“On my boat,” the first guy I saw says as he strokes his beard. “We hauled you from the water. We thought you were dead.”
I gasp for air at the thought, but my lungs still feel like sharp knives have been embedded inside. I try to get up again, but the guy holds me back. “Whoa. Easy there.”
“No, I have to go,” I mutter. Even though I don’t know why, I feel the urge to stay on the move.
“Why are you in such a hurry?” he asks. “Just let us call the hospital.”
“NO!” I bark, crawling back as far as possible until my head hits the back of the boat. “No fucking way.”
“Okay, fine, we won’t,” he says, holding up his hands. “But you gotta get checked out. We’re not professionals. Fuck knows how long you were out there in the water. How did you even end up in there?”
Uncontrollable fury forces its way through my veins, but I don’t fucking know why, and it pisses me off. All I can remember is a shrill voice crying out and a bright light just before the crash. And then … death.
My heart pounds.
Something, or someone, is responsible.
And something inside me urges me to get up and move.
As I crawl to my feet, the second dude walks up to me and plants his hand on my chest. “Whoa, calm down. You’re not nearly strong enough to walk.”
“I don’t care. How do I get off?” I ask.
“You don’t,” the first guy says, coming at me too. “We’re still hours away from our destination, and I’m not turning around just because of one fucking guy.”
“But, boss, he’s obviously in need of help—”
“He made his decision,” the first guy interjects. “And I’m not willing to risk our shipment over some dumb incident.” He spits on the deck. “He’s alive thanks to us. That’s all that matters.”
“Thanks for saving me,” I say, trying to find my bearings while the boat sways back and forth.
The boss looks at me with suspicion. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”
“So what do we do with him now?” the other guy asks.
The boss eyes me, his stance growing more rigid by the second. “Rest up inside for now. When we arrive at the docks, we’ll figure out what to do with you.”
“Wait,” I say, and he turns around. “Can you take me with you?”
He frowns. “Where?”
“Anywhere,” I reply with a stone-cold face. “As long as it’s far away from here.”
Because I fucking feel like I’m a dead man walking.
Present
* * *
I pause for a moment and look up at the little wooden cabin surrounded by dark pine trees that cast a shadow over the moss-covered roof. My home.
I never thought I’d see this place again, yet here I am, back in one piece.
But not without scars.
I walk up to the door, limping heavily.
The doctor who took out the bullet and sewed up the wound said the pain should subside within a couple of weeks. I can only hope I can trust him even though he was a veterinarian. Of course he asked questions, but I answered with money, and luckily, it was enough.