“Get back down!” Damian shouted over the chaos as I struggled to stay on my feet.
The boat began flying off the crests and crashing into the troughs, bringing us to an abrupt, heart-stopping halt through each terrifying wave. I held on to the railing, but the metal was wet and I kept losing my grip. Buckets of water were being tossed in my face and my feet slipped on the deck.
Damian barked something into the radio and hung up. He made his way towards me, fighting against the wind, and slipped a life vest over me. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. We were falling into each wave with a resounding crash. He pointed towards the stairs and started inching his way back to the cockpit.
I was almost there when I heard something whip past me—a high-pitched, metallicwhoosh.I looked up and realized that one of the lines securing the dinghy had come loose and was whipping around in the wind—probably the one I had unlatched partially when I was on the roof. The heavy, steel fastener at the end had just missed me and was swinging back, heading straight for me. I stood paralyzed, unable to move, unable to breath, as the wrecking ball of death came for me.
“Skye!” Damian pushed me out of the way a millisecond before it hit.
I rolled on the deck, knocked off my feet. I heard a crash, the sound of glass shattering, and opened my eyes. The line had slammed into one of the windows and the hook was lodged in its frame. The dinghy was barely contained by the two remaining latches, and looked like it was about to come loose.
“Damian.” I turned to him.
He was lying by my side, but didn’t respond. There was big, wide gash on the side of his head. Blood was oozing out and mixing with the rain.
“Damian!” I knelt beside him.
Oh God. Please wake up.
But his body was limp and his head rolled from side to side as the boat lurched like a bucking bronco.
“Damian, please,” I cried.I can’t do this alone.
The ocean swelled around us in wild, terrifying chaos. I needed him. I needed his fierce brutality to conquer the waves and take us to MaMaLu. I needed his frost and his bite and his unrelenting fury to power us through the storm.
“What do you do, Skye?” I thought I heard him say as I held his bleeding head in my lap.
I glanced at the cockpit. Damian hadn’t locked the radio up. It was still crackling with static. This was my chance—to escape, to get away, to make a run for it. So why was I still holding on to Damian?
Because he saved you.
Because he pushed you out of the way.
Because if you call the authorities, you know they’ll put him away.
Don’t be a fucking idiot, Skye. Make the call!
I stumbled to the radio, my stomach dropping every time the boat fell into a wave. I fiddled with the controls until I figured out which one I pressed to talk. I had no idea who was out there, in Mexican waters, or what the proper procedure was for a distress call.
“This is Skye Sedgewick. Hello? Can anyone hear me?”
Nothing.
“This is Skye Sedgewick. I am the missing daughter of Warren Sedgewick. I’ve been kidnapped, and am somewhere off the Pacific Coast of Mexico. Our boat is caught in a storm. We need urgent help. Please respond.”
I closed my eyes and held my breath. The contents of the cabin were spilling everywhere—books, charts, cushions, pens.
A garbled message came from the other end.
“Hello?” I prompted. “Are you there?”
More static, and then a man’s voice. He said something about not being able to receive the message clearly, and then I heard the word ‘phone’.
“Hold on,” I said.
A key was sticking out of the drawer that Damian kept locked. There were three things inside: a rusted metal box, a revolver, and a satellite phone.
“I have it!” I grabbed the phone. “What’s your number?”
