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Fifty-four.
Fifty-five.
Fifty-six.
Lightheadedness gets me.
I need to breathe.
I see my mother’s face in the darkness. Submerged. Eyes open. Not breathing.
I kick my feet and break the surface, gasping as quietly as I can. No splashing.
I see the shore in the distance.
Turn.
“Well, this could be fun,” he muses, holding a fishing rod, the hook dangling not too far away from my lip.
70
DANNY
* * *
That’s how much he wants her. He would risk everything—his life and money—to go back to get her out of the water after she jumped in. Fuck, we underestimated this sick fucker.
My body screams as my jet ski bombs across the water, Brad up front, James to my side. King’s seen us coming, so bullets are sailing past rapidly—it’s pure luck they’re missing us. But they miss us.
Then I see something land in the water up ahead of me. It takes a few too many seconds to register what. “Oh fuck.” I yank the steering to the left and get thrown from my ski, landing in the water with a slap, just as the grenade explodes.
“Danny!”
I throw an arm up, showing I’m all right, and see another land in the water near James. He spots it too, and dives off, sending his jet ski straight into the danger zone. Another explosion, and James’s jet ski is blown to smithereens, shrapnel flying everywhere and landing around us.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
Brad’s still racing toward the boat, looking back. His engine doesn’t slow, and the grenades keep coming, explosions going off all around us as we bob in the water, absolutely defenseless. And my fucking leg stings like a bitch. I hiss as James swims over, reaching down to apply a bit of pressure. “God help the fucker who shot me if I find him,” I mutter, my eyes on Brad, willing him to be wise.
Don’t act rashly.
Think this through.
King will have a better aim the closer he gets.
“You good?” James asks, his attention split between me and Brad.
“I’m good.”
“Fuck!” He slaps the water with his palm. “What now?”
“Fuck knows.” For the first time in my life, I feel utterly up shit’s creek.
71
BRAD
* * *
