Sweet Paradise by Gene Desrochers (most read books in the world of all time .txt) 📕

in hushed tones from the far side of the boat. I knew that voice. He yelled something else, but the wind whipped the words away. Concerned about the eel in the water, I started to swim in the other direction.

The voice yelled more forcefully, “Grab the rope!” I thrashed at the water. My limbs were losing feeling. Rough fiber brushed across my cheek. I grabbed the rope and held tight.

“Boise! Boise!”

A slap to my face brought me back. For once, Leber wasn’t wearing sunglasses.

Chapter 30

Jermaine’s left elbow burst in a shower of muscle and blood as he raised the crossbow. The harsh sea wind carried his howls away. The pain was not physical. It was the agony of being rendered helpless.

The instinct to continue his onslaught on these men, his enemies, rose up in him like lava boiling through granite. Voices swirled in his head, a hurricane commanding him to kill. To never stop killing until he was at the top of the mountain.

He’d eliminated Gilroy already. Who had shot him? He hadn’t been able to make out a face in the hazy, half-moonlit darkness. Did it matter? Everyone out here was going to die. He’d kill all the sharks, all the fish, all the whales. All of it.

He braced himself against the helm of the boat, gaining purchase and rising to his knees. Using his good arm, he propped the butt of the crossbow against his shoulder. When the shooter came over the gunwale, he’d bury an arrow in the bastard’s eye, sweet as a flower in a lapel. He was the best shooter in the region, maybe the world. No, not maybe, he was the best. They just wouldn’t let him compete. Soon, they would pay. He had set a machine in motion that they couldn’t stop. No one would suspect a thing. No need to outwit security, they’d be the ones letting her into the arena.

A thump on the side of the boat brought him back to the task at hand. The games were seven days away. He had to deal with this problem first.

Chapter 31

“D id you hit him?” I asked from my prone position on the soggy bottom of the row boat.

My breath came out in labored gasps. We pitched and rolled so violently, it was hard to believe we weren’t capsizing.

Leber gazed at the bobbing fishing boat as he answered. “I’m pretty certain. Question is, did I put him down for keeps?”

Leber had to be one hell of a shot to hit someone on a swaying boat while this rowboat we occupied also pitched and rolled in the nasty swell. My time in basic training had made me a competent shot, but nothing special. Maybe he’d just gotten lucky. Leber struck me as the lucky type.

I sucked oxygen in nose, out mouth, trying to calm my jangled nerves. My body shivered badly, the gusty conditions weren’t helping. When you got far enough away from shore, even near the Equator, it got chilly. Add having a crossbow and a gun stuck in your face for hours on end, and a little shock was understandable. I tried to forgive myself for not being tougher.

“Just take a second. He’s hit, I’m sure of it.”

I shook my head like a wet dog as a spray of water doused my face. “You don’t understand. This one’s like a guy on PCP. The bullet’s likely to make him madder.”

Leber stared at me a while, then pulled a gun from his ankle holster. “I suppose you’ll need this if you’re gonna be any help.” I took the weapon and nearly fumbled it into Davy Jones’ Locker.

Leber put a large hand over my shaking ones. “Can you do this?” he said, his face serious as stone.

I nodded, stilled my convulsions and clenched my teeth. “What choice do I have?”

He pushed the gun that I’d been pointing in his direction downward. He clicked off the safety. “Just point and shoot ... at the bad guys.”

“There’s only one,” I said as he steered us alongside using the oars.

“I saw two men with you, one at the wheel and ... ”

“That was Gilroy Antsy at the wheel. He’s dead.” I quickly explained Gilroy’s demise.

“So he’s using a crossbow?”

“I think so. He likes arrows.”

The rowboat bumped the side of the fishing vessel louder than we would have liked. Leber remained impassive. I re-engaged the safety and tucked the gun to climb aboard. My face and body ached from the beatings and the pepper spray and the hangover. Shit, maybe I was still a little inebriated.

Leber secured the rowboat to the side of the larger boat as he hoisted himself up and lay down on the inside of the railing, just out of sight of whatever waited on the other side of the raised gunwale.

I clambered up beside him and we positioned ourselves on the edge, our noses inches apart. I slipped off one of my soaked sneakers. Leber nodded, liking the idea. He pointed to the left and pointed at his chest, then pointed right and at the shoe in my hand. Finally, he pointed at me and straight up. After staring at him blankly for a couple moments, I nodded my understanding.

Gun out. Safety off. I flung the shoe to my right, then both of us popped up, Leber going over to the left and I went straight over the top, guns out. We fired. Our bullets both entered harmlessly into the deck. Blood was splattered everywhere. Gilroy Antsy lay in the corner, a trickle of blood and that iron stench coming off him despite the gusting wind. There was another splatter of blood on the far gunwale. It appeared that Leber had indeed hit Jermaine.

“Shit,” I muttered.

Leber put a finger to his lips.

We climbed down to the deck. Other than the wind and water, no sound. I started shaking again. Where was he? There weren’t a lot of places to go. I ticked off