Chapter 19: The Shark Tank (Part I)

Somewhere in the depths of the Pacific Ocean. An Uncharted Private Island.

The ocean surface was a sheet of obsidian, sliced only by the occasional whitecap that rose and fell like the dorsal fin of a predator. The water here was deep, ancient, and unforgiving.

At the heart of this desolate expanse lay a private island, dominated by a massive atoll that sat half-submerged in the crushing embrace of the sea. Beneath the coral reef, engineering arrogance had carved out a circular abyss—a man-made deep pool, one hundred meters in diameter. The walls were lined with polished black obsidian, smooth as glass and cold as death. When the underwater floodlights hit them, the rock acted like a funhouse of mirrors, magnifying every shadow that drifted through the water tenfold, turning slivers of darkness into lurking monsters.

This was the domain of twelve Great White Sharks.

They were not naturally occurring residents. They were trophies, smuggled from the coast of South Africa by Landon Voss. Each beast averaged six meters in length, a seamless engine of muscle and teeth. The matriarch of the tank, a scarred leviathan with dead gray eyes, was named "Margaret"—a twisted homage to Landon’s mother.

And now, this shark tank had become Ava Rosier’s cage.

She was imprisoned in a transparent acrylic cell suspended ten meters below the surface. The space was claustrophobic, barely ten square meters of sterile misery containing only a narrow bed, a solitary chair, and the crushing weight of the ocean pressing against the walls. One side of the cell was a floor-to-ceiling pane of one-way glass; to Ava, it looked like a window into the abyss where the sharks circled endlessly. To anyone on the outside, it was a theater stage.

The lighting inside was a clinical, cold white, blazing unceasingly for twenty-four hours a day, stripping away her sense of time and circadian rhythm. It felt less like a room and more like a high-tech interrogation chamber. Oxygen was pumped in through a slender, humming tube, the air carrying the faint, metallic tang of ozone mixed with the briny scent of the sea and the sharp chemical bite of disinfectant.

The only metric Ava had to mark the passage of time was the feeding alarm.

Every day at noon, a siren would wail, piercing the underwater silence. The twelve Great Whites would thrash into a frenzy as blood-soaked bait was dropped from above. The water would explode into a crimson cloud, the scarlet plume cascading down the side of her glass wall like a macabre, never-ending rainstorm. It was a daily reminder of the violence that waited just inches from her face.

This was Ava’s seventh day in hell.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her posture rigid, her spine a line of unbroken steel. She was dressed in a slip of black silk—a garment personally selected by Landon. The hem barely grazed the top of her thighs, and the shoulder straps were so delicate they looked as if they might snap under the weight of a heavy gaze.

Bound to her left ankle was a titanium chain, slender but unbreakable, tethered to a magnetic lock set into the floor. It granted her a radius of exactly three meters—enough to reach the glass, enough to reach the bed, but never enough to reach the door.

Her body bore the map of her resistance. Dark bruises bloomed like storm clouds on her wrists, the lingering fingerprints Landon had left when he dragged her into this watery grave. Below her collarbone, a row of fresh, jagged teeth marks stood out against her pale skin. They hadn't scabbing over yet. They were the result of her first day, when she had tried to bite through her own tongue to end it all. Landon had pried her jaw open with brutal force and punished her by sinking his own teeth into her delicate flesh, marking her as property.

Her long hair, wet and heavy, clung to her back like a sheet of black satin soaked in seawater. She stared out at the sharks gliding past the acrylic wall. There was no fear in her eyes anymore. The terror of the first few days had been burned away, leaving behind only a hollow, desolate silence.

Margaret, the massive matriarch, slid past the glass again. Her rough, sandpaper skin nearly brushed the acrylic. The shark’s flat, grey-blue eye rolled over to look at Ava—a cold, indifferent assessment of meat that would, inevitably, fall into the water.

---

On the other side of the one-way glass, inside the dry, climate-controlled observation deck, Landon Voss stood watching.

He swirled a glass of vintage red wine, the crimson liquid catching the dim light of the control room. His gaze was fixed on the surveillance monitors that offered high-definition angles of the woman in the cage. His eyes traced the curve of her neck, the arch of her spine, devouring her image inch by inch.

His suit jacket was draped carelessly over the back of his leather chair. His dress shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with lean, dangerous muscle. He took a sip of wine, savoring the oaky aftertaste, when suddenly, on the screen, Ava moved.

She looked up.

It was impossible for her to see him through the one-way mirror, yet her gaze seemed to lock directly onto his, piercing through the glass and the digital feed. Her lips curled into a smile that was terrifyingly cold.

She spoke. Her voice, captured by the high-fidelity microphones inside the cell, filled the control room. It was raspy from disuse, scratchy like dry leaves, but laced with unmistakable provocation.

"Landon Voss," she whispered, her voice echoing in the surround sound. "Your fish are hungry."

Landon chuckled, a low, vibrating sound in his chest. He pressed the intercom button, his voice smooth and abrasive all at once, like sandpaper gliding over velvet.

"Little Rose," he crooned, the nickname dripping with possessive irony. "It’s been seven days. Are you still refusing to call me Master?"

Ava didn’t answer.

Instead, she stood up slowly, the titanium chain rattling softly against the floor. She walked to the glass wall and raised her hand, pressing her palm against the freezing acrylic. Her fingertips trailed down the surface, a caress that mimicked the tenderness of a lover.

Then, without warning, she snapped her knee up and drove it into the glass with everything she had.

THUD!

The impact was solid, heavy. The entire acrylic wall vibrated violently.

Outside in the water, the sudden acoustic shockwave startled the sharks. The pack turned in unison, their powerful tails slapping the water, creating a dull, thunderous boom that resonated through the deep pool.

Landon’s glass paused at his lips. A flicker of amusement, dark and twisted, sparked in his eyes.

THUD.

Ava kicked it a second time.

THUD.

And a third.

She didn't stop until the titanium cuff bit into the tender skin of her ankle. Blood began to trickle down her foot, dripping onto the floor where it bloomed into a small, vibrant red flower. Only then did she stop. Her chest heaved, her breath fogging the glass as she pressed her forehead against the cold surface.

"One day," she whispered, her voice so soft it sounded like a sigh, yet heavy with the weight of a prophecy. "One day, I will feed you to them."

Landon took a slow swallow of his wine, his expression one of utter satisfaction. "I’m waiting," he replied.

He set the glass down and reached for the control console. His finger hovered over a red button, and then he pressed it.

Inside the cell, the clinical white lights instantly died.

Total darkness swallowed the room, save for the eerie, spectral blue glow filtering in from the shark tank outside. In the dim, shifting light, the shadows of the twelve sharks elongated, stretching across the floor like circling ghosts.

Ava’s pupils contracted sharply. Instinct took over, and she stumbled backward, away from the glass. But she backed straight into a metal mesh net that had silently descended from the ceiling behind her.

ZZZT!

Current arced through her body.

A scream tore from her throat as she collapsed to her knees, every muscle in her body seizing in a violent spasm. The electric shock lasted only three seconds—a calculated torture designed to incapacitate, not kill—but the pain was blinding. Black spots danced in her vision, and the coppery taste of blood flooded her mouth where she had bitten her cheek.

When the lights flickered back on, the door to the cell was open.

Landon walked in.

He moved with the predatory grace of a jungle cat, closing the distance between them in two long strides. He crouched down in front of her trembling form, his fingertips reaching out to tilt her chin up. His touch was gentle, almost tender, contrasting sharply with the violence he had just inflicted.

"Call me Master," he whispered, his voice soft, "and I’ll turn off the current."

Ava gasped for air, her body still twitching with the aftershocks of the electricity. A trail of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. She looked up at him, her eyes burning, and forced a broken, raspy laugh.

"Dream... on."

Landon’s eyes darkened. He chuckled low in his throat, his thumb sweeping across her lip to catch a drop of blood. He brought it to his own mouth, licking it off with slow, deliberate relish.

In the next second, the tenderness vanished. He grabbed the back of her neck, his fingers digging into her spine, and hauled her against his chest. His voice dropped to a feral growl.

"Then let's keep playing."

He reached out and yanked the delicate strap of her slip. The silk tore with a sharp sound. The dress slid down one side, exposing the expanse of her chest and the angry purple bruise of the bite mark he had left days ago.

Ava didn’t fight him. She simply closed her eyes, a single tear escaping to slide into her hairline.

Landon’s lips crashed against her collarbone. His teeth found the row of scabs he had made, and he bit down again, hard enough to draw fresh blood. Ava let out a muffled groan, her fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt, scratching into the muscle of his back. Blood from her own hands smeared onto him.

Pain washed over her like a tidal wave, drowning her senses. Yet, in the crescendo of that agony, her eyes snapped open.

"Landon," she breathed, her voice barely audible. "Do you know what I hate most about you?"

The man froze. He pulled back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at her.

Ava smiled. It was a shattered, beautiful thing, filled with a hatred so pure it illuminated her face.

"I hate you," she whispered, "because you made me realize just how debased I can truly be."

Landon’s pupils shrank to pinpricks.

The confession—the admission that he had successfully broken something inside her—triggered a surge of dark adrenaline in him. He gripped her jaw, forcing her mouth open, and crashed his lips onto hers. It wasn't a kiss; it was an assault. His teeth clashed against hers, breaking the skin of her lip, the metallic taste of blood exploding between them.

---

Meanwhile. The Cliffs on the North Side of the Island.

A blizzard was raging. The wind howled like a dying beast, whipping the snow into blinding vortices. The sea below was a churning cauldron of black ink, waves smashing against the jagged reef with the force of cannon fire.

Sebastian stood on the edge of the cliff, a dark silhouette against the storm.

His silver-gray eyes were currently bloodshot, rimmed with a terrifying crimson that spoke of sleepless nights and barely contained madness. In his hand, he clutched a platinum ring, stained with dried blood.

It was Ava’s ring. The one her mother had left her. The inscription on the inner band was worn but legible: To E, forever A.R.

Beside the ring, resting in his gloved palm, was a severed finger.

It was slender. Pale. Unmistakably female. And completely lifeless.

Sebastian’s knuckles turned white, the bones cracking audibly as his fist closed over the gruesome objects. The sound that escaped his throat didn't sound human; it sounded like something crawling out of the deepest pit of hell.

"Landon Voss."

He raised his hand and placed the ring and the severed finger into the breast pocket of his coat, directly over his heart.

"I’m here."

He turned around. His long black trench coat snapped violently in the gale, looking like a battle flag soaked in blood.

Behind him stood three hundred men. They were fully armed, clad in tactical gear, blending into the shadows of the storm. There was no hesitation in their stance, only the disciplined stillness of death. Their eyes held no mercy, only the singular intent to kill.

The private island’s vaunted defense system—a billion-dollar network of sensors and automated turrets—had been neutralized ten minutes ago. Sebastian had torn through their firewall like it was tissue paper.

Now, he gave the signal.

Across the island, the lights died. The sprawling mansion, the barracks, the perimeter floods—everything plunged into darkness. The only light remaining was the ghostly, pulsating blue glow rising from the shark tank in the center of the island, beating like a dying heart.

Sebastian raised his hand, his voice colder than the ice forming on the rocks.

"Kill them all."

He paused, his gaze fixed on that distant blue glow.

"And bring Ava back to me."

---

Back in the Shark Tank.

Landon had Ava pinned to the narrow bed, his hand clamped around the nape of her neck. His breathing was ragged, his composure unraveling.

"Last chance," he snarled, his voice thick with lust and rage. "Call me Master."

Ava laughed. Tears mixed with the blood on her face, sliding down her cheeks, but the sound was manic, bordering on insanity.

"Landon Voss," she gasped, "listen to me."

Suddenly, she brought her knee up, driving it viciously toward his groin.

Landon’s reflexes were honed by years of combat; he twisted sideways instantly, avoiding the full brunt of the blow, but her knee still grazed him. He grunted in pain, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second.

That was all Ava needed.

Capitalizing on his momentary stagger, she flipped her body, using her core strength to reverse their positions. She slammed him back onto the mattress, her knee driving into his chest to pin him down. Her hand shot out, her fingers locking around his throat, her nails digging deep enough to threaten the jugular.

She leaned down, her face inches from his. Her voice was soft, an intimate whisper that carried a terrifying weight.

"I can call you Master. That’s fine."

She lowered her head further, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear, like a lover sharing a secret.

"But remember this—"

"One day, I will make you kneel. And I will make you lick those two words, letter by letter, off the soles of my feet."

Landon stared up at her. The air in the cell was thick with tension. Instead of anger, a look of profound, twisted ecstasy flooded his eyes.

He threw his head back and laughed. The sound was hoarse, sounding almost like a sob.

"Little Rose," he wheezed, grinning up at her through the strangulation. "You’re finally becoming like me."

With a surge of strength, he bucked his hips and flipped her over again, pinning her beneath him once more. His face was a mask of dark obsession.

"Then let’s see," he growled, "who drives who insane first."

BOOM!

A massive explosion rocked the foundation of the island.

The shockwave vibrated through the water, shaking the acrylic cage. The lights in the facility flickered violently—blindingly bright for a split second, then plunging into total, absolute darkness.

Sebastian had arrived.