What happens next goes down quickly. It happens in a matter of seconds—really, a matter of heartbeats. But to Victoria, it seems to stretch on forever.
Matt charges at Killian, screaming, “Run! Run, Victoria! Run!”
They slam into each other. The two men hit the ground, rolling around in the wet sand. It clings to their leather vests and their acid-washed jeans. Killian's fingers curl around the gun, but Matt brings his fist down on the other man's sternum.
Victoria struggles to her feet. It's hard getting up without using her hands. Even when she is standing, the young princess can hardly keep her balance, let alone take off.
And she's frozen by the fight that's taking place before her. It's a mess of flying fists, snarling curses, and kicking legs. The two men wrestle with each other like children, rolling across the beach and into the shallows of the water.
Matt rears up like some sort of a beast. He brings his fists down, again and again. “You're insane,” he bellows. “You're completely insane.”
Killian snarls, but there's water in his mouth, and the words make no sense. He tries to roll out from under Matt, but it's hard. The two twist about again. This time, Killian ends up on top. He no longer has a gun, but he pulls a buck knife from his hip and holds it up, ready to strike.
“Matt,” screams Victoria. “Matt!”
The cliff blocks the views. The wind and water keep anyone from hearing the struggles.
For a moment, Matt is certain he's about to die.
He thinks, Bad things happen to good people. Maybe I am a good person. Maybe this is how things were meant to go.
“You're dead,” hisses Killian. Just as he goes to bring the buck knife down, a massive wave crashes over them. It grabs hold of Killian, ripping him out with the withdrawing current. Matt is swept out to sea, too.
There's a difference between the two men, though.
That difference is this: it's not the first time Matt's been caught up in raging ocean waters. It floods his lungs, burns his nose and his eyes and his throat. Matt sputters and twists, trying to get up to the surface.
And then he goes still, letting the waters buoy him to a fresh breath of air. Matt gasps when he breaches the surface. Wet twists of hair hang in his face. It clings to his skin, wrapped around his neck. The waves crash down, pushing him under once more.
He swims perpendicular with the current, heading towards the shore at an angle. Strong arms and legs propel him forward. Even though the tide is rough, it's not the most dangerous. This is not a storm tide nor a red sky tide. This is just a simple high tide, with waves and surf and water that's more salt than anything else.
“Matt,” pleads Victoria, “please, be careful!”
She rushes into the shallows of the water. It's cold against her legs. The sand moves beneath her feet in a disconcerting manner.
“Do you see him?” Matt tries to look over his shoulder, but he can't. He can't focus on anything except getting into the shallows. “Do you see him?”
Victoria looks around. The ocean is gray. Behind Matt, it's broken only by the crashing waves. “No,” she says. “Matt, I don't see him. I don't think he made it.”
She isn't sure if an apology is in order or a grateful shout. Either way, Victoria sinks to her knees, looks at the sky, and thinks, It's over. It's finally, finally over.
When Matt finally gets back on solid ground, he wraps Victoria up into the tightest sort of hug. “I was so worried about you.”
Victoria buries her face against his salt-slicked skin. He smells of the ocean—brine and misery and hope, all rolled into one. “He didn't hurt me that badly.”
“Your face?”
“I'll be all right,” says Victoria, even though the bruise on her face stings. The skin there is pulled taut, swollen and dark. When she leans back, Matt presses a kiss to the side of her face, just above the bruising.
“You will be,” he says, and it's more of a promise than anything else. “Come on, sweet cheeks.”
He leads Victoria back across the beach towards the parking lot. The members of the Horsemen motorcycle club have lined up, ready to charge onto the beach if they need so. Mano is the first one off his bike when they catch sight of the bedraggled looking duo who come stumbling up the beach, arms looped around each other and still dripping water.
“Matt,” bellows Mano, making a beeline towards the duo. “Matt, what happened?”
“Someone get us a coat,” shouts Matt. “The girl needs a coat!”
Most of the men are wearing vests. A new recruit by the name of Paul has not earned his yet. He shrugs off the leather coat that he wears, still patchless, and averts his eyes when he offers it to the young princess.
She blushes. Her brief stint at being okay with not wearing clothing has already gone sour, and she has no more interest in letting the world see her so open and revealed. Princess Victoria slips on the leather jacket. It's not cold outside, but it does a good job covering her otherwise nude form.
“Thank you,” says Victoria. “Thank you very much. I'll make sure to give it back to you.”
“You can keep it,” says Paul. “I'm just glad to be of a help.”
Matt pats him on the shoulder, and then he wraps his arms right back around Victoria. She's not going to be getting out of his hands any time soon. “All right, boys. I told Mano that, when all of this was over, we'd tell you exactly what happened. But I'm tired, and Tori needs to go home for a bit. We'll meet up this weekend, and I'll make sure to let you all know exactly what's going on.”
Mano says, “Just go take care of her, amigo. We don't mind. We know you've had a tough time of it today. Just tell us, what happened to Killian?”
Matt shakes his head. “He didn't make it. The tides have taken him.”