He totters, sways—and it’s all the opening I need.

Another kick, this time to his knees.

He stumbles forward, groaning, and his grip on the axe loosens. When the ship bows again, it falls, sliding just out of his reach and spinning toward me through a couple inches of water.

Doubled over, Troy glares at me, his eyes sharp pinpricks of boiling mercury in the night.

“Lay down, goddamn you,” I snarl, turning the axe around and holding it like a baseball bat. “You don’t have to be stupid, Troy. Just stay down and tell me where you’ve got her. The police are coming. Turn yourself in.”

For a second, his nostrils flare in the deadly silence. I wonder if he’s actually considering it.

But the sneer that cuts across his face like lightning reveals his answer.

“And what? Let you get away with it? Let you get away with everything?” He stands again, his fists flexed into rocks, trembling furiously at his sides. “Fuck that and fuck you, Cole. I gave you all an easy way out—you and Destiny and that mouthy badger bitch who never shuts up.”

If he weren’t planning to crack my skull open, I’d smile at how he describes her. Because that’s my Eliza, my love, my everything—a woman who still wouldn’t take one speck of his shit, even when he threatened her.

“I gave it to Aster—I gave her an out—but fuck.” He’s breathing ragged, entirely consumed with pain and anger. “What is it with you people? Why are you all too stupid to fix your lives?”

I have no answer, just my gut dropping.

This isn’t the time to process his vicious, slurring words.

He looks at me darkly, his mind made up, death flashing in his dark eyes. It’s not just the lightning overhead.

Snarling, I grab the ax handle, making it an extension of my body as he drags himself up, plants his feet, and charges like a brazen bull.

I hold my breath, counting slowly.

One.

Two.

Three.

Now!

I lurch aside just as he blows past, his fists flying, punching and swearing at the air.

One strong swing is all it takes.

A sickening crack!

The wooden handle connects with the back of his head.

There’s so much force it vibrates up my arm.

When I regain my balance, I look down. Just in time to see the jackass slumping to the ground, hissing like a deflated balloon into unconsciousness.

Fuck.

Lightning cracks across the sky in a web. The thunder booms so loudly it shakes the entire boat, and then there’s just this eerie silence, everything falling still except for the drumming rain.

Thud.

I almost miss the sound the first time.

It’s buried in the rain’s white noise. But then I hear it again, it’s rhythmic and not coming from the sky.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Shit. That’s somewhere on the boat.

I tighten my grip on the axe and start moving toward the cabin, calling, “Eliza! Eliza are you here?”

Thud-thud-thud.

The back of the ship.

I move toward the sound as fast as I can through this mess. As soon as I turn the corner, I find several massive fishing chests, the kind that can hold at least a hundred pounds of fresh meat.

Shit.

If he threw my girl in a stinking coffin of a fishing chest, I might just stalk back to his worthless carcass and kill him all over again.

I have no idea which one she’s in, but I just know.

There aren’t many other places to hide her on a ship this small.

Thud! The banging sounds more urgently than before.

The center chest.

Using the axe, I position myself carefully.

“Eliza, hold still!” I yell.

With a savage swing, I hack through the lock and tear the lid off.

Eliza comes up coughing, sticking her head up into the rain with a deep, gasping breath of relief. She’s a mess, red-faced and slick with sweat and ocean rain, sobbing so hard she’s quaking.

I don’t even hesitate.

I’m just grateful as hell she’s alive.

Fucking alive.

Reaching down, I haul her out of the chest, cradling her so close to my chest it hurts. “Oh, shit. Eliza. I’m sorry. I’m so goddamned sorry, sweetheart.”

She wraps her arms around my neck weakly, still sobbing and straining for air.

“Just breathe. Nice and slow,” I urge, kissing the top of her head again and again.

Go ahead. Ask me if I care that she smells like three-day-old octopus moldering in the sun.

She’s too stunned, too hurt to speak.

She doesn’t need to.

I cling to her like a second shadow, hot fury and relief storming my blood, running my fingers through her wet mop of hair.

I need her to stay with me.

Almost as much as I need to remind myself that she’s here, she’s safe, and it’s a miracle when she’s always been too fucking gorgeous and softhearted for this world.

Seeing her like this hurts a hundred times worse than if Troy hurled that blade through me, but having her arms around me—it’s like feeling my soul come home.

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