Tia
The fluorescent lights in my tiny Marathon apartment buzz like angry bees overhead.
I stand at the kitchen counter in my mismatched socks.
One has tiny pineapples. The other has dancing tacos.
My hair sticks up in seventeen directions because I keep running my fingers through it while staring at the same page in my notebook for twenty minutes.
The notebook holds sketches of signal patterns I shouldn’t be noticing.
Weird little blips in the data streams I monitor for my boring tech job.
Blips that feel like eyes on the back of my neck.
The air smells like burnt toast and the honeysuckle candle I lit to pretend everything feels normal.
Outside my window the ocean whispers against the shore.
Waves slap the rocks in steady rhythm. But tonight that sound feels different.
Less soothing. More like something hiding between each crash.
I shake my head hard enough to make my brain rattle.
I giggle at my own ridiculous thought. The sound bounces off the yellow walls I painted myself last summer.
Bright and sunny like I could chase away every shadow with color.
My feet pad across the cool tile as I move to the window.
The glass feels cold against my fingertips.
Streetlights cast long orange pools on the empty road below.
A car passes slowly. Too slowly. My stomach does a little flip that has nothing to do with the leftover pizza I ate for dinner.
Okay brain. We’re not doing the paranoid thing tonight. Maybe it’s just a lost tourist. Or a tourist driving a stolen golf cart. That could happen in the Keys, right? I mean, tourists do weird things all the time.
I press my forehead to the glass. My breath fogs a small circle.
The feeling returns stronger. That heavy watchful pressure between my shoulder blades.
Like invisible fingers tracing my spine.
I whirl around fast. Nothing there but my sad little couch covered in throw pillows shaped like sea creatures.
Mr. Octopus stares back at me with one button eye missing.
I hug him anyway because sometimes a girl needs eight arms of emotional support.
My phone buzzes on the counter. Dad. The screen glows soft in the dim light. I swipe to answer with my pinky because my hands feel shaky.
“Hey Dad. Calling to remind me I need more vegetables in my life or is this the weekly check in on whether I’ve been kidnapped by pirates yet?”
His voice comes through rough. Tired in a way that makes my chest squeeze. “Tia. Listen to me. Pack a bag. Now. Something’s wrong.”
The playfulness drains out of me like water down a sink. “What do you mean something’s wrong? Is this about the weird cars I keep seeing or are we finally acknowledging that my apartment building has a suspicious number of men in dark sunglasses?”
He doesn’t laugh. Dad never laughs when it matters. “I’m coming to get you. Stay inside. Lock the doors. Do not open them for anyone but me.”
The line goes dead before I can ask more questions.
I stand there holding the phone to my ear like an idiot.
My heart thumps wild against my ribs. The honeysuckle candle suddenly smells too sweet.
Almost sickening. I blow it out fast. The smoke curls up in lazy gray ribbons.
My hands tremble as I shove clothes into my favorite backpack.
The one with the cartoon kraken on it wearing sunglasses.
I thought it was funny when I bought it. Now the tentacles feel like a bad omen.
Great job, universe. Send the girl who names her houseplants after 90s boy band members into actual danger. At least let me meet a hot mysterious man before I die. Preferably one who looks like he could bench press a yacht but also appreciates good puns.
I zip the bag and peek out the window again. Another car creeps past. This one has no lights. My pulse spikes. I back away from the glass and trip over my own feet. I twist my ankle, and I scream out in pain.
“Ow. Okay. Note to self. Graceful exits are for romcom heroines. I’m clearly the comic relief who dies first in horror movies.”
Headlights sweep across the parking lot.
Dad’s old truck rumbles into view. Relief floods through me so strong my knees almost buckle.
I grab my backpack and bolt outside. The night air hits humid and thick.
It carries the smell of mangrove mud and distant rain.
My shoes slap against wet pavement as I hobble to him.
Dad looks older under the streetlight. Deep shadows under his eyes. His hands grip the wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “Get in. Quick.”
I climb into the passenger seat. The truck smells like him. “Dad. You’re scaring me. What’s going on? Is this about the signals I’ve been tracking? Because I thought I was just being my usual paranoid self but now I’m thinking maybe not?”
He pulls out fast. Tires squeal on the damp road. “Someone’s been watching you. For weeks. I thought distance would keep you safe but it didn’t work. I need to take you somewhere they can’t fucking reach you.”
The truck bounces over potholes. Each jolt sends pain shooting through my ankle. I clutch the backpack in my lap. My fingers trace the cartoon kraken’s sunglasses. “Somewhere like... witness protection? Or that underground bunker you used to joke about building?”
“Somewhere with protection that actually works.” His voice sounds gravelly. “The Royal Bastards.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “The motorcycle club? Dad. Those guys are dangerous. I read romance novels about them. The heroes are always ridiculously hot but also emotionally unavailable and covered in scars. Wait. Is this real life? Am I about to meet actual scary bikers who might grunt instead of using full sentences?”
He doesn’t smile. The truck speeds through the night. The ocean glimmers on our right. Moonlight paints silver streaks across black water. My mind races with ridiculous thoughts to keep the fear at bay.
What if the president has a secret soft spot for girls who collect succulents and talk to their houseplants? What if he looks like sin wrapped in leather and I accidentally say something dorky like “nice chrome” instead of running for my life?
We drive for what feels like hours. The road narrows. Bridges stretch over dark water. My ankle throbs in time with my heartbeat. Dad stays quiet. His jaw stays locked. The silence feels heavier than the humidity pressing against the windows.
By the time we reach the Key West compound my nerves have twisted into excited little knots. The gates loom tall. Razor wire glints under harsh floodlights. Men with guns and hard faces stand watch. My stomach does a somersault that feels suspiciously like butterflies.
Okay heart. We’re not thirsting after dangerous criminals right now. Even if they do have really nice arms.
Dad talks to the man at the gate. Voices rumble low.
The gates creak open. We drive inside. Engines idle nearby.
Men mill around the lot. Their cuts look worn and dangerous under the lights.
Tattoos snake down arms thick with muscle.
I sink lower in my seat but peek out anyway. Curiosity always wins with me.
Dad parks near the main building. “Stay close. Don’t talk too much. These men don’t do cute.”
I snort. “Define cute. Because I once introduced myself to a stranger by telling him my goldfish’s entire backstory. I can’t promise anything.”
He gives me a look that says he regrets every life choice that led to this moment.
We climb out. My injured ankle protests with sharp pain.
I limp after him trying to look dignified.
The air feels charged. Heavy with testosterone and the metallic tang of guns.
Music thumps low from inside the clubhouse.
Bass I feel in my chest. We push through the doors.
Smoke hangs thick in the air. It stings my eyes. Men turn to stare. Their gazes feel heavy. Assessing. I swallow hard and offer a small awkward wave because apparently my survival instinct is broken.
Hi scary bikers. Please don’t kill me. I make excellent pancakes and I can quote every line from The Princess Bride.
Dad moves straight toward the back. A group of men wait near an office door. One stands out immediately. Tall. Broad shoulders that stretch his cut tight. Dark hair. Eyes like storm clouds ready to unleash. My mouth goes dry. Heat crawls up my neck.
Oh no. He’s stupidly hot. Like unfairly hot. The kind of hot that should come with a warning label and possibly ice packs.
He watches us approach like a predator measuring prey. Raw power rolls off him in waves. Possessive energy that makes my knees feel wobbly for reasons that have nothing to do with my injured ankle.
Dad stops in front of him. “Kraken.”
The big man doesn’t smile. “November.”
They exchange words in low voices. I catch pieces. Watching. Protection. Daughter. My cheeks burn as Kraken’s gaze slides to me. His eyes drag slowly down my body then back up. I feel that look everywhere. Like fingers brushing my skin. My thoughts scatter into full chaos.
Hi yes I’m the damsel in distress but also I would like to climb you like the very dangerous tree you clearly are. Wait no. Focus Tia. Danger. Not deltoids.
Dad turns to me. “Tia. This is Reef Ryder. You can call him Kraken. He’s going to keep you safe.”
Kraken steps closer. My brain short circuits. I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.
“Hi. I’m Tia. I talk to plants. And sometimes sing to them. Off key. But they seem to like it. Also I’m probably being stalked by shadowy figures but I brought snacks if that helps break the ice. Do scary biker clubs like trail mix? I have the kind with chocolate pieces.”
Kraken stares at me. Something flickers in those stormy eyes. Not quite a smile. More like a predator deciding whether the prey is amusing or edible. Heat pools low in my belly. I shift my weight and wince as pain shoots through my ankle.
He notices immediately. “Are you hurt?” His voice rolls deep. Gravel and command wrapped together. I shiver despite the humid air.
“Just a little tripping incident. I’m fine. Super graceful. Like a baby giraffe on roller skates.”
Dad sighs like he’s aged ten years in ten minutes. Kraken’s jaw tightens. He reaches out and grips my elbow. His fingers feel rough and warm against my skin. Electricity zips straight through me.
Oh my god his hands are huge. And calloused. And I shouldn’t be thinking about what else those hands might be good at while my father stands three feet away.
“Come inside,” Kraken orders. “We talk there.”
He guides me through the clubhouse. His touch stays firm on my elbow.
Like he’s already decided I belong under his protection.
Men watch us pass. Their stares feel heavy but Kraken’s presence keeps them back.
We reach the office. The door shuts behind us with a solid click.
The space smells like old paper, whiskey, and the sharp bite of gun oil.
It should feel intimidating. Instead my traitor brain focuses on how close Kraken stands.
How his chest rises and falls with steady breaths.
How the tattoos peeking from his collar look like they tell violent stories I suddenly want to hear.
Dad starts explaining. Someone watching me. Strange cars. Messages left on my door. The words blur as Kraken watches me instead of my father. His gaze feels like a physical touch. Dark. Intense. Raw.
I bite my lip and think ridiculous thoughts to stay grounded.
If this were a romance novel he would pin me against the wall and snarl about keeping me safe in his bed. But this is real life so he’ll probably just grunt and hand me a gun I don’t know how to use while I accidentally compliment his forearms.
Kraken finally speaks. His voice wraps around me like smoke. “She stays here. No one touches her. No one gets near her unless I say so.”
The words should terrify me. Instead warmth spreads through my chest. I look up at him through my lashes.
My voice comes out softer than I mean it to.
“So... does that mean you’re my personal scary bodyguard now?
Because I have to warn you I ask a lot of questions.
And I might try to make you smile. I’m very persistent about smiles. ”
Something shifts in his expression. Not quite soft. But close. His hand stays on my elbow. Fingers flex like he wants to pull me closer. The air between us crackles. Danger and heat and something electric that makes my skin tingle.
Dad watches us both. Tension rolls off him in waves. But I can’t focus on that. Not when Kraken looks at me like I already belong to him. Like the danger outside these walls doesn’t matter because he’s decided I’m his to protect.
My heart races. My ankle throbs. The office feels smaller. Hotter. Filled with the scent of powerful man and possibilities that should scare me but only make me want to lean closer.
This is bad. This is very bad. But also... kind of amazing?
I smile up at him. Small. Awkward. Hopeful. “Thank you. For not immediately throwing me out. I promise to try not to cause too much trouble. Though full disclosure I once started a small fire trying to make microwave s’mores so no promises.”
Kraken’s grip tightens. His eyes darken. “You stay where I can see you. Where I can control what touches you.”
The words send heat rushing through me. I swallow hard. My thoughts tumble wild and flirty despite everything.
Yes please control things. Starting with my heartbeat which is currently doing cartwheels.
What is wrong with me?
Oh, this is going to be lovely.