Page 52 of Hate Wrecked
ROWAN
I realize my mistake as soon as I pull myself aboard the yacht. The men are awake.
I can hear their voices, though their words are still hazy. They become clearer when I step aboard the back of the boat. I can smell alcohol in the air. They probably haven’t gone to sleep. Our plan to ambush them early has failed.
“I didn’t think he was gonna croak, alright?” Chuck’s high-pitched voice cuts through the air. He’s the one with the black eye. I creep closer, staying low.
The blond one—Butch—speaks next. “Well, he did. The whole plan’s gone to shit. The husband is where he should be—bottom of the ocean. We need to find the trunk. We need to find her body. We’re fucking done for if they find her.”
“And what about Glenne?” Chuck asks.
Butch’s voice is low when he speaks again. “She’s all over the damn news. Her mother’s already put up a bounty the size of Texas. You’d know that if you weren’t locked up. We’d be done with this if we didn’t have to fucking wait on you.”
Chuck sounds contrite. “I’m here, ain’t I? She ain’t dead. He says he’s alone, but he’s a liar.”
“We find her, we use her to collect the reward,” Butch says. “But if she’s dead, we’re fucked six ways from Sunday. And it’ll be your fault for getting locked up. If you weren’t kin, I would have left you behind.”
“He sucker punched me,” Chuck sneers. “How was I supposed to know the damn owner was there and would call the cops?”
“You probably deserved it. I told you not to go back to Barney's. You’ve been kicked out five times.”
“And you deserve the boat? Don’t act like you spent your hard-earned money on it.”
“It’s my payment for being the only one man enough to put a bullet in their heads. We wouldn’t be here if you left her alone while we tended our lot.”
“The crop was never going to amount to a damn thing. And she came onto me .”
“Yeah, yeah,” Butch says.
“You think the Scot knows yet?” Chuck asks.
Butch laughs, rough and humorless. “Nah. He’s going to think we’re heroes. We just need that trunk. It has to be one of the lagoons. And we need to lay eyes on the girl. Then we radio in from somewhere else. Make it look like a happy coincidence that we found them.”
“So we leave him be?” Chuck sounds disappointed.
“Yeah,” Butch says. “Falcon is likely where he’s staying. I wanna check out Gerald’s shit now that that ole wet blanket is gone.”
“Don’t we have everything we need?”
“Yeah, but I wanna see what the ole son of a bitch was hiding. He liked to write in that goddamn notebook. Maybe he left it behind.”
“He liked his rules. And he wasn’t stupid.”
“Smart people do stupid shit all the time. Look at you.”
Chuck makes an awe sound. “I think that’s the first compliment you’ve ever given me.”
“Don’t hold your breath for the next one.”
“And if the Scot found the body?”
“Three of us. One of him.” Butch shrugs. “We get rid of him. Away from the girl.”
Their words rattle around inside me, cold and heavy. Ransom. Something worse for me.
I freeze as their footsteps scrape across the deck. There’s a clink of bottles. Laughter, low and ugly. They’re distracted—for now.
But then a thought slices through my panic: There were three of them. I only hear two. Where’s Domet?
I shift carefully, peering into the dimness. If Domet’s out there…
These men aren’t just drunk idiots. They’re killers.
I need a gun. I have no fucking doubt they have one.
I decide to chance it.
The air below deck is thick with salt, stale sweat, and weed. I move quietly, listening for any noise from above or from the shore.
When I reach the radio, I immediately start flipping switches and adjusting dials. "Come on,” I mutter. The old radio crackles, a whisper of static filling the room, and for the first time in days, I let myself hope.
I press the receiver to my lips. “Mayday, mayday. This is Rowan Finn. We are stranded on?—”
Nothing. Just static.
I try again, my voice sharper. Butch and Chuck might hear me, but I have to fucking try.
“Anyone, come in. This is Rowan Finn. I am stranded on Elderslie Atoll with Riley Williams. Is anyone there?"
Silence.
I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stay calm. The radio is intact, but maybe I don't know how to use it. Now that I’m inside the boat, I see it isn’t as new as I thought. Still, it should have a working radio. The men didn’t mention they couldn ’ t radio back home, just that they didn ’ t.
I exhale, dragging a hand down my face. I can’t go back up empty-handed, so I dig through the storage compartments. I find a flare gun, half a box of matches, a large Bowie knife, a Karambit, and a handgun. I make sure it’s loaded, and after more searching, I find a box of bullets.
I load the wet bag and head toward the stairs. I make it to the top step just as I hear the scream.