Page 14 of Sinners Reunion

I stop thrashing my way to the lake bottom. It’s too dark to see if I can grab anything, so I reach around in the inky water.

My fingertips brush against nothing. Hope fades as my lungs constrict in my chest and beg me to breathe. Pain grips my guts, and the sudden urge to shit strikes me. It’s a wonder my bowels work at all when my blood is more sedative than hemoglobin, but I guess the anxiety shits didn’t get the memo.

Great. When my carcass is hauled from the water, I’ll have dirty drawers. I love this for me.

Just when I’m about to give up, I hear something break the surface far above my head. Arms curl around my waist and drag me upward, and I ready my fist to punch King square in his smug face the moment I get some air.

But as we burst into the light, I realize King hasn’t come to my rescue. It isn’t his powerful hold pushing me onto the dock. It’s Blayne.

“Now why’d you go and do a silly thing like that?” he asks as Lice Pick pulls me from the water. “If you can’t swim, you shouldn’t play so close to the lake, silly.”

I sputter and roll onto my side. King is nowhere in sight. That asshole pushed me into the water and walked away!

“I’ll kill him,” I mutter under my breath.

“Get her up to the house and help her dry off,” Lice Pick says to Blayne.

With a nod, Blayne scoops me up as if I weigh less than a sack of flour. I’m too exhausted to argue, and my legs feel like lead. Not to mention the fact that my guts are still cramping as if I just downed a fistful of laxatives for funsies. If I’m forced to walk, I’m more liable to force something else as well.

No thanks. Blayne can carry me.

We step out of the boat shed and into the sunlight. King leans against a tree, studying his nails. I wrap my arm around Blayne as we pass him, making sure the British bastard sees my middle finger.

“You sure you wanna ride with that guy across America?” Blayne shakes his head. “If you want to bunk with⁠—”

“She’ll do no such thing,” King barks. “My RV is fitted for her restraints, so she’s stuck with me until she gives up the sloth.”

“Restraints?” I ask.

“Sorry, sweet thing,” Blayne whispers. “I tried.”

“In fact,” King calls, “don’t bother taking her to the cabin. Take her straight to my RV. She can sleep there tonight.”

Blayne stops and turns to face King, but he doesn’t start toward the RVs. “She’s wet, though. Shouldn’t we let her dry off first?”

King steps away from the tree and comes toward us. He motions for Blayne to transfer ownership of the burden that is me, but the younger man only grips me tighter.

“Hand her over, lad. You’re no match for this one.” He wrenches me from Blayne’s grasp, and I’m too scared I’ll rip the biggest fart known to man if I struggle, so I just let it happen. He flops me over his shoulder and starts down the hill.

If he pats my ass, I’ll let everything go. The embarrassment will be such a small price to pay.

But he doesn’t. He just hauls me all the way to the RV lot, then drops me onto the bed in the back of the cabin. I lie still, hoping he’ll forget all about those restraints, but he doesn’t. Metal clamps over my wrists, and then he fastens the cuffs to a long chain.

“I’m sure you’re about to shit yourself, so I’ve provided enough length to go to the bathroom.”

“You don’t remember my last name, but you remember my IBS. How sweet of you.”

“You also have enough length to hang yourself. Take your pick.”

He strides toward the exit.

“Why are you so bitter toward me, King? I wasn’t the one who left.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

I wake up on the floor of the RV with a pounding headache and wrist shackles still chaining me to this nightmare. Judging by the way the ground sways beneath me, we’re either on the move or experiencing an earthquake. I can’t really tell. I only know that I feel like shit.

“Don’t tell me I missed the kick-off dinner everyone kept talking about,” I say.