Trent quickly schools his features, but I’ve seen the truth, “All hear say.”
“See, when there’s three girls who tried to make reports, I don’t believe you.” I get into this face. “Not to mention I caught you in the middle of attempting the fourth.” I practically spit at him. “They didn’t get far though, did they? Daddy must have deep pockets.” I step back, continuing to watch him.
“No, but my uncle does.” I hate the way he is looking cocky, like he’s proud of himself. My anger accidently slips for a moment, because I punch the fucker square in the face, busting his nose. He cries out in pain, soothing just a fraction of said anger.
I step back once again, proud of my handy work when I see the blood from his nose slowly trickle down his face, “They must be real proud, a rapist for a nephew and son.”
Instead of backing down the fucker squares his shoulders and asks, “What are you going to do about it?”
I shrug, and pick up the rifle, jabbing the butt of the gun into his broken nose. He closes his eyes and groans while his head rolls around in a dazed fashion. Davis duct tapes his mouth, and Beau ties his hands.
Together we chuck him in the back of a buggy. I drivethat and Davis jumps in with me, while Beau drives the cruiser with the boat attached. We head toward one of the station's personal fishing spots. Can’t risk anyone seeing us.
About twenty minutes later, we arrive at the coastline. Did I hit every bump and ditch? Yes. Did it throw scumbag around? Yes. Am I happy about that? Fuck yes.
Beau backs the boat into the ocean, while Davis grabs the scumbag.
He can walk, but takes his sweet fucking time. Almost like he knows what’s coming. I cut the rope that’s binding his hands, and jut my chin toward the boat. “Get on the boat.”
“Why?” Fuck he’s dumb.
“We’re going fishing.” Is all I say. Because we are, we’re just not coming back with fish. Or him.
Once we’re all on Beau takes the helm of the boat but hesitates, “Guys, are we really doing this?”
“Going fishing? Of course we are.” Morgan’s scream still revibrates in my skull. The way she was crying “no” over and over, while her vacant eyes searched for someone. A knight in shining armour on a white horse. A man she deserves, a man I am not. I might not be that guy, but I sure as fuck will slay this one monster for her.
Beau is still so unsure. “Rhys.” He almost sounds pained.
“Three other girls, Beau, three. And that’s the ones that have come forward.”
He chews on the inside of his cheek. Uncertainty warring within.
“What if he hurt Cammy? We are doing this for Emily, Bridgette, Lisa and now Morgan. We are doing this for any women that he might hurt.”
“It’s a public service, really.” Davis adds.
I’m positive the scumbag knows his fate. How could henot? I saw what he did. I found out his past. And well, one doesn’t go from being locked up in a shed to being taken out fishing.
Beau nods once, turns around and drives us out deeper, the boat crashing against the small waves. We only go a kilometre and a half off the coastline. It’s not overly deep and not too far out. But it’s not the depth or the distance from land, it’s what patrols the ocean floor.
Beau kills the motor, “I’m still not sure about this.”
I ignore him. We’re doing this. I’m doing this. Comforting Morgan last night gave me enough time to think about the best way. So many ideas were floating through my mind, and all ended with him trying to swim back to shore. Just not sure how much blood he should lose before he makes that swim.
“Rhys, I’m serious, if he has gotten away with rape he must have a good fucking lawyer.”
“Listen to your friend,” Trent’s arrogant voice cuts into our conversation. “I actually have the best defence attorney in Australia, so try your luck boys.”
Fuck. I can’t protect her if I end up in jail. I need to think. Idiotically I turn my back to Trent. Which is my second mistake for the day because the prick charges me, knocking me off balance. He starts laying in to me. Davis and Beau are quick to pull him off me. I’m still slightly dazed from my head hitting the steering wheel.
Something glints in the sun, as Davis lets out a grunt, his knees give way as his hands are pressed against his right side. Blood starts to ooze out from between his fingers.
It only takes a few seconds for the shock to subside then I’m back on my feet, mindlessly punching him. “Fucking prick. Only attack women or when people havetheir backs turned? You’re fucking weak.” I hit him once, and the blade we didn’t realise he had on him, falls to the ground. Then a second hit, and a third. With every landed punch, the once scabbed split lip reopens. Fucking good. The prick fucking deserves it after the damage he has caused.
I’m not thinking straight when I pick up the blade and stab him, mirroring where he got Davis. He stumbles backwards, losing his footing, falling overboard. I’m looking at my bloodied hand holding the blade when he breaches the surface. “You can’t leave me here! Do you know who my family is?!”
“I don’t actually give a fuck.” I wipe the blade on my jeans. This couldn’t have turned out better if I planned it. “And thanks to your stupidity, we can claim self-defence. You simply fell overboard. Sharks got ya.”
