Page 99 of Rafe: Sins of the Father

Connor has my legs in a wrestling hold when his friends race in behind him.

He points toward the garage door. “Go. The other one got away. Get her ass.”

One hauls the garage door open and then looks around. They pause.

“Which way?”

“She’s halfway down the road by now,” I yell, and it works. They both tear off toward the blacktop road and away from the water. Now I just have to keep Connor distracted. I fight for all I’m worth and manage to flip to my back. Then I punch him in the nuts.

His retaliation is quick, with a vicious punch to my face. I roll to my side, moaning as he clutches his crotch.

“You fucking bitch!” He kicks me, aiming for my stomach, but I shift in time, and take the blow on my hip.

He hauls me up by my hair and drags me to the room. This time he ties me to the bedpost, then stands over me.

“You better pray we find her or you’re going to suffer for it.”

When he slams out of the room, I look toward the sliders. The curtains are still drawn back how we left them, and I can see the boat dock. It’s shadowy, but I don’t see the kayak anymore.

Thank God.Please make it Fiona. You have to make it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Fiona—

I paddle for three hours, and as the first streaks of daylight tinge the horizon, I come across the first sign of civilization. A metal sign painted blue reads,THE RUSTY PELICAN BAR. Exhaustion set in an hour ago, and my biceps and shoulders are burning from working the paddle. My clothes are still wet from hiding in the water and pulling down the kayak, and shivers rack my body.

Digging deep for my last ounce of strength, I aim the kayak toward the boat dock that extends into the water. Only one boat is tied up to it, a pontoon boat with a cover on it.

Dragging the kayak on shore, I eye the bar, wondering when it opens. I follow a set of stairs around to the side, where I see a gravel parking lot and, thankfully, one lone SUV.

Trying the door, I find it locked, so I take the long deck that wraps around to the side that faces out over the water. There’s a sliding glass door for entrance in and out of the bar.

Leaning closer, I hear faint music coming from inside. Cupping my hand to the glass, I peer in and think I see someone moving around.

I knock hard. “Help me. I need help.”

An overweight middle-aged woman with short blonde hair and a sun visor on her head comes to the door. “We don’t open until 7am, darlin’.”

“Please. I need help. I need to make a call. Please.”

She opens the door and peers around like this might be some kind of a rouse to gain access for a robbery.

“Please help me.”

She lets me step inside, then shuts and locks the door. “Where did you come from?”

“I was kidnapped. I escaped and stole that kayak out there.”

She looks beyond me to where it sits on the shoreline, verifying my story.

“Kidnapped?”

“Yes. I got away, but my friend didn’t. They still have her.”

“Are you pulling my leg?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.”

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