“Fuck,” he swears, running his hand through his locks. “Hurry, Ailsa!”
Wanting to make myself useful, I pull my hair back into a messy ponytail and stumble into the wood-paneled helm. Besbeats me there. He grabs onto the wheel despite not having full range of motion with his bad arm. It doesn’t stop him, though. Dark hair hanging manically across his forehead, he flips half a dozen switches and turns the lacquered wheel with great fervor. The vessel glides backward at his command. I blink at all the extraneous machinery in here, nearly all of which are foreign to me.This is nothing like my old paddle boat at Nonna’s lake house.
Inside the covered helm, we find ourselves in the eye of a hurricane: it’s quieter here, calmer. Except for Bes, who’s a tempest of his own. The spot on his arm where Claude shot him is stained red with a sprinkle of fresh blood, his hands a flurry of calculated movements.
“What’s going on?” I ask. He doesn’t respond.
Glancing back, I find Cec perched on a weathered seat popped out from the wall. Bouncing both knees up and down, his face is pinched in concern.It must be difficult for him to feel so helpless.I nearly go to him, but I don’t want to abandon Bes if he needs my help.
I yell over the roar of the engine to get Bes’s attention. “A little warning would’ve been nice.”
He doesn’t spare me a glance. “Considering I wasn’t given one myself, you’re fortunate I could say a damned thing about it.”
Touchy.
I turn around to keep an eye on the shore as the boat pulls away. Where’s Ailsa? I search the dock for her red hair. Instead, a group of men in black shirts, gray-green jackets, and black berets run right past where our boat used to be docked, chasing after…
“Ailsa?” I question aloud.
She sprints in our direction, expression determined. No longer wearing her trench coat, her shock of red hair and fair skin sift through the crowd of dark-haired, olive-skin-toned Italians.They jump back at the intrusion, gesturing boldly with their hands and cursing at her in their colorful native tongue.
My feet drag me past Bes, out of the helm, and to the boat’s stern railing on their own accord. I watch helplessly as she hurries toward us.She’s not going to make it.I look around for something—anything—I can use. A rope, maybe? I’d even take a life preserver at this point, despite having no way to reel it back in.
Peering over my shoulder, I find a rope similar to the one that kept us tethered to the dock moments ago, coiled haphazardly on the deck. Despite the boat pulling further and further away, I reach for it. If she can jump into the sea and swim to it, I can pull her up.
“Miss Hawkins, get inside the helm!” Bes yells, but I don’t listen.
Rope in hand, I look up to find all four of the men pulling their guns from their holsters mid-stride. Even from this distance, I recognize them immediately to be Glisenti Model 1910’s; Nonna keeps one stuffed under her bed, in case of intruders. The people around them scream at the sight of the deadly weapons, ducking as they race away from the action.
The moment they aim their weapons at her, Ailsa stops. Goddammit. Not knowing what else to do, I yank the gun from my waistband and pull the safety lever down.
Swallowing hard, I press my thighs against the railing in an attempt at balance as we speed away, aiming the weapon at the man closest to Ailsa. My hand trembles slightly and I grip it with both hands to steady it. I really,reallydon’t want to shoot anyone again, but I will if it means Ailsa lives.
Jump, you fool. Jump into the water, I scream at her in my mind.Instead, she throws up her hands in defeat. My heart drops into my empty stomach.
The man closest to her attempts to grab her—but she jerks his arm behind his back and slams her forehead into his, forcing him to his knees. Grabbing his gun, she points it at him and shoots.
He crumples to the ground.
That’s my cue.Closing one eye, I aim at one of the other men and pull the trigger. The first shot zings by his head and ricochets off the building behind him. All three remaining men cock their heads toward the boat, shifting their aim away from Ailsa. I pay them no mind, focusing on my breathing like I do during target practice.
Because that’s all this can be: target practice.
“Bloody hell,” Bes swears loudly behind me, but he’s too busy driving the boat to stop me.
I focus on the same man again and fire. My aim stays true this time, the bullet burying itself in the middle of his chest. I don’t linger on him long enough to watch him fall, moving on to the next man. Ailsa struggles with one of them, and the other—
A couple bullets fly over my head and I crouch down. My heart pounds too fast inside my chest for comfort, head swimming for a second. Barely breathing, I grip the railing so tight with my left hand I swear my palm might rip open.
Before I can aim my gun again, another gunshot echoes across the port.
Ailsa’s body goes limp and falls backward into the sea.
My mouth opens in a silent scream.No!My grip on the railing tightens further. I can’t give up on her.
I consider tying the rope around me and leaping in after her, even though I just proved to myself at the Temple of Seti I that I’m not the best swimmer.
The men turn their guns on our boat again, firing off a few more shots until we’re out of range. I don’t take my eyes away from where Ailsa’s body disappeared into the sea, her bloodblooming out from the spot and staining the bright blue water red.
