He woke with his lungs feeling like they were exploding. He coughed and spat and suddenly a rush of water spewed forth from his throat.
“Really?” a voice that was clearly not the one from the radio said. “I rescue you from the storm of the century and the thanks I get is that you vomit on me?”
Troy looked up. For a second, he couldn’t make his mind work. He couldn’t pull up the familiar face from his memory banks. It was an odd feeling to see someone you were sure you knew, but couldn’t pin it down. That frustrating moment when you can’t remember your favorite book, or your favorite song…or maybe who wrote it or who sang it. He wretched again, careful not to get it on his rescuer, and looked up at the face again.
Female, good-looking, youngish, hair up in a tight bun. Suddenly, the image snapped together with his stubborn memory.
“Clarice?” he asked and coughed again. “What in God’s name are you doin’ out here?”
“Saving your sorry ass it looks like.” She smiled and handed him a towel.
“Much obliged,” he said putting the towel on his head to dry his hair.
A shockwave ran through him as he realized something was missing from his head. The hat. He’d had the Outback Tea Stained straw cowboy hat with the peacock plume since all the way back in Pawleys Island. God, how long ago had that been? He wasn’t sure, but it had to be going on six or seven years now. A feeling of sadness struck him harder than he’d expected, and Clarice must’ve seen it in his eyes.
“Troy,” she said softly. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Ah, nothin’.” He sniffed and took a deep breath. “Just lost an old friend is all.”
Her face reflected his tone and she put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry.”
“S’ok. I’ll be okay eventually.”
She took a deep breath in.
“Well, I’m here if you need someone to talk to.”
“Thanks, Clarice.”
A silence fell between them. Then Troy snapped his head up.
“My boat! Dangit! We’ve got to get to the sharkin’ grounds!”
“I’m sorry…what? Troy, your boat is at the bottom of the ocean right now. And sharking grounds? What is that?”
“My boat is…”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’m sorry. It got washed over right after you jumped in. Went down fast.”
He was stunned. It wasn’t just a boat. It was his home. Gone. All gone. The ocean had won again. And now he was on a slow-moving tugboat going to the middle of nowhere with a nudist protestor — albeit an attractive nudist protestor. He jumped up and tossed the towel back on the bed he’d been lying on.
“Wait…how fast is this tug?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “No clue. I’m just riding along with Mel.”
“Mel? As in old Mel?”
She smiled. “Yup. That’s the one. We’re heading out to get his boat back in.”
“Then there might be a chance to save them. Where is he? Is he up top? I need to—”
“Whoa there, cowboy.” She interrupted him and put a hand on his chest to stop him. “You need to get out of those wet clothes. I found a few things packed away that must belong to the owner of the boat. They look like they should fit okay.”
She motioned to a stack of clothing sitting on the foot of the bed. Troy turned to see what looked like a neon pink shirt on top of a pair of white shorts, but he nearly fainted when he saw what was sitting on top of them. There she was…his hat. Damp and a little rumpled, but intact. The plume was gone, but that wasn’t so bad. He figured he’d replace that with something or other when he got time. He picked it up and worked his hand inside to help restore its proper shape.
He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead. He rested the hat on his head and breathed in deep and slow. Welcome back, old friend, he thought.
He unfolded the pink tank top to find an airbrushed sunset image on the front with the words – MYRTLE BEACH MURFF CLUB. He had no idea what that meant, but he didn’t care. It was dry and pretty close to his size. He pulled his hat off and laid it on the bed. His linen shirt was soggy and stuck to his skin. He peeled it off and dropped it on the floor. He used the towel to dry his back and chest and was surprised when Clarice whistled. He turned around and saw her still standing in the doorway leaning against the jamb.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll uh…I’ll meet you up on deck, I suppose.”
She grinned at him. “Troy, it’s okay. I’m a nudist. Remember?
He felt his cheeks flush and scratched his beard. “I know that, but I ain’t. So, if you don’t mind?”
“Shucks,” she tsked. “I’ve been wondering what was under all those clothes.”
Troy opened his mouth, but found he had no reply for that. She didn’t say anything, but she held his gaze for a moment longer.
“Maybe next time,” she said as she turned and walked away, closing the door behind her.
Troy shook his head and felt his eyebrows rise. Interestin’, he thought. He pulled the pink tank top on and changed into the white shorts. A different look for him, for sure, but somehow, the clothes seemed to fit just right.
He opened the door and wobbled down the hall and up the tiny stairs to climb up to the deck of the chugging tugboat. It was a dark gray and rust colored heap of tank-like boat slamming heavily through the waves. Troy held tight to the rail as he walked to the cabin. He jerked the door open and slammed it behind him.
“Well, well, well,” a craggy old voice said to him. “Look what the nets have brought in. The sea spits out what it don’t like, ya know that?”
Troy couldn’t help but grin at the old man, but his grin was quickly erased as he took in the full picture of the salty sea dog sitting in the chair. He looked like he always did—gray headed, gray skinned, wrinkled, and ruddy from years on the open water. But as he swiveled in his chair to face him, Troy realized that the man was naked.
Troy quickly averted his eyes, holding up a hand to block his view.
“Geezus, Mel,” he blurted. “What gives? Why ain’t ya wearin’ no clothes?”
He heard Mel laugh behind him, a gravely hoarse sound like an old radiator coming to life.
“Ha! What’s the matter, boy? Ain’t never seen a real man before?”
“I’ve seen plenty,” Troy replied, still holding his hand up. “But usually they have clothes on for cryin’ out loud.”
“Well, Clarice here is showin’ me the joys of livin’ life in the buff. Repressed people like you have made us believe that wearin’ clothes is the natural way of things. It ain’t! We’re the only race on the planet that actually covers our bodies.”
“I think there’s a good reason for that, Mel. Would ya just cover up for my tender sensibilities?”
“Here hun,” he heard Clarice’s voice say to him. “Here’s a robe. He’ll learn eventually.”
Behind him, he could hear Mel wrapping the robe around himself and plopping back into the captain’s chair.
“All right, it’s safe ya lily livered fraidy cat.”
Troy peeked with one eye and was happy to find that Mel had indeed covered himself up.
“Thank you,” he said.
Mel just grunted.
“And thanks for comin’ to get me,” he added.
“Lucky for you we heard that distress call. If it weren’t for that, you’d be a hangin’ out with Davy Jones.”
“That’s true.”
“What in the gods’ names brought ya out here in this squall anyway?”
“I’m tryin’ to find two women.”
“Now yer talkin’, brother.”
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s not like that. This is serious, Mel. My friend, Meira, and her daughter, Riley, have been kidnapped. Jack’s got them, and his son…who apparently is the guy who’s been choppin’ the heads off of people around here.”
“What the…Jack? As in Jamaica Jack?”
“That’s the
one. And his son. I think they’re headed out to his favorite sharkin’ grounds to…well, to get rid of ‘em.”
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. I always hated that bastard. Braggin’ ‘bout how great he is at sea. He’s just a hack, that guy. Did I ever tell ya ‘bout the time he—”
“Mel, please,” Troy interrupted. “You can tell me all about it once we get out there and…hopefully, stop them from feeding these two women to the sharks.”
Mel raised one eyebrow. “I suppose we can grab my boat on the way back in, yeah?”
Troy nodded his head and took a deep breath. Clarice laid a hand on Mel’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry, hun. We’ll get you a new boat,” she said softly to the robed seaman.
For the first time, Troy realized she’d been naked the whole time standing there. He looked away quickly. He heard a smile creep into her voice.
“It’s okay, Troy. I’ve got another robe,” she said. “Now, let’s go get these two girls. They must be something special to have caught your heart.”
Troy swallowed and realized how true that was. He could only hope it wasn’t too late. He put his hand in his pocket to check his phone and realized it wasn’t there. It was probably at the bottom of the ocean with his boat. He wondered if Meira had gotten any more messages through. Probably not. He’d been too late to save Harry Nedman back in Afghanistan and it was looking like the same thing was going to happen here.
“Which way, boy?” Mel snapped him out of his thoughts.
Troy pointed out the window to the northeast, out into the dark ocean.
“That way.”
Riley saw Barry’s red hair silhouetted against the gray light coming from outside the hatch. She hunched back away from the opening and tried to conceal the two-foot piece of jagged pipe she’d torn from the floor with her mother’s help and the fact that the cool water had helped her slip out of the chains holding her to the wall. Her heart pounded in her chest as the boy’s figure grew larger coming toward her.
“Get your ass up here,” he said through a grin that was bordering on maniacal.
“Screw you!” she yelled trying as hard as she could to sound brave.
She glanced back at Meira and her mother nodded.
“She’s not coming up,” Meira said. “I’m coming up. You can do whatever you want to me, but you will not hurt my child.”
“Beeyotch,” Barry laughed. “I’ll do whatever the hell I want. You’re both gonna get a change of scenery today.”
Riley squeezed the pipe tighter and leaned forward. Her mother grabbed her arm and mouthed the words not yet to her. Riley’s grip relaxed a little and she took one step toward the hatch.
“If I come up and let you…do whatever it is you want to do to me…will you let my mom go?”
“Riley, no!”
Barry considered this for a second. He licked his lips and inhaled slowly.
“Anything?”
Riley shuddered. She was old enough to know what this likely meant, but still young enough to be completely and utterly terrified at the unknown debauchery Barry might actually want to do. She knew him for what he was now—a murderer. She suspected he was repressed sexually and was taking it out on whatever girls were unlucky enough to cross his path.
“Yes,” she said clearing the anxiety from her throat. “But you have to promise you’ll let her go.”
“Oh, I’ll let her go all right. Now get yer ass up here.”
Riley shot one glance back at her mom. She had tears in her eyes, but she clenched her jaw and turned back to Barry.
“Back up and let me climb out.”
Barry moved a couple of steps backward and held out his hand with a mock flourish the way a prince might do to invite a princess into his carriage. What an asshole, Riley thought. As she took the first steps up out of the dark hold, she pretended to slip to give her eyes a few extra seconds to adjust to the light.
“God your such an idiot,” Barry said as he lunged down at her.
He grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her upward. She skinned her knee on the last step and saw blood begin to ooze from it. Swallowing the yelp that wanted to come from her throat, she tried desperately to calm her breathing and focus on where she was going to hit him.
His head. The gross matted orange hair was going to be her target. She felt her nostrils flair as she found her balance on the deck. A quick glance around told her they were far out to sea under gray, rumbling, storm clouds. That part was depressing, but she was momentarily excited to see that no one else was around…just her and Barry. No sign of the guy he’d called his dad.
“Yup,” he said, apparently seeing her scan the deck. “It’s just you and me, sweet tits. Now, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”
He reached out and grabbed the neck of her shirt. Riley heard it tear in his grip and suddenly the scene went into slow motion. Her vision narrowed and all she could see was his freckled face grinning at her under his mop of red hair. She reached up and pushed him backward and her shirt tore down the front and fell off, but she wasn’t embarrassed to be standing topless in front of him. She wasn’t a thirteen-year-old girl anymore, she was a warrior princess and he was an orc…and her mission was to remove this orc’s head.
When her shirt fell free, he fell backward from the sudden release of tension. As he fell, she swung the pipe up and grabbed it with both hands like a sword. With speed she didn’t know she had, she swung it hard at her target—that ugly hair.
The jagged end of the pipe sang through the air toward him, but his fall was his good fortune. He fell down onto the deck and the pipe narrowly missed his head. His eyes went wide with surprise, but then settled back into the smiling madness that she had seen before. He fell back to his elbows, but quickly scooted backward on his butt away from her.
She took a step toward him, but he backed into a storage box against the boat’s cabin. He reached inside and to her horror he produced an ugly, menacing looking sword. She looked down at her pipe and realized she had lost. She’d make a mistake and now she was going to pay for it.
He stood up slowly and propped one hand on the tall hilt of the Dadao sword, the dirty blade pointing toward the sky. With his other hand, he jerked his own shirt off and tossed it to the side.
“So you want to challenge Tyron the Tyrannical, do you?”
His voice sounded strange, as if it wasn’t his. Riley realized he had gone full game mode crazy. He was his Bladehammer game character—the massive orc who had never been beaten. She took a deep breath. Two can play at this game, she thought. She had the training of a blade master in the game and she knew the moves by heart. At least I’ll do enough damage to keep him from hurting Mom.
She held her hand out, palm up, and flicked her fingers toward her.
“Come get some,” she said softly.
His grin faltered for a second, but he didn’t waste any time gathering his composure. He jerked the blade off the ground and swung it with impossible speed toward her. She dove backward and felt the air of his sword whoosh past her chin. That was close, she thought and rolled to her feet.
“No one fights Tyron the Tyrannical and lives to tell about it, bitch!”
He lunged at her again, but this time she was farther away. She leaned back slightly, jumped to his left, and brought her pipe up in an arc over his exposed shoulder. He was insanely quick and for a second, she thought she might not be able to hit him. But his face went pale. He must have realized he’d left his neck was vulnerable. He allowed his body to drop to the deck, but he wasn’t fast enough to completely dodge the ragged end of the pipe.
Riley saw it dig into the pale, freckled flesh of his neck, and blood exploded out of his skin in a fountain high above them. It rained down, sticky and hot on her head. He dropped his sword and clutched at his throat to try and stop the bleeding. He opened his mouth to try to say something, but only a strange gurgle came out.
Riley stared at the gore and watched with somet
hing close to pity as he scrambled away from her on his back. She raised the pipe to hit him again. She swung down hard, but he was still fighting. He rolled away and lurched to his feet, but she wasn’t about to let up. This was going to end right now.
She swung the pipe at him again and he let go of his throat to catch it. Blood poured from the gaping wound in his throat and pulsed every few seconds. I’ve hit his jugular, Riley thought. If I can just stay alive for another minute, he’ll bleed out. He’s a dead man walking.
And suddenly, the pipe was wrenched from her hands. He had it now and was tossing it aside, over into the water. She was defenseless. But he was still dying. She turned around and ran. But he was still incredibly fast. His leg flew out and tripped her. She crashed hard onto the deck and felt pain flair up into her chest. He’d knocked the wind out of her. She rolled over to see him standing over her. He had his blade back and had it held high over his head. His face was contorted in rage as blood flung all over her from his neck.
All she could do was wait for him to bring down his sword and kill her.
21
Crash Into Me
Visibility was maybe twenty to thirty feet at best through the drizzling rain that had started pelting down on Mel’s tugboat. Troy stood staring out the window with a pair of ancient binoculars perched on his face. Clarice hung onto the old sea captain’s shoulder, squinting into the gray rolling waves ahead.
“This ain’t gonna work,” Troy muttered.
“Don’t give up so fast, boy,” Mel said. “We’ll find ‘em if the sea ain’t ate ‘em yet.”
Troy turned to look at him and saw the old man was far from sure about that fact. Clarice stood next to him, still naked, but he’d become desensitized to seeing her bare and quite shapely figure. He thought maybe there was something to the whole nudism thing and maybe he’d try it out one day. But for now, he turned back to the blank canvas of windshield.
“You sure we’re in the right place?” he asked as he peered through the binoculars again.
Skull Wave (A Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Book 5) Page 18