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“Washed up, man. He just showed up out of nowhere,” the guy with the stick says.
Archer steps into the water, shoes and all. He looks at the rope around his ankles, lifting the edge. He raises it, and though no one would understand the meaning of it, he turns to me, “Someone cut the rope.”
I swallow, my nose burning.
Were we being watched?
Or was it someone on the boat?
I take a step back, shaking my head.
“This is too fucking much,” I whine. “I don’t want to deal with this anymore.”
Tears spring to my eyes, and Archer is there instantly, comforting me. His arm goes around my shoulders, and he holds me close. “It’s all right, Lakyn. We’ll figure this out. I’m not going to let anything happen to us. Not this time.”
But what if he was the one who cut the rope?
“Fuck that.” Oh, shit. Did I say that out loud?
“You do realize I’d be in just as much shit as you, right? My fingerprints are on him. We threw him overboard. Why the fuck would I cut the rope, Lakyn?” he snaps under his breath, so only I can hear him.
My throat feels as if it’s closing, and my fingers wrap around my neck and squeeze as I walk away from the crowd and the body, seeking silence, desperate for fresh air.
“Who is doing this?” I whisper, looking around, my eyes landing on a group of girls who look at me in fear, as if I’m the masked murderer running around and slicing people.
Of course.
Of fucking course.
I scowl at them. My tongue speaks up before my heart wants to say the words. “Turn the fuck around unless you want to end up just like he did,” I growl.
“Fucking hell, Lakyn,” Archer growls, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me away from them. “You can’t fucking talk like that when you’re actually the one who helped dispose of the body,” he growls.
“I—”
An ear-piercing scream reaches my ears, and we both spin around to the boat, just as a girl stumbles toward the edge.
My eyes widen when I see her hand clutching her stomach, while her other hand slaps to the wooden railing.
Her hands are covered in blood.
“Someone help me!” she screams, pain in her voice. “Please! I’m bleeding!”
My brow furrows, and I step forward as she moves toward the end of the boat, ready to jump off. A guy walks up to her, wrapping his arm around her and carrying her off the ship. She winces, letting out a scream. “The slasher is here! I saw him!’
“Holy shit,” a group of guys mumble beside us.
“Oh, fuck!” a girl screams.
And then it’s as if the gun just fired off to start a race, because absolute chaos ensues.
I get knocked to the side as screams fill the air, gut-wrenching, terrified moans of absolute fear.
The girl’s screams rip through the air.
Help me, help me.
She’s clearly been abandoned as soon as everyone realized a masked killer is here. They were so fucking eager to break curfew, but the moment their lives are truly in danger, they run.
