MERMEN (The Mermen Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  “Woman, do I look like a goddamned fish? Because the last time I checked, I didn’t have a tail. And I sure as hell don’t have gills. I am a man. Mer. Man. So you’d damned well better get used to it.”

  — Shane, the Merman

  MERMEN

  Book 1, The Mermen Trilogy

  Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Mimi Boutique Imprint

  OTHER WORKS BY MIMI JEAN PAMFILOFF:

  FATE BOOK (New Adult Suspense)

  FATE BOOK TWO (New Adult Suspense)

  HAPPY PANTS CAFÉ (a Romantic Comedy/Contemporary Romance)

  THE KING TRILOGY

  King’s (Book 1)

  King for a Day (Book 2)

  King of Me (Book 3)

  THE ACCIDENTALLY YOURS SERIES

  Accidentally in Love with…a God?

  Accidentally Married to…a Vampire?

  Sun God Seeks…Surrogate?

  Accidentally…Evil? (a Novella)

  Vampires Need Not…Apply?

  Accidentally…Cimil? (a Novella)

  Accidentally…Over? (Series Finale)

  COMING SOON

  MERMADMEN (Book 2, the Mermen Trilogy)

  IMMORTAL MATCHMAKERS, INC. (Book 1)

  MERCILESS (Book 3, the Mermen Trilogy)

  Like “FREE” Pirated Books?

  Then Ask Yourself This Question:

  WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE I’M HELPING?

  What sort of person or organization would put up a website that uses stolen work (or encourages its users to share stolen work) in order to make money for themselves, either through website traffic or direct sales?

  Haven’t you ever wondered?

  Putting up thousands of pirated books onto a website or creating those anonymous ebook file sharing sites takes time and resources. Quite a lot, actually.

  So who are these people? Do you think they’re decent, ethical people with good intentions? Why do they set up camp anonymously in countries where they can’t easily be touched? And the money they make from advertising every time you go to their website, or through selling stolen work, what are they using if for?

  The answer is you don’t know.

  They could be terrorists, organized criminals, or just greedy bastards. But one thing we DO know is that THEY ARE CRIMINALS who don’t care about you, your family, or me and mine.

  And their intentions can’t be good.

  And every time you illegally share or download a book, YOU ARE HELPING these people. Meanwhile, people like me, who work to support a family and children, are left wondering why anyone would condone this.

  So please, please ask yourself who YOU are HELPING when you support ebook piracy and then ask yourself who you are HURTING.

  And for those who legally purchased/borrowed/obtained my work from a reputable retailer (not sure, just ask me!) muchas thank yous! You rock.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

  Copyright © 2015 by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  ISBN-10:0990304868

  ISBN-13:978-0-9903048-6-9

  Cover Design by EarthlyCharms.com

  Editing: Latoya Smith and Pauline Nolet

  Formatting by WriteIntoPrint.com

  Dedicated to Latoya Smith.

  Because saying thank you for all that you’ve done just isn’t enough.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  NOTE FROM AUTHOR

  Acknowledgments

  AVAILABLE NOW! MerMadmen

  EXCERPT MERMADMEN

  MACK. COMING SPRING 2016

  KING TRILOGY AUDIOBOOK

  COMING FALL 2015

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  MERMEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  Bump. Bump.

  “What the fuck was that?” Twenty-nine-year-old Liv Stratton sat up in her sagging life raft, trying to stay conscious.

  Bump.

  There it is again. Liv’s eyes skimmed the perimeter but saw nothing. Well, except the warm March sun glaring off an endless stretch of eerily calm North Pacific. Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to—

  From the corner of her eye, she caught a splash about a hundred yards out. It appeared to be…

  Wait. She leaned forward. Is that…is that? No. You did not just see a naked man swimming. The dehydration was playing tricks on her, making her believe she’d just seen a tanned, muscular form floating on his back, everything on display.

  You’re hallucinating again. Liv sighed and flopped back onto the raft, shoving her sticky dark hair over her eyes to block the sun from her face. I’m so thirsty. I’m so thirsty. Oh God…

  It had been ten days since the fishing boat capsized in a storm, taking with it the crew of eight to the bottom of the ocean. Now she wished she’d gone with them instead of having been ordered into the life raft. “What about your crew? What about you?” she’d screamed over the roar of wind and relentless waves pounding the side of the vessel. Captain Harris, a man in his late seventies with a weather-beaten face, flashed his crooked teeth. “We are men of the sea, my dear. Here we live, and here we will die.”

  Moments after boarding the raft, Liv watched in helpless terror as the fishing boat disappeared into the depths of the North Pacific, taking those men with it. They were fathers, sons, brothers, and husbands. She’d gotten to know each and every man during the interviews she’d conducted over her three weeks aboard as an observer, and they were good, good men. But all she could do was watch them die as she hung on for dear life, the violently rolling waves tossing her raft around like a wet sock in a drier.

  Why wouldn’t they come with me? Why? She’d asked herself that question over and over again. But in the days ahead, baking in the afternoon sun and shivering through the windy nights, Liv realized the captain never would have left his ship and his men would never have left him. They were a family as close knit as any, and it was the reason she’d chosen them as subjects for her dissertation. That, and Captain Harris, who had been a friend of her father, didn’t mind the intrusion.

  Liv glanced at the empty plastic bottle to her side and felt her parched throat aching and burning for the water that was long gone. It had been the only provision she’d managed to grab during the storm, and not nearly enough.

  You’re dying, Liv. Accept it. Just let go… She’d said her tearful goodbyes this morning to her mother,
father, and two sisters—Krista and Dana—when delirium had convinced her that they were real.

  But, of course, they hadn’t been. Her family was safe in Wrangell, Alaska, probably mourning her death along with the crew’s families.

  Soon they’ll be right to mourn. Liv suddenly felt another bump, followed by a violent gust of wind.

  Liv sat up again, but this time she saw something unexpected: land. Golden sand, black volcanic rocks jutting from the water, thick green vegetation spiked with colossal pine trees. Sweet Jesus…

  Liv gaped at the shore, pinching her sanity. How’s this possible? There were no landmasses for a thousand miles in any direction from the spot where the fishing boat went down. No, she wasn’t a map-geek, but she wasn’t a slouch in geography either. And it wasn’t possible to have floated back to Alaska or any other land, for that matter.

  Wait. This can’t be real. It can’t be. Yes, another goddamned hallucination.

  She placed her hand over her empty stomach and burst with laughter. “Why not let me die?” she mumbled toward the sky, unsure of who she was speaking to.

  God?

  The universe?

  She didn’t know, and she didn’t care. But to die like this wasn’t fair. She was a good person who’d tried her best. Family, friends, strangers she met at the women’s shelter where she volunteered—didn’t matter who—she always gave what she could to everyone. Because life was all about relationships—friendship and love. It was what had drawn her to sociology for her doctorate. It was what separated humans from animals.

  Liv was about to lie back again when she suddenly noticed a naked man with long black hair emerging from the waves onto the beach. Her imaginary beach.

  Liv rubbed her eyes, but the island was still there.

  Ohmygod. She cupped her hands over her mouth. He’s real?

  Liv started waving her arms in the air, trying to scream, but couldn’t manage anything above a raspy whisper.

  Oh God, please! Please turn around and look at me! Instead, the man grabbed a piece of black cloth from the sand and dried off, looking like he was about to head into the forest skirting the edge of the beach.

  No, no, no. Don’t go! She started to paddle, but that was when she noticed the cold water pouring in through a tear along the bottom of the raft. What? What the hell?

  Bump.

  Her body jolted once more, and then a large gray fin popped from the water.

  “Oh shit!” This time the words came out loud and clear.

  Suddenly, the colossal man turned in her direction. He stared for a moment and then dove head first into the waves. His muscular arms exploded from the water with each powerful stroke, pulling him closer and closer at a speed that wasn’t humanly possible.

  “Go back!” she tried to yell, but only produced a throaty whisper. No, no…please turn back.

  All she could do now was hope that her salvation was a fantasy or that if he wasn’t, the shark wouldn’t kill him. Or her.

  Two large hands popped from the water and gripped the side of the raft. If she’d had the strength to gasp, she would’ve. The man’s face appeared just inches from hers, and it was exquisite—short black beard and dark-green eyes surrounded by long lashes. Ropes of wet black hair snaked down his deeply bronzed, powerful-looking shoulders.

  “How the fuck did you get here, woman?” he growled while studying her, his thick lips lacking any sign of warmth or reassurance.

  Of course, she didn’t have the mental clarity to respond.

  “Well,” he said, “if you live, maybe you’ll save me from the Collection—waste of fucking time.”

  Liv now had no doubt in her mind that she was still hallucinating. Large, beautiful men didn’t paddle around in the middle of the ocean and strike up random conversations.

  Bump.

  The man’s body jerked to one side. He winced and then glanced over his shoulder before being yanked beneath the surface.

  Oh shit. Oh shit. The shark. She used her last ounce of energy to flip to her stomach. There was no sign of her manly hallucination, but red liquid clouded the water, encircling the raft. She wanted to scream, but she could barely swallow let alone make a sound.

  Large bubbles surfaced next to her, and then the man’s head reappeared.

  He half-gasped half-growled. “Fucking shark. Bit my ankle.” He swung his arm and flung a large gray mass right into her raft.

  Whatthefuck? The shark flopped around, the lower half of its jaw missing and gushing blood.

  Liv stared, unable to believe there was a ten-foot shark bleeding out in her raft.

  “And now we’ve got dinner.” The man smiled at her, but it was a cold, calculating sort of smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “By the way, welcome to El Corazón.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rescue Hopes Abandoned for Alaskan Fishing Boat, Nine Lost at Sea

  Late yesterday, U.S. Coast Guard abandoned efforts to locate survivors from the Alaskan fishing boat Sons of the Sea. Coast Guard representatives stated that the unseasonably rough waters experienced in the North Pacific over one week ago were caused by unusual weather patterns and likely took the crew by surprise. Although rescue efforts began immediately, no survivors or traces of the vessel have been found. Aboard were 29-yr-old Olivia Stratton, who had been observing the crew as part of her sociology dissertation, and John Harris, the captain and owner of the vessel, along with seven other crew members, whose names have not yet been released.

  From behind the antique desk in his twentieth-floor corner office situated in downtown Seattle, Roen Doran glanced at the picture of the woman mentioned in the newspaper article. “Too bad. She was pretty.” Hypnotic dark eyes surrounded by thick lashes, full lips, and high cheekbones.

  An even greater shame, however, was the cargo vessel bound for Shanghai he’d lost in that same storm. A one-hundred-million-dollar, state-of-the-art ship gone. Frankly, he didn’t fucking buy it. Ships didn’t disappear like that. Oil slicks, debris, human remains—something would’ve floated to the surface. Maybe if the goddamned Coast Guard hadn’t been so damned busy looking for that piece of shit fishing boat, they might’ve found his ship. Right now it was probably docked somewhere in Indonesia, its ten-million-dollar cargo being sold on the black market. And the crew of thirty-five? Likely executed.

  It was the first time one of his ships had been pirated. And it will be the fucking last. Not only would he double up on armed escorts through international waters, but he would find those SOBs and have their asses hauled off to some fuck-hole of a third world country where bribes were welcomed. He’d pay to have those men beaten and hanged as a message to anyone else who might think his ships were an easy target.

  Suddenly, a familiar wave of sharp pinpricks washed over him and his chest tightened. It wasn’t a heart attack—at thirty-four, he was far too young and far too healthy for that—but it goddamned felt like one and had been going on for weeks. “It’s probably stress, Roen. When’s the last time you took a vacation?” his doctor had asked a few days ago after Roen finally broke down and went for a visit. Roen had told the SOB to mind his own damned business. “Just send my blood-work results to my assistant.” Everything had come back clean. Just as he thought. So what was really the matter with him?

  Roen threw down the copy of The Times on his desk atop the other papers he read each day to keep current.

  Goddammit. I can’t breathe. Loosening his black tie, he stood and walked over to the large window overlooking the shimmering evening cityscape of glass and steel. Whatever this thing was, it felt like his own personal pestilence. He couldn’t even get his dick hard this morning with…whateverthehell her name was that he’d brought home last night. Or had she brought him home because he was too pissed on scotch?

  Doesn’t fucking matter.

  Maybe it was time to take a break. He hadn’t taken a day off in ten years.

  There was a faint, very recognizable knock on his door.

  “What is it, Cher
ie?”

  The petite Asian woman entered, quietly closing the door behind her. “Sir,” she said, holding out a sealed white envelope marked “personal” along with a stack of papers, “I know you asked not to be bothered, but I’m leaving for the day, and this just came for you. It’s from your lawyer in Chicago.”

  His lawyer? Phil usually called or emailed when something came up. And something always came up. With the largest fleet of cargo vessels in the world and one hundred thousand employees operating in over one hundred twenty countries, there was always something happening. Usually bad somethings—customs issues, port strikes, union negotiations. But that was why Doran Cargo was the biggest, pulling in over ten billion in revenue each year. They knew what the hell they were doing, and Roen didn’t take shit from anyone. Pirates included.

  Roen picked up the Gripmaster from his desk and began squeezing the large spring in his hand. “Put the envelope there.” He glanced at the correspondence tray. “And get my asshole lawyer on the phone. Tell him it’s urgent.” Phil, his lawyer, knew Roen hated surprises.

  Cherie dipped her head of silky black hair. “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  She disappeared out the door while Roen squeezed away, trying to release some tension. Wasn’t working.

  Moments later, the phone on his desk rang, and he hit the speaker. “What the hell is inside the envelope?”

  “Oh, if it isn’t the Sexiest Man of the Year,” Phil said dryly.

  “Stop giving me shit.” That PR nightmare happened over six months ago, but Phil still brought it up. Roen wasn’t sexy, he was a bastard. And he had little interest in being a celebrity. But at the time, he needed to soften his image in order to get a new merger to slide through. It worked, but the price was far beyond anything he could’ve imagined. Fan clubs, paparazzi, and…fucking Phil. “What’s in the damned envelope?”

  “I’ll stop giving you shit when you stop pulling me out of meetings and saying it’s an emergency when it’s not.”