“So don’t,” Jackson urged. “Put the gun down. We’ll go somewhere safe for the rest of the storm—”
“And then you’ll ruin me after?” Cole tightened his grip on the gun.
“We’ll figure something out that satisfies everyone,” Jackson said.
Cole narrowed his eyes, his jaw tight. “Betrayed by my own son.”
“It’s for your own good, Dad,” Jackson said. “You think you won’t get caught for this? Then what? I only want what’s best for you. For all of us.”
“I don’t think so.” Cole shook his head, his mind made up. “It’s better for you to all go out now, victims of the storm.”
“Hurricanes don’t shoot people,” I spat.
“But everyone will believe you would”—Cole turned on me—“after I tell them I just found out you killed Iris all those years ago because she was planning to tell the press about your affair.”
“Fuck you,” I muttered.
I detected a split second of movement in my peripheral vision before everything once again went black.
Felicity
Hidden outside the rocking portside door of the yacht with the rain lashing my back, I watch in horror as Cole smacks the gun into Stella’s head with a sickening thunk.
“Dad, stop!” Jackson cries, but it’s no good. She slumps forward, limp.
The boat lurches in the turbulent surf, the stern barely out of the water now. I grasp the door handle, my thumb resting on the release latch, and tighten my grip on the neck of the champagne bottle dangling from my free hand. Not the weapon I would have chosen if given an alternative, but the kitchen and restaurant were blocked by the fallen tree, so I had to find what I could in the wine cellar. In the cabin, Cole raises the gun and points it at Stella’s head.
“You’re gonna kill her!” Jackson dives at him, providing just enough distraction for me to fling the door open and spring through it, smashing the bottle into the back of Cole’s skull with all my might.
He staggers and shoots, aiming toward Jackson’s shoulder, but doesn’t go down. Jackson attempts to wrestle the weapon away from him as I bring the champagne bottle down on Cole’s head again. He’s on his knees now, but strong as an ox. The gun goes off again, and Jackson cries out in pain. I clutch the heavy bottle in both hands and smash it over Cole’s crown. Glass splinters as it makes contact, and the gun drops from his hand into the sloshing chaos of the floor. Jackson moans in agony. In the darkness, I can’t tell where he’s been hit, but he’s on the ground where his still conscious father scrambles for the gun.
A towering wave crashes through the open door, flooding the cabin with a foot of water. My head jerks back as Cole grabs my hair and slams my face into the rushing water, holding me down. Unable to breathe, I flail, punching and kicking my arms and legs with all my might. But I connect with nothing. My lungs burn.
Don’t inhale.
Suddenly the pressure releases, and I yank my head out of the water. A grunting tangle of limbs writhes next to me as Cole wrestles with Jackson, both of them reaching for the gun. The flashlight shines toward the ceiling at an odd angle, swinging wildly with the pitching of the boat. I lunge toward it, scrabbling in the dark until I have it in my hand, and sweep the cabin to locate my broken champagne bottle, wedged beneath Stella’s limp legs. I grip the hard glass neck in my hand and point the light at the thrashing heap of men.
I hear myself screaming as I bring the sharp end of the bottle down on Cole’s chest, but my body’s gone numb and all I can see is red.
Stella
Darkness splattered with shards of fragmented light, seawater crashing into a sinking ship. A woman screaming.
I tried to move but couldn’t, a paralyzing night terror. I tasted salt, fought to breathe. Nausea welled in my stomach. The rocking. Stop the rocking. Pain—in my ribs, my head, my back.
The woman continued to scream. I fought to wake, but the dream wouldn’t clear; the pitching and tossing persisted.
“Stop, stop!” A man’s voice now, urgent. “He’s gone. It’s over.”
The woman’s screams turned to muffled sobs. “Shhhhh…” The man comforted her. “It’s all over now.”
I struggled to rise, but found my arms were trussed over my head, my legs bound. I closed my eyes against the beam of a flashlight. “Stella. Are you okay?”
Jackson. Everything came rushing back. Cole, the boat, the gun. It wasn’t a dream. I felt the light move from my eyes and squinted at Felicity and Jackson, clinging to each other next to me on the floor, water sloshing around us. In the gloom I could see the arm of Jackson’s sweatshirt was torn and soaked in blood; Felicity’s tear-streaked face was speckled with drops of red.
“Where’s Cole?” I asked.
“He’s dead,” Jackson said, helping a shaking Felicity to her feet while the boat rolled with the pounding surf. As he moved toward me to untie my hands, my gaze landed on something behind them, partially hidden by their bodies. I craned my neck to peer around their legs as they struggled to keep their balance. It was Cole, lying on his back, dark water washing over him. His eyes were open and fixed, his chest bloody.
And again the world went black.
Felicity
Stella, Stella!” Jackson grabs her shoulders, trying to rouse her. He slaps her cheeks, and her eyes flutter open, struggling to focus. Her face is bruised; a deep cut gapes above her eye. She’s not going to be happy about the scar it’s sure to leave, but it could have been a lot worse.
“What happened?” she manages weakly.
“You fainted,” Jackson says.
“Cole,” she mumbles, straining to look around Jackson as he undoes the rope around her wrists. “He was…”
“He was going to kill all of us.” His eyes flick to me. “We did what we had to do.”
I register the
