Page 82 of Sinners Retreat

He inadvertently digs a knife into my pride. I’m not a wuss who needs a kiddie pool set up for playtime. I just don’t want my lungs to, you know, explode.

I take a deep breath and pull away from him. “No. I’m fine. Is there anything else I need to know aside from everything you’ve already told me?”

“Just stick close to me. I won’t let anything hurt you. I promise.”

Drawing the mask over my face, I nod. “Let’s fucking do this.”

I don’t sound nearly as cool as I did in my head. The mask pinches my nose and gives my voice a nasal quality.

“Breathe in and out regularly,” he reminds me as he lowers his mask. “I’ll be right with you. If you panic, just give me the signal.”

I step to the edge of the short deck and take a deep breath. Small whitecaps break near the boat. Overhead, the sky is a cloudless blue, broken only by the occasional offshore bird who dares to venture out this way. I suppose this is a beautiful day to die if I must.

I turn to face Ezra.

“You can do this,” he says. “I’ve only known you for a short time, but it’s long enough to know you can do anything you put your mind to. You’re stubborn as an ass and as bold as an Irishman after a few pints.”

I close my eyes and place the regulator into my mouth as Ezra steps toward me. His warm lips press against my forehead. Well, the sliver of forehead peeking between the top of the mask and the wetsuit’s hood.

I assume the position, which is this weird crouch with my back to the water. Now I’m supposed to simultaneously leanforward and fall backward at the same time. Gripping the regulator with my left hand and the back of the mask strap with my right, I drop into the water.

Water surrounds me, and I swim a few feet away, pop to the surface, and give Ezra the thumbs up so that he knows he can safely enter the water without landing on top of me. He gives me a wave and steps into the water instead of doing the lame backward roll he had me do.

Floating at the surface, I wait for him to emerge in front of me. Seconds drag on and turn to minutes. Surely nothing happened to him...

I dip my face below the water and peer into the depths, right as a cloud of blood rushes toward me.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Kindra

When I was busy worrying about my lungs exploding, I failed to consider the other dangers in the ocean. Like sharks. That’s the first thing I think of when I see the blood.

I don’t take time to think about how weird it feels to breathe underwater. I kick my legs and swim down. I don’t know what I plan to do if I find the shark with my half-eaten lover in his mouth, but I’ll figure it out when I find them.

The blood begins to clear, and I have a better view of what waits below. Instead of discovering a shark, I find myself in a minefield of people chained to anchors. They float in the underwater current, their hands secured behind their backs and a chain bolted around their ankles. They all wear scuba gear that looks identical to ours.

One of the Cattle is missing its head, which explains the blood. A large, dark figure freely swims near the body. That must be Ice Pick, but where the fuck is Ezra?

I feel a tug on my ankle and look directly below. One of the Cattle has managed to break free from the bindings around their wrists, and now they have a firm grip on me. And they’re pulling me down.

The hands claw at the wetsuit, and I let them bring me close enough that I can slash my flipper against their head. I’m trying to knock their regulator loose, but these damned flippers make it difficult to put any real force into a downward kick. It’s like fighting in a fucking nightmare.

Then, just as quickly as the hand grabbed me, it releases its hold. I look down again. Using Ice Pick’s machete, Ezra has chopped my assailant’s arm clean the fuck off. He looks up at me and waves with the disembodied arm, and I can’t tell if I want to kiss him or kill him.

In one smooth motion, Ezra cuts the Cattle’s airline and motions for me to follow him. We swim away from the writhing, one-armed asshole and head toward the less volatile group.

There are no markers to indicate which of the Cattle are our preferred targets, so I’m hesitant to make an unprovoked kill. Drowning an innocent won’t give me the warm fuzzies.

Another red cloud creeps toward us as Ice Pick slashes the stomach of one of the Cattle. A school of flashy silver fish move in unison toward the organs spilling from the gash in the wetsuit. Like shining metal needles, they dart in and out of the lengthening rope of intestines. Despite the heavy blood loss and the fish literally eating them alive, the injured figure continues to squirm.

Did they deserve that fate? The uncertainty eats away at me, and I turn away from the horrific scene. It boils down to this: I’m not the hardened killer most people believe I am. I don’t enjoydeath, but I do enjoy punishing someone who deserves it. The motive matters.

Sensing my hesitancy, Ezra motions for me to come closer. I swim nearer, and he points to the back of each Cattle’s diving mask. The straps are color coded, just like the jumpsuits. The person Ice Pick attacked is red.

My body relaxes, and the creeping nausea recedes.

I give Ezra a thumbs up and swim to another floating figure. Once I check the strap color, I pull the mask from the Cattle’s face. I want to see the fear in his eyes when I end him.

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