Chapter 50 #2
“Owns?” Kian sneers. “Nobody fucking owns my daughter.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, ‘cuz see, I do. Bought her fair and square in that auction. We have plans for her.”
We?
“Let her go.” My voice is steady. My hands are not, trembling in the cool breeze. I swallow.
“You don’t want her. You’re a Wilde. I’m a Fury. I’m a much bigger prize.”
“I know exactly who you are, Hatton Fury.” Grady grins through bloody teeth, his arm tightening around her neck. “Why not both?”
His finger tightens on the trigger. I catch Lucy’s clear-eyed gaze.
“Well, see now. That just ain’t gonna work for me.” I grin. “Especially since you’d be so easy to run away from. What with your broken foot and all.”
He frowns. “My foot isn’t—”
Lucy, my drugged, beaten, impossibly brave girl, slams her heel into his instep with every ounce of strength she’s got left.
“Atta girl, bunny,” I mutter, and fire as soon as Lucy tears sideways and falls free.
Grady jolts where my bullet catches him in the arm, and spins off-balance, screaming like a demented ballerina while Lucy hits the ground hard and clumsily scrambles away. He fires wild in return, only to nail the kneeling man in the chest, and then the son of a bitch bolts for the pier.
Well, “bolts” is a little generous. He’s limping now, one arm damn near useless from its two gunshot wounds and soaking him in blood. But adrenaline’s a hell of a drug, and it’s got him upright and moving, getting to the center console quicker than I expected.
“Fuck!” I growl and break into a run.
Grady throws himself over the gunwale, and fumbles at the helm before the outboard roars to life.
The two motors are huge, bigger than most of these gravestones behind me, and their propellers kick up a white churn behind the stern, chewing the dark water to froth while he fights to free the mooring line.
That’s when I catch him.
My hand closes on the back of his too-big coat and I yank him bodily out of the boat,slamming him onto the dock so hard his teeth crack so loud I can hear it over the engine.
He swings at me, a feral, useless, desperate attempt, and I catch his fist, crushing down until I feel knuckle and bone grind under my grip.
He shrieks and I drive my knee into his chest, blasting the air out of his lungs, effectively silencing him.
Still, gotta give him credit. He tries to scurry away, nearly falling off the dock, but I catch him and drive my knife through the hand on his good arm, pinning him to the wooden dock.
The scream that tears out of him is shrill and small.
Once upon a time, I might’ve been sickened by it, but I’m too far gone, the madness of violence having shaped me into the monster I am nearly a decade ago.
He tries to claw at the handle with his bad arm, and I answer by slamming the butt of my pistol straight into his mouth.
His teeth give under the metal, popping out like Pez and spurting blood onto the salt-softened wood.
“Let… me go,” he begs, but I drag him up by his lapels, making him whine as my knife no doubt tears at tendons.
“You touched her.” My voice sounds less like mine and more like something dark and twisted drudged up from the marsh, happy to finally be let loose to wreak havoc. “You drugged her. You hurt her.”
He spits blood and bone onto the dock, wheezing so hard his eyes roll white.
Behind us, the engine is still running, the propellers whining as they pull the boat against the mooring line, angrily churning up water in rebellion.
Three stainless steel blades spin just below the surface on each motor, catching moonlight every time the stern bobs just right.
I wrench the knife free.
He shrieks again, weaker this time, his body running out of ways to protest what’s happening to it.
Thinking he’s free, he tries to drag himself away, fingers scrabbling against the wet dock boards and leaving bloody smears behind him.
But the boat is behind him, the end of the dock is on his right, and I’m covering the rest.
“There’s nowhere left to go, bud.” I step closer. “How does it feel, huh? How does it feel to be trapped and terrified? Nowhere to go. Like no one will save you?” I crouch. “That’s how you made her feel. And she is never going to fucking feel that way again.”
I grab his lapels and haul him to the edge of the dock where the stern knocks against the pilings. The engine roars below us, hungry as the prop sprays my legs with marsh water.
“No! No, please!” He’s thrashing now, boots kicking, clawing at the planks, at my wrists, at the cleats bolted into the dock. “H-help! Please! Somebody! He’s a c-crazy!”
“No one’s going to save you from me, Grady,” I tell him, my voice calm now. “I’m the one who saves her.”
Raw, high animalistic keening sounds off right as I shove his head over the edge and force him into the churning water. He fights. God, he fights so good, I fucking love it. His whole body bucks and his fingers gouge into my forearms hard enough to draw blood.
But I have the leverage and the hate and the madness, and the propeller is right there, chewing through the tide, roaring right back at him. His screaming hits an unearthly howl, and then the blades catch and it changes, hitting a wrong, discordant note.