Adrift

M A Hunter

Description

Six old friends … and a secret they’d all kill to protect.

When Pete and his friends set sail on a private yacht in the Balearics to celebrate Fergus’ upcoming wedding, they’re all looking forward to sun, sea and copious quantities of alcohol.

But there’s a reason they are still entwined in each other’s lives a decade after leaving university. A terrible event they’ve all been trying their hardest to forget.

They say you can’t outrun the past … And these six friends are about to find that out the hard way.

* *

'A nightmare scenario with a killer on the loose on a stranded yacht, and dark secrets from the past slowly being revealed; I may never step onto a boat again after reading this, but I loved it!' Jackie Kabler, author of The Murder List

'... plenty of booze, drama, and secret-sharing... who doesn't love a whodunit on a boat? ... An edge of your seat, heart pounding thriller that leaves you wondering who's going to get off the yacht alive.' Becca Day, author of The Girl Beyond the Gate

'A thrill-a-minute page-turner full of suspense, twists and turns that kept me on tenterhooks until the nail-biting finale!' AA Chaudhuri, author of The Loyal Friend

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Policier
• Thriller
• Sea Stories
• Mashups
• Psychological
• Hard-Boiled
• Holidays
• World Literature
• Thrillers
• Suspenso
• Balearic Islands
• 21st century
• Psychological thriller
• SpongeBob SquarePants
• Sea story
• General officer
• Spanish
• Spain
• Psychology
• Bachelor
• Spain (groupe)
• General
• Crime
• Baccalauréat dans le système universitaire anglo-saxon
• Suspense
• Noir
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 04 mai 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781805495369
• Langue: English

Extrait

ADRIFT


M. A. HUNTER
For all those with a dream: never stop chasing it!
CONTENTS



Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42


More From M. A. Hunter

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by M. A. Hunter

The Murder List

About Boldwood Books
1
PRESENT DAY

Sometimes it’s the scars we can’t see that take the longest to heal. That’s why I can’t help my mind wandering as I stare out at the sea, so blue and endless, hiding a thousand secrets of its own, but none as great as the one that claws at the farthest embers of my memory. It laps gently beside us as the party rages above the surface. It’s all I can see in every direction. We could scream blue murder and there isn’t a soul who would hear us. Why then do I feel like I can hear something calling to me from the dark depths? A warning that danger is lurking.
‘You ready for a fresh one, my brother?’ I hear Harry’s singsong Dublin accent gently break through my thoughts, as he reaches for the brown bottle I’ve been nursing for the last hour.
I don’t want to tell him that I’m already feeling light-headed, so when Harry pulls the bottle from my grip, I do my best to plaster on a grateful smile.
He turns to face the others and shouts over the rock music pumping out of the Bluetooth speaker. ‘May I remind you, gentlemen, that this is supposed to be a stag do for our good friend Fergus? There is an icebox bursting with Guinness, this pish you lads call beer, and enough vodka to go blind on in the galley, and I’m not going to be the only one suffering at sunrise.’ He waits until their voices die down. ‘Now can we all get fucking wasted, please?’
A roar of laughter and excitement breaks from those splashing about in the hot tub, and Harry stumbles towards the hatch into the galley in search of fresh supplies. The yacht rocks from side to side, but I seem to be the only one ill at ease. The air is a cocktail of sun lotion, rotting fish, and testosterone.
It’s only a couple of days, I remind myself.
There was a time I would have done anything for these guys. I shiver at the memories, which are trying to scratch their way through.
A shadow passes in front of my eyes, followed by that of a bikini-clad Sophie dropping onto the cushioned bench beside me. ‘This really is a piece of paradise, isn’t it?’
I imagine being alone on a yacht of alpha males might make most women feel vulnerable or at risk, but not Sophie; she’s shown so many times that she’s more than capable of holding her own. She’s always been regarded as ‘one of the lads’ and is probably the only woman my sister would be comfortable with allowing to come away with her future husband. And I’m certain if any of the rowdy group tried to take advantage, Sophie would soon put them back in place.
But I’m not so sure I’d regard this as paradise. A long weekend with university friends and an unlimited supply of warm weather and alcohol sounded perfect when Harry first suggested it, but now we’re here, it’s every bit as awkward as I feared it might be. Can I ever be at ease when so much water has passed under the bridge? Nobody has mentioned that night, but it’s all I can think about. I shouldn’t have come.
I watch as Sophie leans backwards, closes her eyes, and allows the sun’s warm rays to wash over her. At thirty-two, she and I are the oldest of the group, but despite Sophie being a week younger than me, she’s always been the matriarch, pulling the strings. And I’m surprised she agreed to come on this extended stag weekend, knowing that alcohol would be flowing freely. Maybe she’s testing her new sobriety. Or maybe there’s another reason. I can’t ignore the voice in the back of my head reminding me that the Garden of Eden had snakes in the grass.
‘It certainly is paradise,’ I say when I realise she’s looking over, awaiting a response.
‘I’ve not always been a fan of Harry’s plans,’ Sophie continues, a bead of sweat escaping from behind her fringe and running the length of her slim face, ‘but on this occasion, I’m prepared to admit he’s pulled it out of the bag.’
As if on cue, Harry reappears from the galley, with five bottles of lager poking through his fingers and that cheeky grin I remember so well. He glides effortlessly across the deck, dispersing the bottles, while keeping one eye on Elena, our yacht’s hostess for the next three days.
She catches him looking at her, and smiles back, her face as golden brown as the arms poking out of the short sleeves of her white shirt. Is she already falling under his spell as so many others before have? Unsurprisingly, Harry’s eye isn’t the only one she’s caught since we boarded four hours ago. Elena is native to the islands in this area, but she has a decent grasp of English, and from the way she hasn’t yet complained about the noise and Harry’s and Rhys’s outrageous flirting, I’d say she’s used to hosting stag parties for excitable Brits. I won’t be mentioning her presence here to my sister.
The captain, Joaquín, who looks more than capable of handling himself in a fight, pulls on a handle, and the engines quieten, slowing our trajectory. Harry moves closer to Elena, and whilst I can’t hear exactly what he’s saying, I’ve no doubt the lines are tried and tested and as sweet as honey. She certainly isn’t rebuffing his advances. Her long jet-black hair is tied neatly in a ponytail, and in any other circumstances she could be mistaken for a catwalk model or siren. Certainly out of both of our leagues, but Harry’s never been one to shy away from a challenge. Joaquín watches on, but makes no effort to interrupt.
I force myself to look away and press the dripping bottle of lager to my forehead, but it offers scant consolation from the burning heat.
I notice Rhys is shooting daggers at Harry and Elena. It’s a look I’ve seen before, and the breath catches in my throat as I recall the night I was on the receiving end of that glare. I stand and quickly move across to Harry, pulling him away and over to the bench, plonking him beside Sophie. I look back to check that Rhys is happier now, but can’t see him in the hot tub. Then I spot him disappearing into the galley, presumably hurrying after Elena, who’s probably gone to prepare snacks to soak up some of the alcohol.
‘Can I get you another orange juice, Soph?’ Harry asks, his eyes fixed on the galley steps.
‘Thanks, but I’m fine,’ she replies, reaching for the sun lotion and squirting a generous amount into the palm of her hand. ‘Either of you two want a top-up?’
As if on cue, Harry unfastens the garish blue and yellow Hawaiian shirt he’s been wearing since we met at the airport, and flexes his biceps.
Sophie rolls her eyes. ‘If you think muscles and manscaping impress me, you’re going to be disappointed. You might have more luck with our hostess – that’s if Rhys doesn’t get there first. Pretty sure he’d win in a pissing contest too.’
Harry clutches his gut as if wounded, but his face breaks into his usual careless grin. ‘Well, you know, you and me never did hook up in the house, so maybe it is time you discovered what you’ve been missing. Pete here will tell you I never leave a woman unsatisfied.’
He slaps me on the back, and I nearly drop the bottle, but before I can respond, he moves away, bored of such mundane conversation, crosses the aft, and steps down into the hot tub, clinking his bottle with Fergus and Christophe.
‘I think I’m good at the moment, thanks, Soph,’ I say. ‘Do you want me to do your back?’
‘Please.’ She shuffles around on the cushion, and passes me the bottle.
I tuck her ginger plait over her shoulder, and apply the lotion, massaging it into her fair, freckled skin. I remember a few times when we lived together, when she’d sunbathe in the back garden, and wasn’t so careful, ending up resembling a walking lobster. There were so many warning signs back then that I should have paid more attention to, but with the pressure of it being our final year, and everything else that went on… I shake my head, not wanting to be drawn back there. In truth, this is the first time we’ve all been together in years, and I’m surprised they all agreed to reunite for Fergus’s final weekend of freedom. Credit to Harry for convincing them.
‘Oh, wow you have the hands of a god,’ I hear Sophie say, and realise the lotion has soaked in, and I’m just massaging her shoulders absent-mindedly.
My cheeks blaze as I lower my hands. ‘Sorry. You’re all done.’
‘Don’t apologise! That was possibly the best massage I’ve ever had. If you weren’t already spoken for, I’d be giving serious consideration to dragging you below deck.’
It’s her turn to blush, and I desperately want to fight against the awkward silence that suddenly grows. There’s way too much history to overstep that boundary. And besides, Carly and I are happy, and our troubles feel far behind us.
We both look away, striving to find anything to break the tension. It’s Sophie who is first to speak. ‘It’s great to see the old gang back together again. Who’d have thought we’d all be thriving ten years on?’
My stomach lurches as Rhys returns to the deck and climbs back into the hot tub. He doesn’t mention what he’s been up to with Elena, and although Harry gives him a questioning look, Rhys keeps his lips closed in a tight smile. Maybe Sophie is right about the potential pissing contest; I’ll have to make sure Harry doesn’t get in over his head.
My phone vibrates on th