Page 123 of Amnesty

I watched as the figure emerged from the water, inch by inch at first, then surged up the rest of the way, water droplets spraying out around the body like Jaws coming up for a bite.

The man was tall and stocky, not built, but not thin. His hair was dark, of undeterminable length, and plastered to his head. Dark brows slashed thickly over his eyes, harsh and garish against his deathly pale face.

The white button-up shirt he wore was see-through from the water. It too was plastered against his body, showing off soft areas, for example, around the middle.

The shirt was buttoned up all the way, appearing like a noose around his neck and wrists. He moved stiff and slow, and I wondered why the fuck he was in the water and not inside his boat.

Dark dress pants covered his lower half, at least at the hips where he wasn’t under the water. He was wearing a belt, his shirt tucked in, as if he were on his way to a business meeting and not literally birthing out of a dark, cruel lake in the middle of the night.

All the muscles in my body coiled, preparing for a fight it instantly knew was coming. Water swelled around me, giving me a buoyant feeling as though it were trying to build me up.

Yes, the lake was definitely friend tonight, for it summoned me down here not to take something away, but to help me keep it.

“So you’re the one.” The man’s voice overpowered the wind.

“The one what?” I spat. I wasn’t sure what the fuck was going on, but I knew whatever it was didn’t call for pleasantries and happy greetings.

“The one who thinks he can claim what’s mine.”

Realization hit me so hard I would have fallen backward, but as I mentioned before, the lake tonight was like heavy shackles keeping me in place.

“You,” I growled, my eyes going over his shoulder to the looming presence of Rumor Island.

He glared, measured me in a single sweep, then disregarded what he saw. “You might have been strong enough to thwart past attempts to gain back what is and always will be mine,” he intoned, cutting through the water toward me. “But you aren’t any match for me.”

I laughed. The sound actually caused my own hair to stand up on my neck. “You’rehim,” I spat. “The man who chains up women and keeps them in a hole. The man who robbed two girls of their lives and made one so desperate to get away she tried to die.”

There were no words, not even thoughts that could come close to how much I hated this man.

“I’ve come for her.” He didn’t deny what I said. He didn’t have to. I might never have seen his face before, but I knew him. Daniel. He reeked of havoc and mental illness.

The final step he took brought us face to face. Wind whipped around us; water churned beneath us. Inside me, so much anger burned I felt like a flint ready to ignite into a flame that could never burn out, even in a body of water.

I leaned in so close I knew he could feel my hot breath on his face. His eyes were dark, empty, and cold. There was no man here. No feeling. He was a shell, the mere house for the devil.

“The only thing you’re getting here is a one-way trip back to hell.”

The second the words left my lips, I reared back and launched my fist at him. All the force I had went into that blow. The momentum spurred me forward. The sound of cracking bone crunched around us the second my fist collided with his face.

His head snapped back, his body jerking as though it took a bullet. Then, just like rubber, he snapped back. I reared back to hit him again, but he caught my fist midair and squeezed. The bones in my fingers screamed in pain, but I didn’t show it. Instead, I felt the water let go of me, and I kicked upward, driving my toes into his kidney. The grip on my hand slackened, and I lunged forward like a linebacker, catching him around the waist, and shoved. We both fell, him going backward and me on top. The water sliced into my arms and waist as I scrambled up, straddling him. He pushed up, but I buried my fist in his face again, knocking him back.

I stomped down, right in his midsection, making him curl in on himself a little. I watched his body disappear beneath the water, only to jackknife back up. Teeth bared, water dripped from his features, making him look rabid. He lunged at me. This time I fell backward and he was the one on top. He punched me, then wrapped his hands around my neck and squeezed.

I brought my leg up between his, going straight for his balls. His thighs slammed shut, trapping my ankle and protecting his junk. Frustrated, I tried to pull back, but he lifted me with one hand, by the neck, out of the water. Beneath me, I heard the waves scramble about, but my eyes never left his face.

“She’s mine,” he intoned. “I’m not leaving without her. Without both of them.”

He body-slammed me back into the water, shoving me down until my bare back scraped against the rocky floor. Dark water washed over my face, clouding my vision, as his hands tightened around my neck until it felt as though my windpipe might collapse.

I squirmed and kicked, prying at his hand with mine.

I could have sworn, as I struggled beneath the surface and my lungs started to plead for oxygen, that above me, I heard him laugh.

Discerning dream from reality was becoming a problem for me.

And maybe so was trusting myself to know the difference.

My arm stretched out, seeking the comfort I had come to rely on. When my palm met sheets, which had gone cold, alertness saturated the rest I’d been getting.

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