Defy (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 3)(22)

I shove Farrington out of its path and put myself between her and the creature.

“GET TO THE BOAT AND GET OUT OF HERE!” As I say it, the alligator lunges at me.

I counterattack; sliding around behind the behemoth, I grab hold of its body. It’s f*cking hard, heavy and massive with a wide girth. I have a second to deduce that it’s got to be a male that weighs somewhere in the vicinity of five hundred pounds. Squeezing my legs around him, my first priority is to grab hold of his mouth to keep it shut. With a few proper moves I can prove to him I’m a foe he doesn’t want to mess with, and I might be able to fend him off and survive this.

If he opens his mouth and gets any piece of me between those massive hinged jaws with five thousand tons of biting torque, I’m severely f*cked! If he gets a good grip on me, he’ll go into his death-roll, dragging me under the water while spinning over and over, disorienting me until I either bleed out or drown. Son of bitch can also hold his breath for two hours if he’d like, so either way, if he gets me under the water, I don’t have a f*cking chance of surviving.

Farrington reaching the boat is the last thing I see before the alligator flips over and takes us both under.





Chapter Six



Rachel





Any normal man being dragged to his death would be screaming and crying out for help. Any normal man wouldn’t have attempted to fend off an alligator.

My assailant—or rescuer, or whoever he is—isn’t a normal man.

I spy a couple of oars resting in the bottom of the old, battered boat. I grab one and thrust it in the water, ready to row away . . .

And hesitate.

Is he really who he says he is?

Is it all a ploy? Some tactic to keep me in line? The knife guy was just another interim tactic to terrorize me. He never really cut me. So is this part of the brainwashing? Will it turn into something like Stockholm syndrome?

He jumped in front of a freaking alligator to save me and told me to get to the boat and get out of here!

Do I help him?

Shit, shit, shit!

I paddle urgently over to the place where the two went down and brandish the heavy oar over my shoulder like a baseball bat, ready to strike.

It must have dragged him into deeper waters, because I can’t see any sign of either of them. I turn my head frantically in every direction, hoping to catch a glimpse, but there is no movement in the water, no thrashing, no air bubbles . . .

No air bubbles.

My heart falls into my stomach. How long has he been under? How long did it take me to get over here? Two minutes? Three minutes?

Damn it, show yourself! I will him to come back up . . . alive.

The longer my eyes glide over the surface of the water, the more I realize the man is dead.

Why? Why would he do that? Why would he die for me?

Miguel’s dogs’ noisy approach cutting through the silence of the late night hour ignites my adrenaline—I have to run!

I know I have to run. I want to run! But I hold myself—force myself—to keep still and rock solid.

Wait just a few more seconds.

Still nothing.

I lower my eyes, distraught and despairing, waiting for his headless or armless body to come floating to the surface like they do in movies.

HOLY FUCK! The two bust up the through the sheet of nearly black water so close they slam into the side of the weathered wooden rowboat I’m standing in.

The blow throws me back, and I fall hard to my ass in the bottom of the old boat. The entire thing rocks, and I’m terrified it’s going to capsize in their wake.

I scramble up to my knees and peer over the edge. The two of them are embroiled in a death match.

Water sprays as the gator thrashes and throws the weight of his body against the man, who gets knocked to the gator’s side. It opens its massive mouth, and a primordial, growling hiss that sends chills coursing over my flesh rolls through its lungs—a warning and a promise.

The man swims backward, as if to give the gator space. Space and room to swim away, maybe?

It doesn’t work—the gator cuts through the water with a snakelike slither—Jesus, it’s fast! His mammoth jaws open wide as he charges.

The guy cocks his fist back, surges his body to the left and drives the punch to the side of the gator’s eye.

It pulls away from him and twists its tail ferociously, shoving the guy backwards. That’s when I reach out and jab the creature in the back with the end of the oar.

The guy looks up from the gator for just a second, an expression of shocked disbelief painted on his face.

I hit the gator again before it slides away from me and back towards the guy.

Was that for nothing!? I was trying to help him, and all I did was succeed in making the thing madder!

That’s when the guy smiles over at me. Literally!! Like he’s not fighting a thirteen foot alligator in deep muddy water. It’s almost like . . . he’s flirting!

THEN HE WINKS! As he slips back down under the mud, he lets the water swallow him whole.

My heart is palpitating as the animal slides over the spot where the man was and should be.

I can’t breathe. He’s going to die. He’s going to die! Why the FUCK was he smiling and winking before he went to go die!?

Panicked, I row closer. Maybe if I can get right on top of it, I can hit it harder. Or maybe it’ll take a bite of this decrepit hundred-year-old rowboat then eat me.