Page 60 of Beach Reads
“Be careful,” she blurts, when the tape wraps so tight it cuts off my circulation. The tips of my fingers tingle, and I roll my shoulders back, forcing myself to stay calm. I won’t be bound for long, but numb hands won’t help.
“Tape her mouth, too,” Echo says.
You know what? Forget calm.
“If you gag her, I’ll tear out your spinal cord and floss with it.”
I smile, and I let my polite mask slip for a split second. Just long enough for them to see I mean it. I really, really mean it.
Tango stumbles back, and even Betty looks shocked. My gut twists at that, but there’s no time to reassure her. And Echo scoffs, but I notice he doesn’t step forward to do it himself.
“Amateurs,” he mutters, turning away. “Bind her wrists at least, then load them on the boat. Let’s get off this piece of shit island already.”
* * *
“You missed my best plans.” Echo’s having way too much fun holding court on deck as we rumble away from the island, waves churning all around us. Tango disappeared to pilot the boat; theothers stand at Echo’s shoulders like cartoon henchmen as he gloats. Betty and I kneel in the center of the deck, hands bound and jaws tight.
I won’t forget that they bound her. At least Tango was gentler with Betty, looping the tape carefully around her slender wrists. His ridiculous crush makes me want to roar and beat my chest, but in this case it’s been useful. Her fingertips are pink and healthy.
“I was going to dangle her in a net over the lava field,” Echo says with a broad grin. “Cook her slowly, you know? Watch you lose your damn mind.”
Slow breath in… slow breath out.
He’s trying to rattle me.
It’s working.
The hard deck digs into my knees, and the hot sun beats down. The engine rumbles beneath us, and each time the boat rocks over a wave, the standing mercenaries fight for their balance.
They’re not nearly as safe as they think they are.
“What would you hang the net from?” I ask, twisting my wrists slowly behind my back. I’ve been working the tape loose since they loaded us on deck—pour one out for my wrist hairs. The salt spray is helping things along, but my skin is raw.
Echo frowns. There’s a muffled laugh, turned quickly into a cough, and the others drift away to other parts of the deck, his admiring audience gone.
Betty ducks her head, shoulders trembling against a fit of the giggles. A seabird cackles overhead, wheeling through the blue sky, and as cool spray mists my face, suddenly I’m a thousand times lighter.
She’s not scared. She’slaughing.
Betty has faith in me. In our plan.
And you know what? The earth will crack open and swallow me whole before I disappoint this woman another single time. Tipping my head back, I draw in a chestful of fresh, salty air. It’s a beautiful day.
“What are you doing?” Echo demands.
I catch his eye and grin. “Breathing.”
“Well, stop it—”
I explode off my knees, wrists tearing apart, and slam Echo’s face against the boat rail. He crumples to my feet, glasses shattered, but I’m already running for the next closest man. He’s gazing out to sea, dolphin-watching or some shit, and he barely has time to turn around with a yell before I’ve wrenched his arm from his socket and tossed him overboard.
That’s the pattern. A crippling injury, maybe a broken bone, thensplash. Splash. Splash.The last guy pulls a knife on me, so he goes overboard with a blade buried in his gut. He started it. Our whole fight lasts less than three minutes, and the boat rumbles in a steady line, no sign that Tango’s noticed his colleagues thrashing in the foam.
I turn back to Echo’s limp body, breathing hard through my nose.
This is the problem with taking down amateurs. There’s no satisfaction to it, no real release. Like swatting a bunch of annoying flies. I rehearsed this moment over and over in my head all night, fretting about my girl, and when it comes down to it, there’s not a mark on either of us.
Except my bald wrists, I guess. The true casualties.
