Free Undertow by Amber Lynn Natusch Page B

pried his eyes off of it and pinned them on me, every hair on my body stood at attention. I had been wrong about him. He was far worse than I ever imagined.
    Unable to pretend he wasn't scaring the shit out of me, I closed my eyes, wanting to block out his image, however futile that act would be. I just couldn't stand staring him down any longer. Thankfully for me, I didn't have to.
    I heard footsteps running down the stairs and opened my eyes in time to see Decker lunge at Damon, snatching his knife-wielding arm upward and bending his wrist into an impossible angle until he dropped the would-be weapon. The clanging sound it made seemed to echo off the walls for an eternity. But it was soon drowned out by their fighting. Decker had Damon pinned against the far wall, his forearm pressed against his throat. Damon struggled to pry himself free, but he was smaller and unable to gain leverage against Decker.
    “Decker,” I called, slightly scared by the intensity he was pouring into his attack, even if it was well deserved. “You're going to crush his trachea.”
    He let up just enough to allow Damon to breathe, but he would not abandon his position of power.
    “Afraid you might not get a piece too?” Damon wheezed, baiting Decker. It wasn't a wise choice.
    “If you so much as breathe in her direction until she gets off of this boat, I'll kill you, do you understand?” he threatened. “It would look like an accident too. Those happen on fishing boats, you know? How easy would it be for you to slip off the stack into the sea while nobody is looking? Or maybe a loose piece of rope finds its way around your ankle just as a pot is launched and it drags you down to the sea floor with it? Those are things that happen all the time in this line of work. You're relatively new around here. They'd chalk it up to rookie error and never think another thing about it.”
    Damon's eyes were hard, but there was a crack in that toughness. Decker was getting underneath his armor. He was afraid that he wasn't lying.
    “Are you willing to go back to jail again?” Damon asked, looking to me for a reaction. I gave him nothing.
    “If it kept a motherfucker like you away from her, yes. I would.” Decker's words were cold as ice, and I knew he wasn't bluffing. The thought both scared and invigorated me. It was a disturbing realization.
    “So you're going to rat me out?” Damon pressed, wanting to know exactly where he stood.
    “Not a chance,” Decker replied, moving in closer to his face so that their noses were nearly touching. “I want you to live in fear of what I might do to you. I want you looking over your shoulder every time you turn your back on me. I want you to know what it's like to be intimidated. You're going to live in fear of me for the rest of your time here. You know what I've done. You know I'm good for it.”
    I didn't know what Decker meant by his last threat, but I could see the weight of those words on Damon's face. He believed everything Decker said, and, for whatever reason, I did too. There was a sincerity in his threats that made me think that Damon might go missing any day, and, perhaps worst of all, a small part of me—a primal instinct that wasn't committed to saving lives—didn't care.
    “Now get your slimy ass back on deck and don't let me see you anywhere else until I tell you otherwise,” Decker ordered, shoving Damon toward the stairway to the door. “Remember what I told you. I'll make it look like an accident.”
    Damon staggered up the stairway and out the door before Decker had a chance to elaborate. Once he was out of sight, Decker took a long deep breath, his body facing away from me. His head fell back as he sighed, an attempt to disperse the adrenaline that was undoubtedly coursing through him.
    “I should explain,” he started, still not turning to face me.
    “No. It's okay,” I replied softly, my voice shakier than I expected. Hearing that, he turned to face me, his expression soft and