Page 121 of Undertow

“Please, Merrick. Just do it on land. Not in the water. Don’t leave me out there to drown.”

His hard expression falters. A muscle moves in his cheek. I hold my breath as I wait.

“If they make me do it by water, I’ll shoot you first. I won’t throw you in alive,” he promises in an even tone.

Relief floods through me. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head and stares hard at something on the floor. More words float across his features, but he seems to suppress them.

Finally, he pushes up from the chair and crosses toward the door. “I’ll go check in with McArthur.”

He reaches for the panel by the door, then stops.

“I’m sorry,” he says, twisting back to me. “I’m sorry, Shaw. For all of this. You deserved better.”

Without another word, he punches in a code and lets himself out.

I stare at the closed door for a long time.

It’s hours before it opens again.

23

GHOSTS OF THE PRESENT

Blood thunders in my ears as I’m driven across the grounds of the Palmetto Grande Resort. Since collecting me from the basement and taking me to get cleaned up, Merrick hasn’t said anything other than barking short commands.

Now, it’s only birds and the whir of the golf cart providing the soundtrack to our ominous journey. One guard sits beside me in the back, while the other is up front with Merrick. Their guns are hidden this time, so as not to draw any attention. My hands are free for the same reason, which is a nice change.

It’s still morning, but the sun is already scorching the landscape. The air is thick with heat and salt, making each breath feel like a marathon. I don’t bother asking questions. There will be no answers. And Merrick doesn’t need the script others do.

By the time we pull up to one of the luxury villas overlooking the ocean, my heart is pounding and my mind is a mess of memories and imminent pain.

I battle trembling limbs as we climb out of the cart and parade toward the exclusive villa reserved for the most VIP guests. It’s one of the nicest rentals the Palmetto Grande has to offer, which can only mean one thing.

Merrick knocks, the door opens, and my breath catches in my throat.

Our eyes lock on each other at the same time. It’s a moment that hasn’t happened in over three years.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dylan,” Merrick says, nodding to the couple. “Mr. McArthur.”

Gerardo Dylan steps back so we can enter. “We can take it from here,” he says to Merrick. “We have our own security.”

Merrick’s gaze skims my face. His promise to me lingers between us as an imaginary hourglass drains its last few grains of sand.

Once we’re alone, Gerardo motions for me to follow. His wife Madelyn won’t look at me, while McArthur’s expression holds an unreadable edge.

“Montgomery gave us the unfortunate news about the wedding,” Gerardo says as we turn the corner to a spacious sitting area. It overlooks a veranda with a postcard view of the ocean.

He directs McArthur toward a chair in the sitting area, then sits beside Madelyn on a white leather couch. I’m left standing in front of them like a school boy in the principal’s office.

“It’s an unfortunate development, but these things happen. Love is fickle, no?” McArthur says to me.

I don’t respond, directing my gaze back to the couple. Their faces give nothing away, but I know the truth. The air bleeds with our violent history. For once, I have no idea how this will play out. What they know. What they want. Who will be left standing at the end of this farce.

“Looks like you had a rough night,” Madelyn says, scanning my face.

“Bar fight, wasn’t it?” McArthur interjects before I can respond.

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