A/N: NEW CHAPTER YAY FINALLY!

Vida doesn't care about keeping her eyes on us. Not really. Sure, she's watching, but her eyes are trained on the small glass of brandy she's poured herself from the Abigail's bar. The sight makes me internally frown. You seem just about due, don't you want the baby to come out healthy? Maybe not. Maybe that's why she's having a glass.

As she rubs the drink between her hands, her gun a few inches away from her on the countertop, I casually lean to Madison and hiss out, "I have a knife. Back pocket."

Vida doesn't hear me. She's decently far, and the light splashing from the rocking boat provides some distraction for her. Good.

"Can you reach it?" Madison asks.

I shimmy in place and try to push the CRKT further up my pocket with little success. In desperation my fingers stretch out to the top part of the fabric, but can't go further. "No. Bollocks."

"Keep trying." I nod in agreement. I will get the blade. It may take some time, but I will. No doubt. "You sure Nick wasn't in his room? Or yours?" She adds the last part after a beat.

"No, I was with Alycia. He wasn't there, and his bed was made."

She leans over to look at Chris on the other side. "Did you see him when you were on watch?"

Chris shakes his head, eyes glassy. "No."

Ophelia adds, "He might've come up when we were on the bow."

"And the only one who would know is in the sea." Daniel says. Ah, fuck. Where'd you go, yank?

Madison eyes Vida across the room as she brings the brandy to her face, eyes closing as she breathes in the scent. "There's only three of them." Madison's gaze flicks to Daniel on the floor. "Can you get loose?"

He smirks. "Keep her distracted."

In other words, yes. Yes he can. Hopefully he can get out faster than I wiggle my knife out.

I shift all my weight to the left, leaning into the soft cushions as I inconspicuously stretch out my right leg. Please tell me that pushes my knife out a hair. My fingers try to reach further in the pocket—which they do, if anyone wants to count the millimeter—but it's still not deep enough to reach the butt of the knife. My elbows burn from the awkward stretch, but I try to keep the thought out of mind. I can't focus on comfort; I need to get out of these bloody restraints.

Shit. This is harder than I thought.

I quickly readjust my position as I hear two pairs of footsteps descending from the spiral stairs that lead to the captain's quarters. Travis descends first, eyes harshly set and burning with anger. Reed's directly behind him with a hand set on Travis' shoulder and a gun pointed directly at his head. Chris tries to look anywhere else. Understandable. It's hard to watch.

Reed decides to poke at Chris. "Lookin' for your girl?"

"Let's just fix the engine, huh?" Travis interjects. His voice is completely monotonous. I hate him like this.

"She's my SISTER." Chris corrects Reed.

Reed stares. "You're doing your SISTER?" A smirk breaks on his face as Chris struggles in his binds. "That's pretty twisted, man."

Fuck off, you unbel-ievable twat.

"I should have the boat running in about an hour." Travis explains as he leans against the back of a couch, looking between Madison and Daniel.

Reed pulls him further away from us and shoves Travis toward the stars leading to our engine room. "You don't have an hour. 30 minutes, tops."

While Chris continuously glares at the door Reed and his dad went through, Ophelia leans forward in her seat. "Chris, ignore them."

Vida scoffs at the bar. "Good luck with that."

"Ignore her, too." I add kindly. "They're just trying to get a rise out of you."

Chris looks down to the floor, pointedly away from either of us. "No shit, sherlock."

I frown at him but add nothing else. If he's angry, let him either fizzle out or stew. Who knows? That anger might help us later.

Focusing my energy back to my task, I gingerly twist my hands in the tight wire. Maybe if I can stretch it out a bit, I could move more. Argh, so bloody tight. The wire digs into my skin, leaving raw circlets with every move.

"When are you due?" Madison asks our capturer. Her eyes gleam to the stranger, pausing once to look at Daniel's progress in getting loose. He's doing better than me, I think. There's more space between his wrists and the restraints, though his skin underneath becomes red with wear. Then again, it's not his first time in a situation like this.

The thought makes my stomach churn. I never want to repeat this. I don't ever want to feel this weak, this helpless in my life again. But for Daniel? History's just repeating itself.

I pray to any deity in the sky to never let this happen to my group ever again.

Vida eyes her drink, as if bored by Madison's question. "Don't know. Lost track."

Madison smiles knowingly. "If you were counting before all this, you're still counting."

Vida looks away smoothly, this time answering with the truth. "Four weeks."

I straighten up, my back resting flush against the couch cushion. Friction can help. Maybe it can push the knife up somehow.

"Oh, any day now."

Vida raises an eyebrow at the statement. I'm guessing she's never had hostages inclined to make conversation. Warily, she takes the glass of brandy and leisurely strolls/waddles to the open glass door by us, leading out to the deck. "Doctor says first one always carries to term."

I shimmy slightly in my spot, trying to be inconspicuous as I slide my bottom half down the seat. The friction, in theory, should be able to push the knife up as I move. Please, please work.

Success! It's not in my hands yet, but the knife did move further up. Much further. My fingers can ghost the top of it now. Inwardly, I grin.

"True, that's true. Usually." Madison continues, staring out to the sea thoughtfully.

"And then some."

The tips of my fingers can fit into my pocket, finding the gentle delves of the knife's marbled design. My index pushes the CRKT up in place, and the tip of the knife is close to popping out the pocket's top.

"They say the first is the hardest. Second pregnancy's worse in ways."

"Yeah?"

"You know the pain at any moment is less than what's coming." Madison looks over to Vida. "You know any potential complications. Might've been through some. And you know the moment that tiny thing comes into this world, you're weaker, because you would die for him."

Vida stares out to the sea, muttering, "Right now I just want her the hell out of me."

"Oh, it's a girl? Picked out any names?"

"What is this?" Vida seethes, stalking away from the door. "My shower?"

Why the hell not? I think with an inward chuckle. It'll be as close to one as you can get nowadays. Sorry I didn't bring any cake.

As Vida sits down at our dinner table, swirling the brandy in her glass, my fingers manage to grasp a third of the knife, and I jerk my hand up. With a soft plop onto the couch, the CRKT knife lands on the cushion behind me.

"Yes!" I hiss with a grin. I lean to Madison and whisper, "It's out. I just need to cut the binds."

"Good." She replies, and looks to Daniel. "Are you close?"

"A little more time."

Reserved, Madison straightens her back and looks to our guard-dog. Vida's still at the table, swirling that glass of brandy with hardly any emotion. She grabs her pistol with a free hand, and carries it with her as she turns to rest her side against the bar. I shimmy into the back cushion, my hands fumbling to hold the knife properly.

"One drink won't hurt her, once in a while." Madison muses.

Vida stares at the glass, held right underneath her nose. "I just like the smell."

"Good for you." Madison chuckles. "Wish I could say the same. When's the last time you felt her move?"

Instead of trying to find the small delve on the side that makes the blade pop out, I hold the knife between my hands and grasp both sides—the back of the blade and the hilt it's shut into—and try to swing the pieces apart. My hands can only go so far, but I manage to pull it to a 45-degree angle. With a few more twists, it's out fully and in my right hand, pointed up at the wires on my wrist.

Vida pauses, holding her drink tightly. "I'm on the go a lot. Barely notice." She rounds the corner into our room, staring at Madison curiously. My ministrations slow as I push my back flush against the cushions, hiding my handiwork.

"I lost one," Madison continues. "Between Nick and Alycia. One week her heart was beating; pat, pat, pat pat, too fast to count. Next checkup… it just stopped."

"I'm healthy. My kid's healthy."

"You taking prenatal vitamins?"

"As if I'm gonna find any—"

Madison interrupts, "When exactly was the last time you felt her move?"

Vida stares at Madison, her brown eyes hardening. The bottom of the glass beats the wood of the dinner table harshly. "Shut up."

"If she died…" Madison thinks aloud, staring straight back with a glint in her eye. "She may have turned."

The theory makes me wonder. My brows furrow; is that even possible? Could that happen? Vida scrunches her nose, jaw clenching at the idea.

Ophelia frowns. "She'd feel that though, wouldn't she? I mean, if that thing was moving inside of her, she would've probably felt that…?"

Vida flicks the safety off her pistol and stomps to Ophelia, pointing the gun in the middle of her forehead.

"I said SHUT UP!"

I jump back into the cushions, breath coming in heavy pants as I watch Ophelia. She holds herself in place, eyes staring at the barrel of the gun, unmoving.

Daniel immediately protests. "Hey, hey, hey, hey!"

Vida steps back from Ophelia and turns to Madison menacingly. She sets the barrel of the gun underneath Madison's chin, her teeth grinding as she growls, "I'll shoot you and I'll toss you overboard. Don't tempt me."

The sound of a door opening behind Vida catches my attention, and I look as Travis and Reed step out of the stairwell that leads to the engine room.

"Got a problem?" Reed pointedly asks.

Eyes still trained on Madison, she pulls back a step but keeps the gun trained at Madison's head. "She's just trying to get a rise out of me."

"Trying to? Sit down."

Madison, like Ophelia, doesn't shrink from the gun on her face. She quietly asks, "What will you do if she's stillborn, Vida?"

"Bitch."

"What if she's born dead?"

Vida's response is to slam the pistol hard against Madison's cheek, not enough to break the skin but certainly enough to bruise a huge section.

"Hey!" Reed grabs at Vida's arm before she can do any more damage. "Connor might need her."

Vida keeps her mouth shut as she stalks off to the table, setting the gun back down and switching back to the glass.

"They still gone?" Reed asks Chris. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Quit poking the bear. "Damn! My man's got some stamina!"

"Enough with the boy." Daniel interrupts. Travis, quietly, holds a hand above the couch cushion where Ophelia rests, and I catch the two seconds of something slipping down his arm and in between the cushion and wood back. He stares at Madison pointedly, catching her eye. She gives the tiniest of nods in understanding.

Travis calls to Reed. "You want me to start this engine or what?"

Reed walks back to Travis, shoving his pistol into Travis' back. The pair continue to the captain's quarters, leaving us alone with Vida yet again. I take the time to set the tip of my blade in the loop of my binds, keeping my grip tight as I saw at the material.

Back and forth, back and forth. Slowly, but surely, I will get loose. My mind focuses on the motion, quiet as the binds weaken. Then I think. What will I do once I get loose? Attack a pregnant lady with my knife? Kill her? She has a gun; she'd shoot me easily before I could get close.

No, that's a stupid idea. Get loose, give the knife to Madison. If she was freed, she could grab whatever Travis stuffed into the cushion near Daniel. It'd be two against one. Better chance of survival, at least.

The door that leads to the hallway with our bedrooms opens, revealing Jack and Alycia. She stares to us, eyes wide, but silent as she walks to the empty couch cushion beside me and sits down. Jack follows suit behind her, standing a couple feet away, but directly behind her. I slow my hands; god forbid he sees me moving. Don't notice, don't notice.

"Look at that," Vida eyes the ocean with a smirk. "You have company."

The gentle hum of a raft fills the silence, and mentally I curse. Their leader. Bollocks. I still keep whittling away at the wires, movements becoming jerky and rushed; get ready to protect yourself. If you have to fight, so be it. I'm not letting anyone get hurt. As I imagine the raft pulling up to the floating piece of the Abigail, the engine of our yacht hums to life. I don't know whether to be amazed at Travis or to curse him. Depends on what good ole' Connor thinks.

Footsteps replace the engine's purrs as four people tread up the deck of the Abigail and through the glass doors of our dining room, coming into our sight.

The first man—I assume—is Connor. Tall, a healthy dark beard covering his face, and wavy hair swooping to his left. His clothes are pressed and neat, though his shirt is a size too big so it weighs low on his form. He carries himself highly; with a politician-like entrance and a wide smile.

The man on his left is much older, with a bald spot atop his head and thinning gray hair on the sides. His moustache is unkempt and, quite frankly, looks like a caterpillar that was glued on. In his hands rests a huge, military-grade rifle. The woman on Connor's left has long red hair that reaches mid-back, completely straight and as rigid as she is. Again, she carries a rifle, though she has a satchel swung over her shoulder. The last henchmen walks behind Connor; younger than all three. Not my age—maybe late twenties, early thirties. It looks like this might be his first mission, considering his eyes are wide and his hands shake as they carry a small pistol.

"This is a gorgeous vessel." Connor compliments, looking to all of us.

"Finally," Vida hums.

Connor eases himself in front of us, inspecting our group quickly, judging silently. He makes a circle and ends at me and Madison, staring to our faces.

"What happened?" He asks. I raise an eyebrow. Like you care.

Vida presses her lips in a thin line. "Reed hit the British one; she put up a fight. Blonde hit her head."

"You couldn't clean them up? Jesus, guys, come on."

Two more footsteps fill the air as Reed and Travis trail down the captain's stairs. Reed tightly grips Travis' jacket, shoving him forward to Connor with a grin. "This is the one who started the boat!"

"Travis." Connor nods. "You and Alycia come with us."

I jerk my head to look at Alycia beside me, ready to openly protest. She shakes her head silently, hazel eyes staring into mine as she desperately tries to silently communicate.

"And my family?" Travis asks, bewildered.

"We only need the two of you."

Reed pushes Travis to the ground, the ginger-haired woman helping to hold him down as she pulls a black beanie from her satchel. "Woah, woah, wait! Hey!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Madison jumps to her feet at Connor, but he shoves her shoulder harshly so she falls to the couch. The young man steps forward, pointing his gun at Madison in warning as Travis is completely blinded by the fabric. My hands jerk the knife quickly; the binds are almost broken. Break, break, break! C'mon, don't let them take Alycia and Travis.

"You'll get them a boat, right?" Alycia asks Jack.

Jack eyes Connor, and nods. "Yeah, they'll get them to shore."

Connor shrugs, satisfied. "Fair enough."

"Travis—!" Madison cries as Reed and the ginger-haired woman roughly pull him to his feet.

"It's okay, Maddy. I'll bring her back." He says from underneath the beanie. As Chris begins to openly protest, Travis adds, "Chris, stay with Maddy!"

Jack sets a black beanie on Alycia's face silently, and with one hand on her elbow he leads her out the door behind Reed and Travis. Vida sets her glass on the table and trails behind the group, Connor following as well.

Keep going… Almost there… So loose…

Reed and the three henchmen stay behind as the raft revs to life and pulls away from the Abigail. A weight, like a heavy rock, soars to my throat, making its home as I resist the urge to scream. Don't take them, don't take them! Madison stands, watching the raft break through the water. The young man walks directly in front of Madison and shoves his pistol at her, urging her to sit back down. She does, dejectedly plopping onto the couch. Her head hangs forward, like a weight on her shoulders.

As Reed downs the glass of brandy, he sits down heavily on one of the chairs. "Connor hasn't quite adapted to this world. He's got leadership skill, holds us all together." He pours himself another glass, quickly throwing it back. "Big heart, strong mind. Weak stomach."

Once the raft is out of earshot, Madison demands, "Put us on the launch. We'll go to shore. You can take the Abigail."

The ginger-haired woman scoffs and treks out the open door, the older gentlemen following suit as they take watch on the outer deck.

"The thing is," Reed stands and stalks over to us, cocky. "The launch goes with this yacht, doesn't it?"

"We'll swim to shore!" She snaps. "Just let us go."

"What if you want your boat back? I don't like that ending."

"Shh!" The older man on the deck demands. His eyes stare out to the sea, and he raises his rifle to the air. His eyes search through the scope, and his brow furrows.

Reed snarls, "Excuse me?"

"Incoming!"

My fingers slow as Madison and I share a look. What the hell? Why would Connor come back? I keep my ears focused on the sound of an engine.

Then I realize: it's not the same. It's a different raft. Who? Who the hell is that?

"Did Connor come back?" Reed demands. The redhead and the older man raise their rifles out to the ocean, ready to strike.

The ginger looks through the scope of her gun. "Zodiac," she informs. "Looks like two—"

BANG!

She crumples to the floor in a heap, a single bullet hole between her eyes. Shit, we're under attack? Get loose, get loose now!

In another three seconds the older man goes down like a rock, paralleling the ginger's death. Single gunshot to the forehead. Madison's legs twitch, as if ready to pounce our attackers. Her hands writhe in the binds, desperate for freedom.

The young capturer in front of me and Madison flicks the safety off his pistol, hands shaking as the barrel aligns itself to Madison. He cocks the gun, staring at her. "I'll do it. I swear to god."

Snap!

My binds break with a flick! onto the cushion, and in three seconds I stand, grab the hilt of my blade firmly with both hands, and without conscious thought plunge my blade into his jaw.

More fighting happens. Daniel gets loose; Madison grabs the crowbar hidden in the couch by Travis and stabs Reed in the side. Daniel frees Ophelia of her binds, Chris grabs onto Reed and holds him in place. There's screaming, and chaos, and footsteps pounding up the stairs of the Abigail outside. From the corner of my eye I see Daniel grab one of the discarded rifles on the ground, holding it up protectively. Madison does the same, grabbing the pistol from the young one.

But that's not what I focus on. My eyes stare at the stranger—the man who threatened Madison, the child—as he gurgles on his own blood. It seeps onto my fingers, trickling down my forearms, covering me in small trails of red. Dark, oozing red. He drops to his knees, sputtering in pain as he stares back to me in fear and surprise.

What am I feeling, as I watch the light of life leave his eyes? Anger? Upset? Vengeance?

Nothing. I feel nothing.

"Mom," a familiar voice trails into my conscience.

"Nick, where were you?"

Nick?

My eyes pull away from my victim, twisting to the left so I see Nick, clad in all black, embracing Madison tightly. A stranger trails behind him, rifle in hand and backpack slung over his shoulder.

"Hey, drop it!" Daniel commands, pointing his gun at the stranger's chest.

"Where's Victor?!" The stranger screams, holding his own at Daniel.

I pull my knife from the dead man's jaw, the squelch barely registering in mind, and stare between the two as they bicker. He falls into a heap on the ground, heavy and unmoving and dead.

"WOAH, HEY!" Nick screams, a hand up as if in surrender. "He's okay. He's okay! He's a friend, he helped. Strand sent me to get Luis, okay? He's gonna help us get into Mexico."

Daniel begins to lower his gun, though still eyeing the newcomer warily. Madison tightens her grip around Nick, and he sets his arms around her just as tight.

"I was getting Strand into Mexico." Luis corrects.

I can hear the conversation, but it's like my head is underwater. The words are hazy, registering one at a time in a thoughtless fog. My eyes stare to an empty patch of the hard-word floor, the sun shining brightly against its natural pattern. I set the blade in my right hand, gripping it so tight. My tether to reality.

I just killed someone.

Madison explains quick. "He left when they boarded. When they tried to take the Abigail."

"Victor escaped?" Luis asks.

"They shot at his raft. He went down." She pulls away from Nick, worry spiking. "I have to go after Travis! I have to find Alycia."

"We do not go to the border without Strand!"

Daniel scoffs. "We don't need Strand."

"Well, he didn't need you either, yet here you are. Without Strand, we don't get into Mexico."

Daniel pulls away from the group, flinging the rifle onto his back and grabbing Reed off the floor. He stalks off with the asshole to who knows where and Ophelia and Chris silently follow.

Madison stares out to the ocean, quiet. "Fine. I'll grab the raft. I'll get Strand."

"Mom, I'll do it—" Nick starts.

"No, I'm fine. I'm fine. I'll get him." She repeats herself. "I'm fine."

Madison pulls away from the group, heading down the stairs and silently hopping on the raft alone. The sound of the engine whirring fills the fog of my mind easily.

"Tina? T?"

Quietly, I look up to Nick, staring as he takes slow, deliberate steps to me. Like I'm a scared animal that needed coaxing. Well, can't blame him, the rational part of me thinks. He comes back to me covered in blood and a busted-up face.

"Are you okay?" He tentatively asks. I notice my hand holding the knife shaking. Like I was burned, I drop it to the ground.

Holy shit. I killed a man.

"I…" I manage, gesturing to the body on the floor. "I had to—I had to—"

Nick wraps his arms around me tightly, soothing me. "I know, I know." He squeezes me so tight I can barely breathe, and my arms go around his form mechanically. The gash on my cheek burns when it makes contact with Nick's shoulder, but I can't be bothered to pull away, or hiss, or even wince at the pain.

He didn't even know we were attacked until he came back to see strangers on the deck. For all he knew, I could've been killed in the time he was gone. He's alive; I'm alive. We're okay.

But that kid isn't. I killed him. I'm a killer.

"He," I choke out. "He was going to kill Madison, I had to—"

"I know, T." He presses a tender kiss to my forehead, one of his hands gently pushing my hair back so he can see my full face. Then he presses another kiss between my eyes, sighing heavily in relief as he envelops me again.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up, okay?" His hand finds mine, gently pulling me behind him, and I follow quietly. He takes me down the hallway that leads to the washroom, and I'm thankful for his gentle affection, but it's not what I focus on. There's only one thought on repeat:

I killed someone.

I'm a killer.