Chapter 2 - The Red Water and the Secret Watch
When I woke up, the warm sea breeze had turned into a terrifying, icy slap of saltwater against my face. I was choking, coughing up brine as the world spun wildly around me.
The shoreline of the resort was nothing more than a distant, blurry streak of white against the jagged cliffs. A thick, heavy canvas strap pinned my torso flat against the rear padded seat of a high-speed jet ski, and thick plastic zip ties dug painfully into my wrists, binding my hands completely to the metal handlebars. Ahead of me, cutting through the chop at terrifying speeds, was another jet ski driven by Victoria. A thick, industrial tow rope stretched tautly between her craft and mine, acting as a leash of execution.
I screamed Julian’s name until my throat tore, but my voice was swallowed entirely by the roar of the engine and the wind.
Desperate, I forced my blurry eyes to scan the distant shore. Through the shimmering heat haze on the private dock, I saw him. Julian stood upright with a crystal glass of scotch in one hand, military-grade binoculars pressed tightly against his eyes.
He wasn’t calling for help. He wasn’t waving us down. He was watching. Observing his own wife and his unborn child being dragged across the open ocean like discarded freight.
Victoria suddenly threw her weight into a sharp, vicious turn.
The tow rope snapped taut with a violent crack, whipping my body forward. My heavy, nine-month pregnant stomach slammed hard against the hard fiberglass housing of the jet ski as an excruciating bolt of fire tore through my lower back and pelvis.
“I’m pregnant! STOP!” I shrieked, tears instantly mixing with the stinging seawater on my cheeks.
Victoria glanced back over her shoulder. Her mouth curved into an ugly, triumphant sneer that looked demonic against the bright tropical sunlight.
“Then hold on tighter, honey!” she shouted over the engine noise.
She slammed the throttle forward again.
The second jerk hit with double the force, a brutal kinetic shock that knocked the remaining breath from my lungs. I fought frantically against the canvas strap and the biting plastic zip ties, trying to shield my abdomen with arms that refused to obey my mind.
Then, a sudden, terrifying warmth soaked through my clothes and ran down my legs.
I looked down.
Blood. Bright, crimson streaks staining the crystal-blue water rushing beneath the hull.
For one agonizing second, pure, paralyzing terror threatened to extinguish my consciousness. But then, survival instinct overrode the panic. I remembered the heavy titanium watch my father had given me on my wedding day—a customized tactical timepiece Julian had always dismissed as an eccentric old-military keepsake, never asking about its internal mechanisms.
My fingers were numb, but I could still wiggle my right thumb just enough to reach the underside of the bezel.
I found the tiny, recessed panic button and pressed it down hard for three long seconds.
The watch didn't just send a silent alarm; it unlocked an encrypted satellite communication channel straight to the Department of Defense’s global emergency network.
“Dad...” I whispered into the wind, my voice breaking.
Instantly, a crisp, secure audio feed crackled to life through the tiny bone-conduction speaker embedded in the watch strap.
“Genevieve?” My father’s voice came through—instantly sharp, fully awake, and carrying the absolute authority of a four-star admiral who had spent decades directing global operations. “Sit-rep, Captain. What happened?”
May you like
I looked down at the blood spreading across the water, feeling the agonizing contractions ripping through my body.
“Call the Navy. Call the Coast Guard. Scramble whatever you have in the region,” I sobbed, the pain finally breaking my composure. “They’re trying to murder us.”
