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I think back to what Ares told me about the vigilante group and what they did to their victims.
What they did to Katey.
The silent psychopath stalks toward me. His knife gleams in the dull light.
I shrink back.
He’s going to kill me.
And he’s going to make sure it hurts.
“You should probably move away from my girlfriend,” says the booming voice out of nowhere.
Standing right in front of me, the psychopath looks me in the eye, and I see him smile behind his mask.
He’s been waiting for this.
Over his shoulder, Ares fills the doorframe. “Put down the fucking knife and step back from her before I break every bone in your sorry ass.”
The crazy man with the mask doesn’t turn around. Instead, he uses the hand not holding the knife to remove a gun from his suit pocket.
My eyes widen. “Gun—”
The psychopath spins around and fires at Ares. Bullets splinter the wooden doorframe and walls, and Ares falls to the floor, the thump vibrating through the little cabin.
I scream.
He’s not moving.
The psychopath stalks over to him and takes aim, ready to finish him off, but my window-shattering scream momentarily distracts him.
I’m not sure what the plan is, all I know is I need to stop him from shooting Ares again.
As it turns out, it’s all Ares needs.
He rises from the floor, his face a mask of pure wrath, and the room explodes with his fury.
He storms toward the mask-wearing-crazy-man and swings a powerful arm at him, catching him in the head and sending him to his knees. Psycho-man drops the gun and it spins on the floor.
“You think you can hurt my girl and get away with it?” Ares grabs the gun and takes aim. “See you in Hell, motherfucker.”
He pulls the trigger and the psychopath crumples to the floor. He fires again but the clip is empty. In a rage, he discards the weapon and kneels to finish the psycho off with his fists, his face wild with anger as he breaks bone and cartilage and sends blood splattering across the linoleum. Satisfied the limp psycho is done, Ares hauls him off the floor and drags him outside to the deck, where he tosses him overboard.
I hear the splash of water and the stomp of boots before he reappears.
Kneeling, he quickly unties me, and I can feel the rage coming off him because it burns like wildfire.
“Are you okay? Can you walk?” he asks.
I nod frantically, but the sudden movement sends waves of pain to my face. “I think the bastard broke my nose.”
Ares’ nostrils flare and his teeth are gritted, but his hand is impossibly gentle as he cups my jaw. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just get me out of here.”
When I stand, a wave of nausea makes me falter, and I stumble. Ares doesn’t hesitate. He lifts me up and carries me out of the cabin and off the boat, then strides along the dock with me in his arms.
“It’s okay, you can let me down,” I say.
