His body wanted to go into survival mode. It wanted to fight. Unfortunately, with his hands and feet still bound, his options were limited. Still, he thrashed his feet and twisted his body to make their work harder.
“I told you to kill him,” the woman yelled.
Dylan paused, then yelled back, “He’ll be dead soon enough.”
It sounded as if Dylan didn’t want to shoot him. Why not? He couldn’t be squeamish if he’d shot Oscar and his mom right in their fucking heads. That scene had been a horror show. After the first messy shot, you had to have a strong stomach to pull the trigger again and again.
“No,” the woman yelled. “He has to be dead. No loose ends.”
“Who made you the boss?”
“You are the stupid one who complicated my plan by kidnapping a deputy. Now you have to fix it.”
“Fine.” Dylan huffed. “Where’s the gun?”
“I have it. Get him closer to the edge. I want to keep the blood off the boat.”
Dylan’s hands hooked under Todd’s shoulders. His breaths grew ragged as he struggled with Todd’s weight. “Grab his feet.”
Without propulsion, the boat turned with the current.
“Don’t we need to weigh him down?” asked the cold-blooded bitch. “Do we have something heavy we can tie to him?”
“No need. He doesn’t have any body fat. He’ll sink right to the bottom.” Dylan was right. Dead bodies sank at first, then floated to the surface after decomposition gases formed. Depending on water temp and location, that could be a few days.
The woman grabbed his ankles. Despite Todd’s struggles, they heaved him onto the edge of the boat. The engine, now idling, glugged.
“Hold him still,” the woman said. Fabric rustled.
With their engine quiet, Todd heard a second motor approaching.
Another boat!
Dylan’s head snapped around. “Someone’s coming. If you’re going to shoot him, hurry the fuck up.”
The woman was rooting in her pocket, probably for the gun. Todd caught the glint of moonlight on metal as she pulled out a pistol. He shifted his eyeball in the other direction. Nothing but water, dark and terrifying, stretched out in an endless, shifting void. He was an excellent swimmer, but he’d never practiced with his hands and feet tied. He wasn’t a fucking SEAL. Was the water a better option than a bullet? She couldn’t miss at this range. A gunshot would be quick and clean. Drowning seemed more terrifying. But he couldn’t give up. His survival instinct took over.
He had no choice.
He pulled his knees to his chest and kicked out. His bound feet caught the woman in the belly, knocking her backward. The impact also broke Dylan’s grip and sent Todd’s shoulders over the edge of the boat. He dangled, but Dylan’s fist closed on his pant leg.
“Get him!” the woman yelled.
Dylan grunted and swiped at Todd’s bicep. Todd twisted away and kicked off Dylan’s grip. Todd slid over the side. He free-fell for a split second, then hit the water headfirst. The lake was cold and shocking. He tumbled and lost his bearings in the darkness. He opened his eye and saw moonlight above him. With his arms bound behind his back, it took him a few seconds to right himself. His lungs burned. He kicked toward the light. When his head broke the surface, he spit out a mouthful of water and gasped for air. Unable to tread water, he felt himself sinking. Panic stole his control, and he thrashed. Water invaded his mouth and nose. His throat closed, suffocating him. His vision blurred. He sputtered and coughed. Even though his face was wet, he could feel tears burning his eyes and clogging his nose.
He was going to drown.
Stop!
Floating was hard for him even without being tied, but it wasn’t impossible. Fighting for calm, he tilted his head back and inflated his lungs like an inner tube. To save energy, he moved his feet as little as possible, kicking them in small movements like a dolphin’s tail only when necessary if the water was over his face when he needed to breathe.
He could keep his mouth and nose above water for a while, but he must remain calm.
Panic would kill him.
As he hung, suspended in the water, his breathing didn’t return to normal, but it did begin to slow. His heart rate decreased from full-out sprint to hard run.
A gunshot rang out, startling him. He jolted at a disturbance in the water a few feet away. Water sloshed over his face and into his eyes, and he lost control of his respirations.
As if not drowning while submerged in a dark lake with one’s hands and feet bound weren’t challenging enough.