I Chose to Die (Siren Suicides, Book 1)

Chapter 8. Seward Park

I look at Hunter but I don't see him. A brilliant image of my father's face flashes through my mind, asking me his favorite question, Tell me what women were made for, go on. My legs seem to fill with lead, my stomach flips up and down. A familiar fear makes me want to die rather than face him again. For as long as I can remember, he would ask me this question, and I'd always stumble, not knowing what to say, not understanding what he meant. He'd wait until I was filled with humiliation, and then offer his answer, To carry water on their backs. If I asked why, he'd slap me, and say, Because back in time, if you had weakness in your character, you were forced to deliver water. And women are weak. I want you to fight it, to grow strong, to do better in life than that, do you understand? And I'd nod, afraid to anger him any further. I want you to stop being servile, to learn to protest. But I'd always just shrink further, which would anger him even more, until his hand would hurt and he'd leave me be, silently crying.

"They'll be here in a couple of minutes. Three minutes, tops," Hunter says, breathing heavily from rowing. I look at him, not remembering who he is, or where we are, or what's happening.

"Huh?" I say, blinking. Reality rushes at me and I realize I'm clutching the blue envelope Hunter gave me, still unopened, as if it's a rope thrown to me overboard a ship and I'll die if I let go. I quickly stuff it into the rain jacket pocket and try to act normal. "Three minutes, you said?" While I say it, I try to remember who they are and why I should be worried. Then I hear the engines and the world rights itself. Panic replaces my wonder, but before it has time to flourish, a strange tranquility calms me. I remember that I'm not a weak girl anymore. I'm a siren, and I can do wicked things. You just wait, Papa, I'll show you what women were really made for.

"More like two, now," Hunter says.

"Don't worry, I think I can handle them. At least I'd like to try and see what I can do, but I have a feeling this is going to be good. This is going to be fun," I say and flash Hunter a forced smile.

"Fun? You're going to take on a Harbor Patrol boat full of cops and have fun?" He chuckles, raising his eyebrows and questioning me with his eyes.

"What, you don't believe I can?"

"You just tried, unsuccessfully, taking on a kid sitting alone in a rowboat, so I'm sure this will be easy." He waves dismissively toward the approaching boats. "Take your time, go ahead." He continues rowing, shaking from adrenaline, his heart pounding like crazy. His grin fades, his eyes focus on me, and his arms move in one fluid motion. We're advancing at a turtle's pace compared to the motorized boats approaching.

My heart falls. This is Hunter's favorite trick to talk me out of doing something stupid. Paint a picture of a gruesome outcome and then nudge me on, knowing that I'll start doubting myself and eventually agree with him.

"I hate you, because you're right." I bite my lip. "I didn't think of that."

He grins, victoriously. "I'm just saying. Though we might not have much chance." He motions with his head behind me, and I turn to look, but I don't need to, because I can hear them. Both boats have sailed past the peninsula and are clearly on their way to get us. They're closing in fast, perhaps twenty yards away or so. An incomprehensible headache pounds a spike into my head. Great. I'm supposed to kill my father so that Canosa will tell me what happened to my mom, yet here I am, fleeing.

"Fine, you win," I say, and drop my eyes.

What a coward, always running, never daring to face my fears. I promise myself that, one day, I will. One day, I'll work up the courage to do it. For now, I'll simply focus on getting away and lying low, until I can figure out what I can and can't do, and get some practice.