Page 49

49

JOAO

S tefi and I, we’re pretty good at surviving. We had to be. This time, though? I think our luck might have run out.

If this is the end, I’m glad we’re going to meet it together. I say as much to Stef, but she’s not listening. All of a sudden, her back straightens, and her head lifts up in hope. “I think I’m sitting on a paper clip,” she says, life returning to her voice. “Christopher must have left it for me.”

That’s my boy. My heart fills with warmth, and I smile widely at my wife. “Good thing you’ve been practicing how to get out of handcuffs.”

Her cheeks turn pink. “Is now the time to reminisce?”

“When better?” I can hear footsteps. “I’ll keep Bach distracted while you get out of them.”

She nods tightly and then gets to work. Her hands are locked behind her back, and the clip is out of reach. She rocks the chair back and forth, a little at a time, and it slides back. I watch, my heart in my mouth. If she leans back too much. . . If it falls out of reach. . .

Her fingers close around the thin steel just in time because Henrik comes marching back into the cabin, a gun in his hand, and my son slinking behind him, looking like a beaten puppy.

“Ewan’s going to untie your feet, and you’re going to walk up to the deck,” he says. “Please don’t try to do anything heroic; if you do, I’ll shoot you in the kneecaps and then toss you to the sharks. And if you’re under any illusion that you can get to me by using Ewan as a hostage, let me assure you that I will have no problem shooting him either.”

Cold resolve hardens in my heart. Stefi’s going to get out of her cuffs, and then we’re going to make Bach pay. He doesn’t know it yet, but he will not live past the end of the day, even if I have to die to ensure it happens.

“Nothing’s changed, then,” I sneer. “Loyalty’s never been a two-way street for you, has it?” I glance at Stef. The paper clip is out of sight, but she’s going to need time to work on the cuffs, and I have to prevent Henrik from noticing. That’s easily done. It was never hard to get Bach angry. “I suppose that’s why you find yourself all alone, reduced to using a child to do your bidding. My wife’s taken quite the wrecking ball to your empire, hasn’t she? How far you’ve fallen from the glory days.”

His lips tighten, and he hits me so hard across the jaw with the butt of his gun that my chair falls backward. “Get upstairs,” he snaps. “One more word out of either of you, and I will slice your tongue out before I throw you overboard.”

I give Christopher my best reassuring smile as he kneels beside us, his small hands fumbling slightly with the rope. Henrik supervises, his eyes sharp and alert for trouble, but neither Stefi nor I fight back.

Not yet.

We proceed up the stairs without incident. The waves are choppier now, and the small boat is being tossed relentlessly over the water. The sky is darkening rapidly, and a storm is coming. It’s the right time of the year for the cyclones that form in the Black Sea. In normal times, I wouldn’t be thrilled about being caught in the middle of one of them, but Bach’s a notoriously poor sailor, so this could work to our advantage.

He looks a little green as the deck rises and falls under his feet. Unfortunately, his grip on his gun is just as firm as ever. “Bind them to the rail,” he orders, his weapon trained on us.

Christopher complies without a word. He drags a short length of chain across the deck, loops the chain through the handcuffs on our wrists, and threads it around the rail. If he notices the paper clip clenched in Stefi’s fists, he doesn’t let on. When he’s done, we’re standing side by side with our backs to the rail, positioned in such a way that Henrik can’t see Stefi working to get out of her cuffs.

Bach doesn’t seem to realize how we’ve been bound until our son is done. It’s only when the boy steps away that he expresses his disapproval. “No, no!” he spits out, the gun going in all directions as he gesticulates. “I want them to be able to see the water.”

“You want me to retie them?” Christopher asks.

No, I can’t let that happen. Our hands are tied behind our backs. If we’re facing the water, then Bach will be able to see Stefi getting loose. He’s on the verge of answering, and I’ve got to provoke him before he gives the boy the order.

“Can’t bear to see our faces?” I taunt. “Could it be that after a lifetime of being an utterly terrible human being, you’re finally having a tiny attack of conscience? No, that can’t be it.”

“That’s it,” he yells, aiming his gun at my leg, pointing directly at my kneecap. “I warned you, Joao. I told you to shut your fucking mouth, but you can’t follow even the simplest of instructions.” His finger starts to pull the trigger. . .

I tense instinctively, waiting for pain to tear through me.

“They’re here,” Christopher shouts, a pair of binoculars glued to his eyes. “We found ‘em.”

The bullet misses my knee and hits my thigh. Pain sears through me, and I grit my teeth against it. Stef gasps out loud and takes a step toward me, but I shake my head. “I’m fine.” My leg feels like it’s on fire. It takes all my willpower not to show the excruciating agony on my face, but I won’t grant Henrik the satisfaction of hearing me scream.

I won’t frighten Christopher. And more importantly, I will do nothing to worry Stefi. Especially not now, when she’s pregnant. I cannot stress her out, so if it means gritting my teeth and pretending like it’s just a nick, then that’s what I’m going to do.

But in the back of my mind, a countdown starts. My hands are tied behind my back, and I can’t apply any pressure on the wound, let alone a tourniquet. I don’t think the bullet hit the femoral artery, but even so, it’s not looking good for me.

I got to meet my son before I died, but I would have really liked to meet our baby.

I paste a reassuring smile on my face, but Stefi’s not buying it. She’s panicking. She knows what I’ve worked out. That even if I somehow manage to staunch the flow of the blood, I’ll still have lost too much of it. If I’m not rushed to a hospital, there’s a very real chance I’m going to die.

And we’re in the middle of the Black Sea, hours away from medical care, with the storm only getting worse.

“Joao,” she whispers through bloodless lips. “Hold on, okay? It’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

It’s not, and we both know it. But I nod as if I buy it because if she cries, I don’t think I’ll be able to bear it. And selfishly, I don’t want her tears to be the last thing I see before I go. I want to see my wife smile as brilliantly as a summer sun. I want to see her green eyes sparkle with laughter.

I want— need —to see her happy.

Henrik’s not paying any attention to us. He’s not even gloating about the blood gushing from my leg in hot red spurts; he’s too busy leaning over the rail of the deck, staring into the distance with Christopher’s binoculars, distracted by the appearance of the sharks.

Stefi takes advantage. Her face pale, her eyes fixed on my bleeding thigh, she works on the handcuffs, and I see her shoulders slacken as they fall free. It takes her another quick moment to undo my handcuffs and free me, and?—

“Cut the engines,” Bach tells Christopher. “Then come here.”

My son doesn’t react as he turns the key for the engine. But I’m looking at him, and I see the way his shoulders tighten ever so slightly, as if he’s bracing for pain. His eyes dart to the small folding knife that Bach’s taken out of his pocket and then to his face, and he shuffles over, his face bloodless.

Bach opens the blade. “Hold out your arm,” he orders.

It happens so quickly that I don’t even realize what he’s doing until it’s too late. My son doesn’t even try to protest. He bites his lower lip hard when Bach slices his forearm and holds it out so his blood can drip into the water.

Stefi makes a choked noise in her throat. Fury engulfs me. I am going to tear him apart with my bare hands. I clench my fists, my nails biting into my palms before I make eye contact with my wife?—

And after that, everything seems to happen almost at once.

Moments after Christopher’s blood drops into the sea, the dorsal fin of a shark carves through the water, heading straight for us. Stefi moves like a blur, her hand flicking up and swinging the loose handcuffs like a weapon. They catch Bach across his face, snapping his head to the side, and in that moment of inattention, she kicks his gun free.

He rushes for her, murder on his face, and I step in front of him. Just a small step, but the moment my injured foot touches the deck, I start to buckle. Hot, agonizing pain tears through me, and my vision goes blurry. I’m not going to last very long. I’m not going to last, and then I’m going to leave Stefi and Christopher alone with this madman.

Stefi, who’s pregnant with our baby.

Christopher, who’s already been the target of Bach’s rage more often than any child should.

And it’s that thought that provides me superhuman strength. Clutching the deck rail for support, keeping as much of my weight off my leg as possible, I position myself so that my body is between Henrik and my wife.

He charges again, fury etched all over his face. I make a grab for him, my fist connecting with his jaw. . .

Just then, the deck tilts sharply as the boat dips into a deep swell. . .

Henrik, already a bad sailor, loses his footing. . .

And I push him over the edge.

He goes overboard, falling into the water below with a thin scream.

The shark swims closer.

“Help!” The man who kidnapped Stefi and me when we were children, who beat, tortured, and starved us, screams. He gets one arm out of the water and lurches desperately for the ladder on the hull of the boat, but the skies open up just then, and he can’t quite reach it in the deluge.

I watch with cold satisfaction as Bach struggles to reach safety. “Help!” he screams again. “Ewan, get me out of here.”

My son doesn’t move a muscle.

A shark fin slices closer through the water, the smell of blood already attracting it. Henrik Bach screams once more, thin and shrill and loud. . .

The water turns red and bloody as the creature bites down, and then. . .

It’s over.

I turn away, darkness pressing in from all sides. Christopher doesn’t take his eyes off the carnage, but Stefi hurries to my side. “Hold on,” she begs, tearing off her shirt and fashioning the sleeve into a tourniquet. “Help is on the way.”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” I whisper. The timer is still running in my head, and I know what it means. “I’m good. Bach is dead, and you’re okay, Christopher’s okay, and our baby is going to be okay, too. That’s enough for me.”

She bends down and kisses me, tears coating her eyes. “Joao,” she says, and then I hear it, a low thrum that’s rapidly getting louder, even louder than the storm that’s building around us. A black helicopter appears in the sky and drops like a bird swooping over the water. A man emerges from it, winches down in a harness, and lands on the deck.

It’s Daniel.

“How?” I ask Stef in complete incomprehension. I’d been searched for recording devices when I came on board, and she would have been searched, too. How on Earth did Daniel know where to find us?

She tries to sound cocky, but the best she can manage is a tremulous smile. “You should know by now,” she says, “that I always have an exit plan.”