Page 84 of Crashing Tides

Panic pulls me out of the haze of pain. Clarity comes sharp and sudden as the slice of a knife. I can’t move. I can’t talk.

Thrashing does absolutely nothing. I can barely feel my legs. I flash back to that moment in the water, when I didn’t have legs anymore. But I can still flex my ankles, my feet, even if I can’t seem to move my legs or really feel them.

It’s fucking freezing. I thrash again and a loud splash rings out.

Someone says something. I tense. Who the fuck is here with me?

Then I remember. The voice over the phone. Duncan. The walk across campus with the hard barrel of a gun pressed into my ribs. The parking lot. The crowbar. Pain.

It’s with total and complete humiliation that I realize I’ve been kidnapped.

Terror floods my veins. Instinctively, I struggle, then stop when I smash my head against something. My teeth crack down on my tongue, and the taste of blood fills my mouth.

There’s a boot to my ribs. “Knock it off.” That familiar voice again. I want to throw up as soon as I hear it. “You trying to capsize us?”

Capsize? Oh, no.

Oh no oh no oh no.

We’re in a boat. That’s what the whining sound is: an engine.

I don’t like this. The rag in my mouth stifles a whimper of panic. I try to move my hands and find that I can only curl my fingers. My wrists feel like they’ve fused together.

Somebody tied me up. Based on the total lack of feeling in my limbs, I’ve been tied up for a while.

I force myself to take several deep breaths. My eyes are open, but it’s totally dark, which means they probably put a bag over my head. That’s what kidnappers do, right?

I hang onto this thought, because there’s another one I’ve been avoiding: I’ve been brought here to die. I don’t know how much I’m worth to this person, but I know that merfolk are rare. If Duncan’s fur and bones would equate to a million dollars, then I’m⁠—

I’m probably gonna for a lot of money on the black market. Most likely in pieces.

I need to get the fuck out of here right now.

I flail. To my captors, it probably looks like I’m wriggling like a worm. Trussed up as I am, there’s not much else I can do. Pain lances through my chest, but I ignore it. I have to.

“Fuck’s sake,” says the voice and then I get kicked again.

The pain is agonizing. It jars my ribs. I feel like I’m getting cracked open, like my insides are about to be ripped out.

Bile rises in my throat and I start to panic. If I vomit with a rag in my mouth, will I suffocate? That’s gotta be a horrible way to die.

“Quit moving.” Someone slams my ribs again.

I scream. The gag can’t muffle it entirely. Later, I’ll feel a sense of smug satisfaction at this. Can’t shut me up, motherfuckers. But in the moment, I’m already regretting the decision, because now there’s a boot in my spine, pressing hard enough to rearrange my vertebrae.

“Careful,” mutters a voice. “We need him in one piece.”

That’s not reassuring. A whimper builds in my throat. Tears stream down my face.

I’m so fucking cold.

I struggle to sense the world around me. I know better than to try and use my magic right now when I can’t see and I don’t know what’s going on, but maybe I can sort of… feel things out? I breathe shallowly and try to connect with the water below. But I can’t find anything. For the first time, the inescapable pull of the ocean is gone.

The motor cuts out. I stop trying to perceive the weather with my magic. Stop trying to build up a whirlpool around us, which I’m sure isn’t successful, and wouldn’t help me anyway. If we capsized and I actually managed to turn, my hands would still be bound. I’d probably drown.

But at least I’d die with some dignity, I think, squirming again.

Rough hands catch me by my shoulders. Another set of hands grasp my ankles, and I am hoisted into the air, carried for a distance, then dumped unceremoniously on a hard, uneven surface.