“That’s enough!” cried Mara, as another boot landed against her husband’s rib cage. Brad groaned and rolled unto his side and looked up at his horrified wife, his eyes and lips were bloody and bruised.
“Please just stop now, you’re going to kill him” she pleaded, trying her best to not sound as concerned as she was.
Trent looked up at her with a sneer, “I think that’s the whole idea, Mara” he said.
She looked down at her husband and shook her head, Brad was out of it by now; he could not make out a word they were saying. He laid sprawled on his back, gasping through the pain his head lolling like a sponge bodied doll.
“It doesn’t make sense, and you know it. You don’t want a murder on your hands, do you?”
Trent chuckled, “don’t you mean ‘we’?” he replied as he dropped the baseball bat he was holding.
“Watch him,” he commanded to the burly man standing nearby.
Trent motioned for Mara to join him in the cabin; making his way there with the confidence and authority of a man in control.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Mara reasoned, as she descended onto the lower deck after him.
Trent sighed and pulled up a seat, he withdrew a cigarette from his pocket and put it to his lips; he did not light it though, being mindful of Mara’s aversion to it. He remembered how snappy it used to make her.
“Then what do you suggest we do, miss know-it-all?”
“There’s an island not far from here, he’s already in pretty bad shape, we could drop him off, and he wouldn’t know what’s going on.”
Trent looked thoughtful, “what if the bastard survives the night? Can we risk that?”
Mara bit her lip, she was hoping he did, she could not bear the thought of him dying, more so, dying by her hands.
“He’s so drugged out; I doubt he’ll remember what happened. Besides, Brad never travels to the Caribbean, he wouldn’t know anyone there.”
She knew she was going out on a limb to save him. Trent was a ruthless man and if he thought Brad was best dead, he’d see to it that that’s what happened.
Mara stood looking at him, awaiting his response with as much neutrality as possible. Trent just sat there, glaring up at her with those cold, glassy blue eyes, his stringy blonde hair hanging over them. Brad had disapproved of him the moment he saw him; he thought he looked dangerous and he was right. He would have never let him on board if Mara had not intervened, in the best way she knew how; distracting beauty and honey laced words.
Trent looked up at her again and shrugged, “alright if you think that’s best, that’s what we’ll do. But we can’t wait until morning, we’ve got to clean up this mess tonight and be back to California as soon as possible,” he was jabbing his unlit cigarette at her for emphasis, “ now get outta here so I can have myself a smoke!” he ordered.
Mara turned and flew up the ladder, she needed to take one last look at her husband, the chances that she would probably never see him again were especially high and if she did, she was pretty sure he wouldn’t want to see her.