along with the sound of dragging metal.

A booming laugh bursts from Sylvester’s throat, startling Sawyer.

“Was wonderin’ how long it’d take ’em.”

“Take who? And to do what?” Sawyer asks.

“When this place first opened, lots of freight ships were passin’ by in these waters. Then, the biggest storm I ever seen hit in 1985. A huge ship got caught up in it. Didn’t know it at first, but it was carrying about eighty criminals. They were being transferred to a different prison when the boat capsized. 

“I had my beacon on and waited up all night to see if anyone would make it.”

“Did they?”

Sylvester grunts. “They sure did. Four of ’em. Used some of the wood from the boat to keep afloat and kick their way here. Was on edge, let me tell ya. These was some dangerous men. Convicted of murder and rape. I couldn’t just leave them to die, but I wasn’t stupid enough to invite them in. As far as they were concerned, it was their lucky day.”

“So, what did you do?”

I continue to cook while Sylvester goes on with his story. 

“I gave ’em some tents, a first aid kit, and some food and water. Storm was sticking around for a while yet, which means I was all alone until help arrived. Wasn’t letting ’em in for nothin’, and they wasn’t too happy about it. Later that night, two of ’em decided to break down my door. Course I saw it coming and was forced to shoot ’em dead. They died with those chains around their ankles.” 

Sawyer gasps, her blue eyes rounding in shock.

“The other two learned their lesson and stayed outside.”

“Then what?” she asks, riveted by the story. I’m still waiting to hear how this has anything to do with what I heard last night.

“Only one of them survived. The other came down with a fever and eventually kicked the bucket. I did let him in when it got bad enough, and tried my best to nurse him back to good health, but he didn’t pull through. Eventually, help arrived, and they took the remaining prisoner. Out of eighty men, he was the only survivor.”

“Wow,” Sawyer breathes.

“Those two I shot decided to stick around. Been creepin’ in these halls ever since. Those damn chains dragging across the floor. Used to it by now, but I’ll admit it took a few years to stop sleepin’ with my shotgun in hand.”

I sigh, place a cast-iron skillet on his stove, and drop a fish into it, glowering at the pan while the oil crackles.

“So, you’re telling me this place is haunted,” I deadpan.

“Sure is.”

Bullshit.

“Interesting,” is my only response.

I’ve always been a skeptic of ghosts, though I wouldn’t consider myself a disbeliever, despite being raised Catholic. But I am a disbeliever in Sylvester and everything that comes out of his mouth.

The old caretaker chuckles. “I know what yer thinking. Truth be told, I’d think the same thing if I wasn’t living with these sons of bitches the last thirty years or so. That’s ah’ight. I respect a skeptic. ‘Fraid that’s the only explanation I got fer the weird noises at night, though.”

Sawyer’s still wide eyes turn to me. Clearly, she believes him.

And I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not yet. Either she’s going to sleep better at night, or worse.

“Do they, like, touch you and shit?” she asks, turning her alarmed stare back to him.

“Nah, they just get a little restless at night, that’s all. No reason to worry. They’re harmless.”

I spare her a glance before concentrating on the sizzling fish.

They may be harmless, but I’m not.

And something tells me Sylvester isn’t, either.