Page 2 of Wayward (Wrecked #4)

Murky Water

Sam

I ’m bracing myself for the sound of a gunshot. Though it’s not logical. Out of all of us, Easton’s the one worth something . . . though it has crossed my mind more than once that sinking the Rock Candy would have taken out all the Rockwells.

Shadows flicker on the path. I’m about to let out a sigh of relief, but it’s Holloway.

By himself. He nods to us men. I turn to Dante next to me.

He’s glowering, his normal carefree smirk long vanished.

There’s a vibration coming off him that says he could snap at any minute.

I put my box down on the table. It doesn’t have much in it.

My logbook and the book Haley made me. Penny’s things, her life vest and bowls.

My Rock Candy jacket with my name on it mocks me from the top of the pile.

Zane comes down the ladder, his box overflowing.

“Here, let me help you,” I offer.

“Thanks, Cap.” He hands me down his box. It’s a mixture of clothes, tools both from the derelict and from the Rock Candy. His phone lies on top of his clothes. The five of us are gathered around the table.

“It’s a good table.” I tap the top of it and look over at Zane and Calvin.

“Thanks,” Zane says. His throat bobs with a visible swallow. “You need any help, Chef?”

“I’m done.” Dante takes his box from the counter. It’s packed with precision, things rolled up in banana leaves, the contents flush with the top of the box.

The guard watching Calvin steps up. “Holloway, you want me to start taking the boxes to the tender?”

Holloway glares. “Z said alone. No one goes on the beach until Z says so.” Holloway’s watching from the opening of the path.

“Copy,” the guard says and steps back. I don’t blame the guy. I don’t want to stand next to Calvin right now, either. There are waves of anger pouring from him too.

This isn’t a rescue mission. But why go to the trouble of getting our pets and letting us gather our things?

Unless he wants to make Easton think that everything’s okay?

Is this about the diamond? I glance at Zane.

He’s got the same focused expression he had when he was working out the codes.

We need some time alone. Even back in the room, I can’t talk.

Dante moves from the kitchen area over to the chairs next to the Christmas tree.

It’s been gathering new shells and trinkets since the holidays.

“Come here, Sassy.” Dante holds his hands out for Haley.

She’s slow to move from the table. It’s weirdly quiet.

Like the island knows we’re leaving one way or another.

It’s going to be alone with the boars and goats.

The chickens . . . I glance over at the pen, but someone has already let them out.

They’ll be fine, filling in the gash we’ve left on the land.

Haley settles on the arm of the chair Dante’s sitting in, between Dante and Calvin. And I’m glad she’s there.

“You,” Dante says.

“Me?” Haley asks, pointing to her chest.

“It’s always you.” There’s a brief flicker of a smirk. “But no, him.” Dante points around Haley to one of the younger guards. “Did you work for―”

The guard cuts him off with a nod.

“You like my Lasagna al Forno. Harris, right?”

“I’m loyal to Mr. Z.”

“Didn’t say you weren’t,” Dante says.

It’s quiet. I’m not the only one trying to hear what’s going on on the beach. When I glance back to Dante, he and Calvin are involved in a nonverbal conversation. Dante touches his right shoulder and flicks his eyes to Harris. Harris has moved next to Holloway, distancing himself from Dante.

Yesterday, silently whispering together, we made one decision: to not ask about the other raft.

To not let them hold that over us. I’m a patient man.

More patient than the others here. At least, that’s how I used to think of myself.

But not anymore. I want to know if they’re okay.

Rocky, Emily, and the crew. But mostly Anders. I’ve come to think of him as a brother.

Fuck it, it’s been bothering me. “Did the other raft get picked up? My crew? Easton’s sister and dad.”

The guards say nothing. None of them. One rubs the side of his face. He’s got a long scratch down his cheek. He glares back but says nothing. The only ones who have talked to us more than “get in," "go here," "get out” are Holloway and the chief stew.

I scan their faces until I get to Holloway standing by the path to the beach. I hold his stare. “They’re people. With families, jobs. Hard workers. Just like all of you.”

“You knowing about them doesn’t change their fate,” Holloway says. The asshole might be right. But it makes a difference to me, and I know it makes a difference to Haley. Her blue eyes flick to me before settling back on Dante.

“Perhaps not, but it would ease our minds.”

“Or send you into grief,” Holloway counters.

Haley gasps.

“Relax. I don’t know anything about your crew.

” Holloway looks through the blind to the beach.

He’s got the best view out of anyone, being almost on the path.

“Mr. Z’s coming.” He cocks his head at the other guards.

And I fucking don’t like how he’s phrased it.

Mr. Z’s coming. Not Easton and Mr. Z . . . but Easton appears in front of Z.

Haley gasps again. She’s got a better view of Easton. I have to take a step to the side before I can see Easton’s eye is swollen.

“I tripped,” Easton says.

Z has a hand in his pocket. “Yes, you should really be more careful about where you step. Hughes, Holloway, and Harris, you’re with me and Rockwell here. The rest of you take the boxes to the Rosewood, along with the rest of our guests.”

“No,” Haley calls out and runs for Easton. She throws her arms around his neck. A nameless guard steps up to them at the same time as Calvin. I’m there too.

“Back up, Green,” Easton says before I can.

“You know, Hal should come with us too. After all, she fits right in with Hughes, Holloway, and Harris,” Mr. Z says.

“No,” Calvin grunts.

Dante’s not yelling, but he’s a breath away from strangling Z. Like he’s a feral dog on a leash. The four of us move to stand beside Haley. I’m ready to grab Dante around the waist. Laying a finger on Z is definitely a way to die.

“Very interesting. It’s such an interesting island, Hal. And I hear you know all about the flora and fauna of the land. I insist that you accompany Mr. Rockwell and myself while the rest of you head to the Rosewood.”

There’s a poke in my back, and it’s not a stick.

“Off you go. You first, Captain. Show your men how to behave.” Mr. Z inclines his head to me.

“See you soon.” I hold Haley’s eyes. This is the toughest thing I’ve ever done, walking away from her. Walking away from her when I know Z is going to use her to get Easton to do whatever it is he wants. The diamond . . . or something else. “Green, Jones, Morris.” I step toward the beach. “Go.”

Calvin’s got his hand around Dante’s wrist. I hate this feeling hopeless. Out of control.

On the beach, they’ve got our boxes in one tender. The other’s empty. Haley’s box and suitcase are separated from our things.

“Move in a line next to the tender,” a guard says. He’s young, early twenties. He’s got a wiry smile on his face. And I instantly dislike him.

Zane wades in first, then me. Dante’s between me and Calvin, whose feet are barely in the water.

My heart’s dancing around, making its own rhythm while I’m doing the best I can to not show it.

I’m still scared as fuck. There’s a group of guards behind, six at least, and three in front of us with the punk.

He throws the lead at the bow of the tender but misses.

It floats in the front of the tender, slapping against the hull.

I’m watching it . . . Zane’s watching it too.

And when it winds back on a wave and brushes against Zane’s hand, he takes it. The tender slows its sideways motion.

“All right, Holloway told me you’re doing one of two things: You’re getting in the tender without causing a fuss . . .” He stares at each one of us down the line. He’s a power-hungry punk.

“Or?” Dante hisses out. And I want to push Dante into the water myself. You don’t give a lunatic a reason to shoot you.

The punk squints. “Or your little slut's things take their own boat back to the mainland . . . and we kill you. I don’t care much, really.”

I want to kill the punk.

Calvin grabs Dante’s wrist, and the punk laughs.

“Collins,” an older voice behind us growls.

“Just having a little fun. Get in the damn tender.” Collins motions with his gun. The front of the tender is swaying left and right. Zane’s holding on to the lead rope.

I climb in first, and Calvin and Dante do the same down the line. “Get in the boat, Brit.” Collins shoots the water a few feet from Zane.

There are grunts and yelling but not from us―it’s the other guards. I lean over and give Zane my hand before the asshole does it again. Zane drops the line and grabs my arm around the wrist. I steady him into the tender.

“Fucking hell, Collins,” the older guard says.

“They’re listening now,” Collins sneers.

The older guard throws his gun around his back and picks up Haley’s box and her suitcase.

He hands the box to Calvin. “Hold this on your lap.” The suitcase, he momentarily holds out to Dante, but even I can see what a convincing weapon the metal shiny case is.

He places it in the front hollow of the tender, near Calvin’s feet.

“Collins, stop being an asshole and take the motor.”

Another guard slides in next to me while Collins wades in. The weighted tender with only one rope sways to the side and back with a big wave and knocks Collins on his ass in the surf. It’s hard to not laugh, but I manage it. But Dante’s got a wide smile on his face now.

Collins grasps the side of the tender, and the guard next to me helps him in. He’s drenched from his shoulders down. “You think it’s funny, Chef?” Collins glares at Dante.

And I’m praying Dante keeps?—

“Yes.”

Damn it. Listening devices or not in the cabin, I’m having words with Dante. He’s going to get himself or someone else killed.

“Shut the fuck up, Chef. You too, Collins,” the old guy grumbles. “Move over―I’m going to pilot the damn thing. You’d probably run us aground.”

“Whatever, Durant. I know how to drive the tender.”

“Sure. And Chef, I don’t want to see another smirk out of you or hear a fucking word come out of your mouth.”

Dante nods.

“Bunch of fucking babies,” Durant says and pulls the cord starting the outboard.

I watch the island slip away. The only good thing about the lunatic Collins is it’s made me forget about Haley and Easton being out there on the island―somewhere.

“Toss the rope, deckhand,” Durant says, turning the rudder like a pro.

Zane takes the wet bow line and tosses it to the Rosewood deckhand. We’re marched up the stairs and down the side deck, Durant behind us, another guard in the front.

“Hold up, Durant―I want to have a word with the Chef there,” Collins says behind him.

We’re single file. A random guard, Dante, Calvin, Zane, me, and then Durant.

The Rosewood’s a beast of a yacht, but the outside deck isn’t meant for passengers.

It’s a working strip along the top for deckhands to work the lines.

“Take it up with Z,” Durant says. “Keep moving.”

“No. I want to teach him to have respect,” Collins says.

Metal slaps against the side of the Rosewood.

It’s a quick click. But I’m fast enough to press forward into Zane.

Durant’s got Collins’ gun in one hand, and his other hand he’s got wrapped around the young guy’s neck.

He headbutts him, and it sounds like a hammer hitting metal.

And with a shove, Collins is falling backwards into the ocean.

It’s a good twenty-five foot drop to the choppy water below.

The splash thuds upward, and when Collins surfaces, Durant is pointing his own gun at him. “You need to learn manners just as much. Now swim before I fucking shoot you,” Durant says, following him with the barrel of his gun.

“Hey, everything okay down there, Durant?” a voice says from the crow’s nest.

“Good. I’m taking our guests back to their cabin. Have Collins locked up until Holloway gets back.”

“Collins?” the voice asks.

“He’ll be on the swim platform.”

“Fucking kids,” the voice says.

“Damn right.” Durant slings Collins’ gun over his shoulder. “Metal plate in my head from a car accident when I was twenty. Don’t drink and drive.”

“No way, mate,” Zane says.

“Now move,” Durant barks.