Romance on the Edge 01 - Hooked

from one boat into the other with Peter’s help, the sleeping bag still clutched like a life preserver around her. “Now, get Garrett t-to Wanda. Hurry.”
    They took off, the skiff on plane as it flew toward the village. Sonya sent a silent prayer that Garrett would be all right and then bent next to Aidan, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Aidan.”
    “Sonya?” He seemed as though he’d been unaware of her boarding his boat as he’d been caught up in his own hell. “I killed him, Sonya. I killed the son of a bitch.” He wiped his nose with his forearm.
    “You s-saved my life, Aidan,” she pointed out though he didn’t seem to hear her.
    “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted him dead?” He didn’t wait for Sonya to answer as he sobbed. “Most of my life. Even fantasized how I’d do it, if given the opportunity. Never thought I actually do it, though.”
    He laid Earl’s limp body down and curled in on himself. “Goddamn, Sonya.” Her name came out on a tortured sob, and she wrapped her arms around him.
    “Come on Aidan. L-let’s get to shore.” The sleeping bag was helping with the cold, but it wasn’t enough. She needed to get dry, and Aidan needed to remove himself from Earl’s dead body or she was afraid of what he might do.
    He angled his head so that he could see her. “How do I face them? Your grandparents? Lana? Oh God, Roland.” He shut his eyes on a moan. “He’s going to kill me.”
    “When they h-hear what h-happened, they’ll understand.”
    He shook his head. “Roland won’t.”
    She agreed, but didn’t voice it. “Then we’ll d-deal with it. But Aidan,” she captured his gaze, “I’m going to be in t-trouble if we don’t get to s-shore. I’m really c-cold.”
    He seemed to shake himself free of the horror of the evening’s events as he focused on her and what needed to be done.
    Sonya breathed a silent sigh of relief. She’d hoped putting herself in Aidan’s hands would force him to concentrate on her rather than the realities of what had gone on here tonight. At some point, she would need to deal with those realities herself.
    Earl had caused the deaths of her parents and Sasha.
    She sat in the stern, exhausted, as Aidan untied his skiff and positioned it to be towed behind as he drove his father’s boat to shore. Sonya looked over the side at the black tide steadily creeping to shore, trying not to see Earl’s dead body as it lay bleeding in the bottom of the boat. She swallowed back the bile that suddenly rose in her throat. Everything she’d believed was wrong, twisted.
    They’d lived, fished, next to a killer all these years and had never suspected.
    When they reached shore, everyone waited for them. Grams with Barbarella cradled against her chest, Gramps armed with a shovel, Lana clutching a lantern with both hands, and Roland, standing stoic next to her, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dirty cargo pants.
    Looked as though Earl’s fireworks/pipe bombs had woken up both camps.
    “What in dang blazes is going on?” Gramps waded into the surf, his face going pale as he caught sight of Earl’s body. “Do we need a medic?”
    “N-no,” Sonya said, stumbling as the skiff rubbed against the rocky beach.
    “Why you wearing a sleeping bag?”
    “I w-went for a s-swim.”
    “What?”
    “I’ll explain l-later. Right now, I need to get w-warmed up.” She looked Gramps in the eye. “Aidan’s going to n-need us. P-promise m-me you’ll keep an open mind, okay.”
    Gramps narrowed his eyes but nodded.
    “What the fuck!” Roland’s voice rang out as he saw their cargo. “Who did this?”
    Aidan’s face went white, but he squared his shoulders and stood up to his uncle. “I did. I shot him.”
    “You?” Roland advanced on Aidan, splashing into the surf. “You killed my brother? Your own father?”
    “Yes.” Aidan swallowed, rolling his lips tight between his teeth as though to hold in his emotions. “He was going to kill Sonya and Garrett.”
    Grams and Lana gasped. Gramps cursed, and not with one of his colorful adaptations either.
    The rest of the their explanations were interrupted as the Calypso finally roared up from the south, her bow slicing through the surf, every light onboard blazing like a beacon in the darkness. She cut her engines, and waves rolled like thick black thunderheads from under the hull, their force tossing the skiffs as they crashed to shore. A high powered spotlight pointed at each person on the