The sound of the engine idled, then silenced completely, the quiet making my ears buzz.
The boat wobbled.
Then hands were reaching for me, grabbing me, lifting me up.
And I sank deeper into the floating sensations. It was almost as if I let myself, they would just float away with me.
With those thoughts, I drifted away inside myself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Caymen
I surfaced with a gasp, my arms fanning out over the water to keep me afloat.
All I could think was… I had to get to Noa.
She had no idea.
The five minutes had to be up.
She was too stubborn not to come looking for me. And she wouldn’t find me. She would find him. This bastard who’d been trying to kill her for the past several days. The reason she had a bullet wound in her shoulder and a foot in a boot.
He couldn’t get her.
All I could hope was she wasn’t watching the clock, that she was still safely locked in the room. And that by the time the guy could try to break in, I could stop him.
Lord knows I was pissed enough to bash his head in as I swam around the boat to the swim deck where the ladder was located.
It was as I was hauling my drenched self—bandaged feet slipping on the fucking ladder rungs—that I saw her. Them. But her. Thrown over the motherfucker’s shoulder, her arms and legs bound.
She was still.
Not writhing, fighting, yelling, raising hell like I knew my girl would do if she was capable.
Was she unconscious?
When I called out, there was nothing.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I hauled myself onto the deck, going as fast as my damn wet feet would allow.
Then I watched as that bastard just… dropped her. Like a bag of trash.
I saw fucking red.
It was all fists then. Hitting, being struck. I tasted blood, felt the burn as my lip split.
My motivation was higher.
But the asshole had a plan.
And one second I was fighting.
The next, I was on my back in the fucking kitchen.
