Page 85 of Relentless (The Titans of Founder's Ridge 2)

That explains the darkness. “Yeah, I might have a concussion, too.”

“You’ve been out for at least an hour.”

“Do you know where they’re taking us?”

“A marina. They’re speaking in Russian, but I can’t make everything out.”

Shit. Are we about to be trafficked?

We both stop talking for a while. It’s probably better for them to think I’m still knocked out. I wiggle my wrists back and forth, trying to create some room between them. I discover my ankles are bound, too. I can’t risk moving them though, I don’t know how visible I am to these guys.

I’ve been listening closely, and I think there’s only two men in the van. I know I counted five in the alley, but Lilith knocked one out. I don’t know what that means for the other two. Are they in a different vehicle? Are they silently watching me struggle against the restraints? Did they listen to my conversation with Claire?

The van slows down, and I hear a bunch of mumbled Russian. I slump and relax my whole body when we stop moving, and I hear the men get out. I hear them pull Claire out, they know she’s awake. I manage not to react when a boot connects with my side. I’m pulled out and thrown over the shoulder of someone.

We must be somewhere somewhat remote because it can’t be a normal occurrence to see two hooded girls being carried out onto a boat. I know we’re on a dock of some sort because I can hear the boards under their boots.

We get to the end of the dock, and for a second, I’m scared they’re going to throw me in the water. Elite swimmer or not, you’re going to drown with your hands and legs bound and a hood over your head. I’m not tossed into the water. Instead I’m handed over to another person who drops me onto the deck of a boat.

They prop me up against rail, and Claire slides down beside me. Our hoods are ripped off, and I wince at the rays of sun. As I shift to turn my head, I feel a bolt along the side of the boat. The men are largely ignoring us so I move my hands around to figure out if it’s sharp enough to cut through the duct tape.

“They have to wait about forty minutes for the sun to go completely down before we leave port,” Claire whispers. “They’re talking about something else, but I can’t quite hear it.”

“Are you bound with duct tape?” I ask her in a whisper. I’m already making headway with my wrists on the bolt.

“No, zip ties.” She tilts her head toward her feet.

Damn. I’ll have to find a knife to get her free. This looks like a fishing boat, I’m sure I can find something to use.

“They just used duct tape on me, and I’m working it off on a loose bolt behind me. Keep your eyes open for a knife or something sharp to cut your ties.”

One of the men comes back and leers down at us. He yells something in Russian and it must be bad because Claire growls something back at him in Russian and spits on him. He backhands her but instead of cowering she gives him a cruel smile, blood trickling down from the corner of her mouth. She says something else in Russian, which makes kneel down in front of us. He stays there, staring, for what feels like hours.

Eventually someone calls him to the front of the boat, and he leaves.

“I’m not going to repeat what he said, but it was bad, and we need to get the fuck off this boat,” she whispers frantically.

“On it,” I get a hole punctured through the tape and start ripping. Claire hits me with her knees when the same man comes back undoes the stern lines.

“Oh, fuck, hurry,” she whisper-yells. “There’s a first aid kit under that bench on the other side of the deck.”

This whole thing is risky, I can see the tops of the guys’ heads from where we’re sitting. One look, and they’re going to know. I finally get the tape off my wrists as the boat starts moving away from the dock.

One of the men looks over his shoulder at us for a minute then turns back to other guys he’s talking to. I take this opportunity to tear off the duct tape on my ankles. My head swims when I stand up, and I sway on my knees.

“Careful,” Claire whispers. “No one is looking this way. They’re making dirty jokes.”

I look around until I see the first add kit. I unzip quickly and dig through bandages and alcohol wipes until I come across a pair of medical shears. I don’t bother closing the kit, just drop where it was and slide back to my spot. A different guy looks down over the railing at us, and I pray harder than I ever have to any God listening that he won’t notice my ankles. After another tense minute, he turns and walks away from the railing.

“How good are you at swimming?” I ask while I clip the ties over her ankles.

“Not great, I don’t really know any strokes beyond basic freestyle.” She shifts, so I can clip her wrist restraints. They’ve dug into her wrists and cut them open.

“That’s fine, the water is pretty calm. I’m pretty sure we’re in the Long Island Sound so boats will be a big concern, especially in the dark. If you get tired, I can pull you along with me.”

“Are there sharks? We’re both bleeding.”

“I’ll take a shark over those guys,” I point over my shoulder. “Take off your shoes, pants, and cardigan. It’ll be cold as fuck but reduce our effort,” I say as I strip. “On the count of three dive over side of the boat. Swim underwater as long as you can, I’ll stay beside you.”

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