Page 87 of The Engagement Party

“There’s...” He cleared his throat. “There’s blood all over it.”

The driving need to survive should outweigh the horror of staring at Jake’s blood as they struggled to row across the water. On an intellectual level, a biological level, that made sense, but their senses had been blown apart and boundaries shattered. Mitch drew a line and Ruthie didn’t blame him. “Good choice.”

“Let’s go before Cassie figures out a way to sink the island with us on it.” Sierra grabbed the rowboat again and tugged. Ruthie and Mitch didn’t argue as they joined her.

They walked past the smoldering house to the closest dock, the less stable, floating one on this side of the island. Ruthie knew almost nothing about boats and rowing. She hoped that sort ofthing proved instinctive because she refused to give Cassie the satisfaction of dying today.

The hill dropped off to a rocky coastline. After a few seconds of wandering around, looking for a place to put the boat in, they gave up and dragged it up the two steps to the dock. Ruthie winced as the rowboat’s bottom slammed against each riser.

Standing there, looking through the planks to the peek of water below, she now understood whatfloating dockmeant. The old wood balanced on containers that floated and rocked beneath her feet. Waves sent the dock bobbing as icy water splashed up around them.

She couldn’t do this. She looked at the small seats and the oars and her mind rebelled. “I don’t think—”

“This should do it,” Sierra said as she stuffed the ratty towel into the bullet hole. “I don’t think it will last for long.”

“We’ll row fast,” Mitch said.

Ruthie hated this conversation. “What if—”

“Don’t borrow trouble.” Sierra took a deep breath and gestured to Ruthie to do the same. “Assume this will work.”

Easy for her to say.“I’m not really built that way.”

“Neither is Sierra.” Mitch tested the towel then lowered the rowboat to the water. Strain showed on his face, but he didn’t ask for help.

Ruthie appreciated the hero move because she couldn’t remember how to make a fist at the moment. The initial surge of adrenaline had burnt out, leaving behind a mushy mess of nothing. Exhaustion swept through her as her brain begged for a few minutes of rest.

She was the only one not moving. Sierra put the oars inposition. Mitch placed a foot in the boat in what looked like a test of the boat’s buoyancy. Ruthie breathed in and out and tried not to throw up.

The noises of the island swirled around her. Her damp hair fell over her ears and muffled some of the sound, but the rush of wind and rustle of the trees played in a steady cadence. She closed her eyes and let the lull overtake her. Calm her.

Crack.

The subtle sound barely rose above the rest, but it didn’t fit. Probably a snapping twig. She opened her eyes and stared back toward the house.

Dylan, his hair caked with blood, stood at the point where the dock met the land with that damn poker in his bloodied hands. He’d snuck up on them and waited only a few feet away with the distance closing. He stalked them, staring them down.

“Guys.” Ruthie took a step back and ran right into Sierra.

“What are...” Sierra’s voice sputtered out as her gaze followed Ruthie’s.

“How did he get free?” Mitch whispered the question.

Dylan answered with slurred words. “Can’t you guess?”

“I’m not really in the mood for more games,” Mitch said.

Dylan’s sick smile appeared. “Ruthie didn’t really tie me up. Did you, hon?”

Chapter Sixty-Two

Ruthie

With a few words, Dylan sucked her back into his demented world, condemning her with lies. Ruthie could see the doubt move into Sierra’s expression. “Don’t listen to him.”

Dylan stepped onto the deck. Made a dramatic show of doing it. He stood between them and land. A deadly barrier to surviving.

He swung the poker back and forth at his side. “You can stop pretending we’re not working together.”

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