Strong Enough (Tall, Dark, and Dangerous #1)(57)

Or maybe he’ll even drop his gun and I can get to it before he does.

Or maybe the blow will kill him and he’ll fall into the water and I won’t have to worry about him ever again.

I go through the motions as I think, lowering the oars into the water and adjusting my feet in the bottom of the boat. I glare at Matt as he uses his shirt to wipe more blood from what must be a deeper wound seeping at the corner of his mouth.

I hope it hurts like hell, you *!

I squeeze the handles as I pull back on the oars, sending us slicing through the water in a backward motion. One, I think to myself, deciding that lucky number three will be the upswing that I aim toward Matt’s head.

I raise the oars and reset them in the water and pull again.

Two.

I don’t take my eyes off Matt as he cleans and preens, the gun always aimed roughly at my chest. I raise the oars again, resetting them in the water, my muscles clenching for what comes after stroke number three, but it never happens.

The boat lurches sharply to the right and dips down at Matt’s end as a dark, glistening shape arises from the water behind him. A thick arm wraps around Matt’s upper body and, with a vicious twist, pulls him into the shiny blackness.

“Jasper!” I cry as I leap to my feet. But he’s gone. They both are, disappeared into the liquid onyx below me.

I kneel and lean over the edge of the boat, watching, waiting. I hold my breath as I eye the glassy surface for any indication of struggle or movement. But it remains calm. So very calm.

I don’t know how many seconds elapse before my anxiety rises to fever pitch and I bend down to slap my hand on the water. “Jaaasperrr!”

Oh God, oh God, oh God!

Nothing.

Then, like a bullet, Matt breaks the surface with a splash and a gasp, reaching for the edge of the boat. His fingers clamp down over my right hand and I screech, using the fingers of my left hand to pry open his grip.

Matt jeers up into my face. “Snuffed him just like I did his whore mother,” he sputters, tightening his grip to lever himself up into the boat.

My muscles are preparing for another fight when I see Jasper surface silently behind him. I don’t have to ask if he heard Matt’s words. I can see that he did. His face is death and his eyes are murder. I see Matt’s fate in the dark gold orbs. I see his end. Matt’s life is over. He took something from Jasper that he shouldn’t have. And now Jasper will take something from him in return.

Moments and movements tick by like days. Slow, frightening days. I see only the highlight of each, like a slideshow recap.

Long fingers move to Matt’s chin.

They cup just before they close, like a lover might.

Matt’s eyes widen.

Jasper’s knuckles whiten.

Lips pull back from teeth in a sneer.

One loser.

One winner.

A sharp jerk.

A muted snap.

A pause.

My heart thunders as I watch, as I wait.

But then Matt’s fingers slither off mine. Slowly, like five thin, cold snakes. I can’t take my eyes off him as he slinks silently, bonelessly into the water, down, down, down, until he’s out of sight.

Then it’s over. As quickly and as unexpectedly as it began, it’s over. Finished. Done. Forever.

—

I’m still staring at the place where my ex-boyfriend’s face disappeared into the black lake when Jasper hoists himself into the boat. Tender yet urgent hands take me by the arms and turn me toward him, forcing my eyes away from the water.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes dark and searching in the shadows of the moonlight. When I don’t answer, he gives me a little shake. “Muse, did he hurt you?”

I shake my head negatively. Everything happened so fast. Nothing seems real. Like nothing up to this point has been real.

Cool fingers curl under my chin and Jasper tips my face up into the light. He examines it closely and then starts to gently touch and prod my head and neck, my chest and arms, and then down to my hips and legs. I sit quietly and let him check me out, my thoughts both chaotic and singular. It’s like all the mess and drama of the last months have culminated in the one thought that nothing is as it seems. No one I thought I knew was even real.

When he’s finished assessing me, Jasper threads his fingers into my hair and leans his forehead against mine. “Talk to me, Muse. Tell me what’s wrong,” he whispers.

So I do.

“Nothing is real.”

“What?”

“Nothing that I’ve ever known is real, is it?”

Jasper leans back to look at me. I can see the crease between his eyes. A frown. “What do you mean?”

“My father, my boyfriend, my mother.” I pin him with a hard stare. “You.”

Slowly, like flower petals dying and falling from their stem, Jasper’s hands slip away. Without the heat of his touch, my skin cools. Within seconds, my cheeks feel even colder than they did before. It’s like Jasper’s touch took something from me. Heat, vitality, some part of life itself. Soon, the coldness spreads and I’m filled with a damp emptiness that threatens to consume me.

I start to shiver.

“You’re in shock,” he says, moving over to insinuate himself behind me, wrapping his body around mine as much as he can as he takes up the oars.

“Are you just going to leave . . . I mean, what about the . . . the body?”