Chapter 4

“Secure the tank!” Stan yells, and I watch as the team begins fastening the watertight seal across the top of the tank.

The biobox is designed to maintain the temperature of the water inside, and maintain a stable environment for the captured specimen. It’s also only supposed to be used to contain creatures that breathe exclusively underwater.

I grab Stan’s arm. “What are you doing? You can’t keep him in a containment vessel that small. We don’t know how much oxygen he needs to breathe.”

Stan’s gaze drops to where I’m gripping his arm. He snatches it away, turning to me with a condescending look. “That thing lives at the bottom of the ocean. I think it can take a few days in a holding tank.”

He looks down his slightly crooked nose at me, clearly thinking he’s being roguish and tough, but it just makes me want to knock his sniffer straight.

“We have no reason to believe that’s true. Either way, that tank is completely unsuitable, and you know it,” I snap back.

The biobox is fine for quickly capturing a live specimen, but it’s never designed for long-term use, especially not for a creature as big as the merman. Easily ten feet long from tip to tail, he’s all but crammed into the small tank, his long serpentine tail coiling along the outside wall. It’ll do for now while he’s incapacitated, but once he wakes up, we’re in trouble. He’s wild and fierce, and something tells me he won’t take being trapped well. We need to make this transition as smooth as possible.

An idea hits me. “This boat has an embed tank, completely acrylic. We can transfer him there for observation.”

By now, the crew has slowed to a stop, watching our argument even as the sky pelts the deck with wind and bullet-shaped raindrops. I spot Will, his gaze bouncing between us, his finger hovering over the button that will engage the biobox’s lid. With a sinking feeling, I realize Will is waiting to see the outcome of our conversation before carrying out Stan’s command. The crew has halted preparations because they know I’m right, and Stan will definitely notice and hate it.

Stan turns and notices the crew in a holding pattern, pointedly not doing what they were told. “Everybody get back to fucking work!” he snarls, and the crew snaps back to it, dutifully carrying out their chores like the good little soldiers Stan spent the last semester intimidating them into being. “And you,” he growls, grabbing my arm hard enough to leave marks, “you come with me.”

He doesn’t give me an option, yanking me behind him, practically dragging me down the stairs and the debris-littered hallway. I struggle against his iron grip, trying to tug my arm away. “Stan, let me go!”

Stan whirls around, dragging me until our faces are close enough for our noses to touch. This close, I can see the veins bulging in his temples and around his eyes. I wonder what substance Stan is on and how much of it is contributing to his awful behavior.

“If I were you, I’d shut that hot little mouth of yours before you dig yourself into an even deeper fucking hole than you’re already in, sugar,” he threatens.

“Stan—” My protests are cut short when Stan throws open the door to his cabin and tosses me inside. I stumble over the obstacle course of items covering his floor, quickly—absurdly—wondering if the mess is the storm’s doing or simply Stan’s regular state of being. It only makes sense he’d live in surroundings as filthy as his soul.

“Have you lost your mind?” I snap as I catch myself on the end of his bunk and push myself up to face him.

“I’m right as rain, baby girl. You’re the one who’s forgotten your place on this ship,” Stan whips out a hand and snatches me up by the chin, forcing my head back until I’m looking him dead in his murky blue eyes. “Out here, what I say goes. You don’t ever, ever question me in front of my crew.”

I force out a derisive snort. “You’re not some captain, and this isn’t a crew. They’re your students. I’m your student,” I stress, shoving him off of me. “And we’re not going to be at sea forever. The University is going to hear about this, Professor.”

His eyes go wide in surprise at my defiance, then narrow. “What are you going to do? Get me fired? When I’m the only one willing to let you live out your little fantasy of chasing mermaids?”

I swallow hard, my hands balling into fists. “We’re all here for the same thing.”

“No, love, that’s what little girls like you don’t understand, always nipping at the heels of greater men. Without me, there is no expedition. There is no discovery. If I say the word, that thing out there never existed. Do you understand me?”

I gasp, my heart pounding. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Stan smirks, grabbing my chin again. Instinctively, I grab his wrist, ready to tear the whole hand off if I need to. He only grins wider. “Think about what you’re willing to lose by not playing nice, Phoebe. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity... for you.”

He lets that sink in, feeling my pulse quicken, before continuing, “I’m a respected scholar. You’re nobody. If it comes down to it, the University will choose me every time. You’ll be disgraced, and I’ll be on the next ship out to the Tasman hunting down my next big break. And I’ll be doing it my way.”

I grit my teeth, furious at Stan’s threats and even angrier that he’s right. Academia is a meritocracy, and my word would never stand up against a decorated researcher’s. It’s why Will and the others put up with being treated like dogs. It’s why I continually ignored Stan’s invasive glances and inappropriate, lingering touches. I have goals, the most important of which is floating in a tiny tank just one floor above. I’ll be damned if a tool like Stanley Wilcox gets in my way.

Resigned to fight another day, I drop my hand from Stan’s wrist and lower my eyes. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Professor.”

“Now, that’s what I like to hear,” Stan croons, then leans down to kiss me. I fight the urge to jerk away as Stan takes his fill, his hand on my face moving to the back of my head, holding me still as his slavering tongue flails around my mouth. When he releases me, the tweaker glint in his eyes has lessened. “Much better. That wasn’t too hard, now, was it, sugar?”

I bite the inside of my lip and force a silent smile. Stan pats my ass as a reward. “Good girl. Now, to be clear, I don’t want you going near that thing upstairs alone,” he says, his brows lowering pensively. “There’s something about it I don’t like; it could be dangerous. You understand me?”

I duck my head compliantly. “Yes, Professor.”

“Very good,” he replies, turning to leave. He opens the door, pausing. “Since you’re being so agreeable, how about I throw you a bone, yeah? Show you I can play nice, too. In fact, all I want is to play nice with you, sugar.” His eyes go heavy as he looks me over so thoroughly it almost feels like a physical touch. “I’ll tell the boys to prep the embed tank. But remember what I said—no going out there alone.”

I nearly let out a groan of relief and, despite myself, give Stan a real smile. “Thank you, Stan,” I breathe.

He tenses. “Professor,” I correct myself. “Thank you, Professor. I promise I won’t go near the tank.”

It’s a promise I make easily, knowing full well I never intend to keep it.