Page 66 of Deep Waters

The blade slid effortlessly into his flesh. Christian stared in disbelief.

He’s actually stabbed me.

Within seconds, he was blinded by the intensity of sickening pain.

Chapter Twenty-Three

For a brief moment, time seemed to run slowly. Harry watched as Stew stuck the knife into Christian, but he was powerless to stop him. It happened so fast. Harry screamed in despair as the blade disappeared to the hilt. The sound seemed to break the spell Stew was under. He looked from Christian to Harry and back again, as though only just realising they were two different people.

I have to get him away from Christian. It’s his only chance.

Harry tried to think rationally. He had three options. Lead him back to shore, get the knife or lure him close enough to the edge that he could push him over with the next freak wave. The third option was the most dangerous. If it worked, there was a high chance that he would fall with Stew.

Stew rose to his feet, his attention fixed on Harry. That meant Christian was safe, for now at least.

“What the hell is this about?” Harry said. “Come on, Stew. You’ve known me all my life. You can stop now. Don’t make it any worse than it already is.”

Stew hesitated. The first hint of uncertainty crossed his face.

Harry thought about running. Stew’s confusion could give him the head start he needed. Could he outrun him all the way back to town? At any other time, the answer would have been yes but not in this storm. Harry would only have to slip once to give Stew an advantage. And if he stuck that thing into Harry, there would be no hope for Christian and Antoni afterwards.

“Come on, Stew. It’s me, Harry. Jack Renner’s son. You know who I am. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m your friend, remember?”

Harry combed his expression for any hint that his words were getting through to him.

“You taught me how to shell prawns when I was just a kid. Remember? We’d sit on the deck of your boat with a huge bucket of them, working our way through. You showed me how to do it without damaging the flesh inside. Remember that?”

Stew’s eyes widened. The knife hand lowered a fraction.

“Stew,” Harry implored, “please. Just throw that thing away and we can head back. Get dried off and warm, huh? Think about Reece—about how he’ll feel when he hears about this.”

“Reece?” Stew seemed lost. For a second, his focus was entirely inwards, then he snapped back to the present, and his expression was pure white fury. “You. You did this to my boy. Baited him to make that filth. You ruined him.”

Stew ran towards him.

Get the knife. It was the only safe option now.

Stew came in low, the blade angled towards Harry’s midsection—the same place the fucker had stabbed all those other men. Harry bided his time, letting Stew get close before ducking to the side. Stew’s weight worked against him, and he flew past, skidding, going to his knees. He tumbled face forward.

Harry pressed home his advantage. Whatever happened now, he was not about to run away. He would go down fighting.

He threw himself across Stew’s back. He didn’t have the size benefit of the older man but pushed him down with all he had, going for the knife. Stew held the blade beyond his reach, struggling beneath him. Harry realised he was in danger of being toppled off if he didn’t do something else…and fast.

He grabbed Stew’s head in both hands, pulling it backwards before slamming it against the boards with all his strength. Despite the howl of wind and crash of waves beneath them, Harry heard the crack of Stew’s nose, followed by a roar of pain. Without thinking, Harry repeated the action, banging his head against the pier.

Stew let go of the knife.

Harry scrambled over him, focused solely on grabbing the weapon and getting rid of it. Without it, he was confident he could take the older man in a fist fight, should it come to that.

Stew reared upwards, toppling Harry from his back. Harry fell sideways.

The knife.

He crawled forward and got his fingers around the handle, but Stew shouldered him aside. Despite the injury, the older man remained agile. Harry put on a renewed burst of speed. He briefly touched the handle again before Stew crashed against him with a roar of rage. Stew’s balled fist flew into Harry’s belly. The thickness of his coat took most of the impact. Undeterred, Harry went for the blade again.

The knife was less than a centimetre from a gap in the wooden boards. Harry had no intention of picking it up now. All that mattered was getting rid of it. He kicked Stew, getting a good blow to his chest. Suddenly free of his grip, Harry spurted forward. His fingertips touched the knife handle. Just one push was all it took.

The knife slid between the gap in the boards and fell into the sea below.

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