Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” Brad curses, struggling.
I spot Pearl in the corner looking utterly traumatized, her hands shaking. No gun, because Brad took it from the back of her leggings. So who the fuck shot at King?
The engines roar. “Whoa!” All progress I’d made goes to shit, and I slip down the side of the boat, barely holding on with the tips of my fingers.
“Fucking hell!” James is clinging on with one hand, dangling, Brad too, trying to clear his face of the sprays of water coming at us now as the boat gains speed.
Bang!
“Who the fuck’s firing?” I yell, spitting out salty water.
“Just hold on,” Brad bellows.
“Yeah, I’m struggling.” James’s face is a picture of strain. “Fuck!”
Bang!
The throttle suddenly dies, the boat slowing, and Brad and James manage to grip the side of the boat with both hands. Brad rushes to scramble up again, us following, and we peek into the boat. Pearl’s still frozen in the corner, and King is standing near the edge of the boat, his eyes frantic as they scan around him. I hear the sound of a boat in the distance getting closer.
“Don’t move,” Brad says to Pearl, using his upper body to haul himself up. King spots him, turns his gun our way.
“No!” Pearl stretches a leg out, straining, and kicks him. She pays for it too. He turns and cracks her around the face on a bellow, then kicks her in the side. My own blood burns, so I can only imagine what Brad’s is doing. He must feel like a volcano inside.
“You fucking cunt,” Brad roars, slipping back down, clinging on before he starts hauling himself up all over again.
The boat closing in gets louder, and the water starts swelling as it circles around the back of us. Someone appears on the bow. They aim, fire, and King hits the deck, but the big, steel fucker gets back up again, aiming his own gun, but with too many options to fire at, he loses a few seconds. Enough time for the mystery shooter to take another pop.
Bang!
His shoulder jars, and he staggers back toward the edge of the boat. But then comes forward again. “Fuck me,” James breathes. “Is he fucking bulletproof? And who the fuck is on that boat?”
I crane my neck, trying to get a better look, frowning.
Bang!
King staggers toward Pearl. He’s going to use her as a shield. Fuck.
Bang!
The shot gets him in the back, and the fucker finally hits the deck, and this time he doesn’t get up. The air that leaves all three of us could whip up a hurricane. Brad falls into the boat and pulls me up before he hurries over to Pearl, taking her face, checking the damage King’s done. I see him blink back his rage as I help James up, breathing rapidly.
“Come here,” Brad says, sitting and easing Pearl onto his lap. “What hurts? Tell me what hurts.”
“He blew you up,” she says, wiping his face of blood.
“He tried.”
“Who the fuck is that?” I pant, dragging myself to my feet. The boat bobs at the side of us, the shooter nowhere in sight now, and I look to James and Brad, waiting for them to declare that this was up one of their sleeves. Both look as confused as I am. This isn’t anything to do with us. So, again, who the fuck is it?
“Stay there.” Brad gets Pearl off his lap and away from King, and quickly gathers up the guns and checks him over, giving him a bonus boot in his gut. He doesn’t move. Bloods pissing out of him everywhere. Brad joins us, handing each of us a gun, and an uneasy feeling comes over me, as we all search for the gunman. “Where did they go?”
“Don’t know,” James says quietly, eyes running up and down the length of the boat, his gun poised.
Then the shooter appears, coming to the edge, and we all aim. He reaches for the cap on his head and pulls it off.
My eyes pop out of my head, my aim lowering.
“The fuck,” James sputters, his gun dropping into the ocean.
I can’t help it—I think I might be in a euphoric place of shock—but I burst into fits of laughter as Beau shakes out her long, blonde hair before running a hand through the waves and resting her eyes on her husband. “Thought you might need a hand,” she says, all casual, cocking a booted foot up on the side of the boat.
James’s face. I could never describe it. But I want to box it up and pull it out whenever I need a laugh. “Is this some kind of joke?” He blinks. Scowls. “You’re fucking pregnant!”
“And my kid might not have a dad right now if its mother hadn’t stepped in.”
My laughter is out of control.
“Fuck off, Danny,” James hisses, stomping his way to the edge of the boat. “Come here,” he orders Beau. “Now.”