Chapter 21 Annabelle #2
“I still have these,” he taunts, holding them like a prize. “Your precious truths. You can’t burn what’s already mine.” He lays them across the stone rim like sacred scripture. “Your secrets belong to me.”
He stands and stalks off toward the trees, unzipping as he goes, muttering something I don’t catch.
I turn my head. Just enough to see Blake. He’s still bound, still bloodied, but gaining consciousness. Barely.
“Annabelle,” he rasps, voice shredded. “You did great back there.”
I blink.
“Listen, when he comes back, I swear, I’ll get us out. I’ll—” His lip wobbles. “I’ll bite through these ropes if I have to.”
He shifts and somehow—so gently—brushes a strand of hair off my face.
“You’re my family,” he whispers. “I’m not losing you.”
My throat locks.
I want to call out for Derek. Scream his name into the storm. But all I manage is a weak smile.
“We’ll survive this. Together,” I whisper, squeezing his fingers.
He nods, drawing up every scrap of courage he has, just as Mike returns, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
He doesn’t speak. Just grabs my arm and yanks.
Hard.
I stumble upright. The world tilts.
He hauls me forward, dragging me toward the riverbank where a skiff waits—half-sunk, water pooling in its belly.
My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to claw its way out.
“Mike—please?—”
“Shut up.”
Blake stirs as Mike kicks him, forcing him upright. He groans, eyes fluttering like torn wings. My chest constricts so hard, it’s like the bones might snap.
Mike drags us toward the skiff—rickety, half-swamped, its gunwales cracked and leaking. Rainwater sloshes around our feet as he hoists us in, one at a time, grunting with effort.
Two sandbags lie in place, ropes coiled beside them like sleeping vipers—waiting to strike.
He crouches at my feet first, his fingers curling around the coarse rope. The hiss it makes as he uncoils it against the wet boards sends a bolt of cold through my spine.
I try to jerk my leg back, but the boat rocks dangerously under the shift. Blake groans behind me—still alive, still bleeding. Mike growls and slams his palm into my shin.
“Don’t make me knock you out again.”
He loops the rope once, twice, around my ankles with jerky, practiced movements, then threads it through the sandbag’s handle. The weight drags at my foot immediately. There’s no slack. No mercy.
“You’re insane,” I whisper, throat raw.
Mike’s lip curls. “Sanity doesn’t win the land.”
He shifts to Blake next. My body screams to move, to stop him, but there’s nothing I can do—nothing but watch as he binds the second rope. Blake doesn’t even flinch.
Mike ties the final knot tight and stands, breathing hard. Rain drips from his chin. He looks almost satisfied, like a man admiring his handiwork.
“You don’t get it,” he says, voice low and breathless. “This is justice.”
The ropes sit still, thick and quiet—but the vipers are awake now. And we’re the ones about to disappear.
He moves to the rear of the skiff, muttering to himself as he yanks the outboard’s cord. The engine sputters, then catches with a low growl.
The skiff jerks forward, dragging us away from shore, and pushing us through the black, churning water.
The wind lashes my skin. The bow bucks beneath us, slicing through the swollen river, water sloshing into the boat with every dip and surge.
I can barely breathe.
“Where’s Skylar?” he growls.
“I don’t know.”
His hand cracks across my cheek. Not hard. Just enough to humiliate.
“Where. Is. She.”
“I don’t know!” I shout, voice strangled.
He laughs again—quietly this time. Almost mournful. “You should’ve played along, Belle. Could’ve been part of the winning team.”
I close my eyes. Swallow hard. Bite the tears before they fall.
The boat rocks, shifting our balance as he turns. Lightning splits the sky, casting our reflections like ghosts across the surface.
Then he cuts the engine.
Silence swells, except for the hiss of rain and the rush of river.
I lift my head. Across the water, a blur of two figures stands on the shoreline.
Derek and Misty.
Mike rises, voice sharpened by fury and thunder. “Why did my father leave his land to Skylar Bishop?! Where is that bitch hiding?!”
His rage echoes across the river, distorted by wind and distance.
No answer.
Then I see Misty step forward. Gun in hand.
Heart in my throat, I mouth their names?—
A shot rings out.
Mike jerks, a spray of red misting the air. Mike jerks, clutching his side. He stumbles, slamming into the outboard motor.
The engine snarls to life with a feral roar.
He scrambles, slipping—then tumbles over the side.
Gone.
The skiff bucks sideways, spinning hard as the motor thrashes without direction.
The world tips and we fly. Blake and I are flung into the dark.
Ice-cold shock obliterates everything. Panic tears through my limbs like a thousand volts. I surface for one breath—one ragged gasp—then the weight at my ankles drags me under.
Down, down, down.
The cold is a scream in my bones. My lungs seize. My limbs flail. And memories flood in.
Derek’s crooked smile at the orchard gate.
Blake’s laugh echoing through the fields.
Delivering my new nephew.
Misty, tasting my apple pie for the first time and licking her lips like it meant something.
It did mean something.
Everything does.
My lungs burn. My vision fades at the edges.
Every inch deeper into darkness feels like surrender. And I’m not ready to surrender.
As the current tugs me deeper, I whisper their names—Derek… Blake… Misty…—praying someone, anyone, will drag me back into the light. Then?—
Silence.
Not the kind that means peace.
The kind that means the world is waiting to see if you survive.
Only the river remains. And in its final rush, I see Derek again— His arms around me. His scent—motor oil and cedar and home.
Then the current takes me.