The sun hovered over the ocean, ushering in another day. Surfers dotted the watery landscape; Drake longed to be one of them, lost in the Zen of the wave, no other care or concern but that one moment of bliss.
His life had changed too much for surfing to bring him any peace. That day so many months ago changed everything. He'd been primed to win the regional Venice Beach Surfing Competition—next stop, Hawaii. Brad had warned him to keep a low profile, but surfing was too important to him, so Drake competed.
And he'd paid.
***
In a perfect moment of synchronicity and connection, the wave broke and wrapped around him in a watery cocoon from which he would emerge reborn. In that state of bliss he didn't notice Max cutting him off, didn't feel the pull of the current until his board threatened to spill him into the depths of the ocean.
With paranormal strength he steadied himself and kept his feet under him. A look of surprise flashed across Max's face before he directed his attention to the wave that also threatened to engulf him.
The men rode their boards to shore and were greeted by hundreds of voices cheering their success.
To anyone watching, they had both just scored a serious victory. Even the judges wouldn't be able to tell that Max had cheated and tried to sabotage Drake.
Words mattered little to him, but Max had just declared war.
Drake shoved Max to the sand using a touch more than normal strength, just enough to sting. "What the hell, man? Are you so desperate to win, and so afraid of me, that you would cheat?"
Max's eyes turned cold, but he pushed himself up and stared at Drake. "I don't know what you're talking about, but do that again and I'll make sure you're disqualified from the final round."
A group had formed, drawn into the drama. Drake passed his board to Brad and stormed off toward the showers to cool down before he blew it for good.
The warm sand squished under his feet, and the hot sun blazed down on his head.
He stripped off his wetsuit and stood under the showers, letting the warm water wash away the sand, salt and anger. Today could change his life forever; he just needed to keep his cool and ignore Max.
He'd been so absorbed in his rage, he hadn't noticed the buzz of warning under his skin that someone was watching him.
By the time he felt it, it was too late.
Something stung his shoulder.
He reached around and pulled out a dart. His thoughts swirled around in his head and his recent clarity gave way to a jumble of incoherent ramblings.
"Dude, are you all right?"
A voice spoke to him, but male or female, he couldn't tell. His vision blurred and he slumped onto the wet cement, the now cold water spraying over him until it ran out of time and stopped.
"Drake, you'll be okay. Come on, boy."
Another voice he didn't recognize. He reached out with his mind to stop whoever was touching him, but nothing happened. His power didn't work. Then he felt it, the compulsion to obey directed at him as someone siphoned his powers from him.
When hands pulled him away from the familiar noises, he tried to fight with his muscle.
"Damn it, he's still too strong. Get him to the van, quick."
"Don't worry," one voice said to the other. "Drake, you will relax and walk quietly to the van with us. You will not put up a fight or make any noise."
He nodded, stood and walked forward.
Before Drake could process anything more, a painful whack to his head sent him tumbling into darkness.
The leader yelled at whoever had hit him, and then Drake lost consciousness.
***
That day had been life-changing, just not they way he'd hoped or imagined.
Drake wondered if his blood still stained the block of cement his attackers had used to bash in his head that day, after hitting him with a tranquilizer gun from afar. Overkill, much? They hadn't underestimated his strength, at least.
Still, not all was lost. The priest's words gave him hope. They could form a plan. They had help. They were not alone.
But how did the priest know so much? Was he really psychic?
A shout from behind pulled him out of his thoughts. "Drake!"
Kylie the Beach Bunny, as she liked to be called, hadn't changed a bit. Bits of a silver string bikini hugged her curvaceous form as if it were painted on. Her bleach blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders in artificial curls. Pretty much everything about Kylie was artificial, actually. Drake could not for the life of him remember why he'd ever hooked up with such a shallow creature.
Drake hadn't turned around all the way when Kylie slipped her slender arm around his waist and pressed her body against his back.
His skin crawled at her touch.
She leaned in close to his ear, her voice a contrived throaty whisper. "I've been missing you, Drakey boy. Nobody has ever had the stamina you do."
"Drake?"