The driver and coach burst into laughter.

"Alright, buckle up! We're taking off!" the driver shouted, and the speedboat suddenly lurched forward.

"Stop the boat! Can't you hear me? I want to go back to shore!" I screamed in a panic.

But they completely ignored me, speeding ahead without a care.

The coach, with a dark expression, shamelessly said, "If you're so desperate to go back, why don't you just jump in and swim?"

I was terrified of the ocean, and at this speed and distance from land, jumping in would be suicide.

In the silence that followed, Rachel chimed in with a laugh, "Yolanda, I've never seen anyone jump from a moving boat before! You should totally do it - give us a show of deep-sea fishing!"

Their laughter rang in my ears as the three of them cracked up.

I glanced at the distant cruise ship, tears welling up in my eyes.

Suddenly, a gust of wind swept by, and a bell chimed from the driver's seat.

I eyed the keys, and without a second thought, dashed over and yanked them out.

The engine died, and the sudden loss of power nearly sent us flying.

"Are you trying to kill me?!" the dark-faced coach shouted angrily as he marched toward me.

He reached for the keys, but I quickly shoved them into my mouth.

"If you want to die so badly, I'll make it happen," he said, fuming at my defiance.

He seemed intent on killing me, lifting me up and throwing me out of the speedboat.

I clung desperately to the railing, but he just laughed coldly, knowing I couldn't fight back, and began slapping me across the face.

The sound of the slaps echoed around us, and I felt like my face was going to fall off from the pain.

The driver, who had just slammed into the steering wheel and was now covered in blood, viciously remarked that it was a good hit.

Rachel, swaying unsteadily, stood up and shot me a fierce glare. She rushed over, grabbed my hair, and forced my face up so the coach could hit me better.

"Yolanda, don't blame me. If you're going to blame someone, blame yourself for being so malicious. Do you know that falling in could kill you?"

"You need to learn a lesson to remember this."

I bit down hard on the keys, keeping my mouth shut, and stubbornly stared at the two of them.

Just when I felt like I couldn't hold on any longer, a voice suddenly came over the radio. "Are you sending anyone over? Mr. Lowe is about to close the gate."

The dark-faced coach nodded eagerly, replying that they would be there soon.

He shot me a cold smile and pointed at me, indicating that I was lucky to still be alive.

He quickly shouted into the radio, asking for a rescue boat to come over.

But I couldn't hold on any longer; my hands slowly slipped off the railing.

Just as I was about to throw in the towel completely, the coach slipped a life vest over my head.

I found myself drifting alone on the open sea, that suffocating drowning sensation creeping back up my throat.

I dug my nails into my palms, using the pain to keep myself grounded, to stay present.

Thankfully, the rescue boat arrived quickly. I tossed the coach the key and let the rescue boat haul me aboard, back to solid ground.

As I stumbled off, Rachel called after me.

I turned back with a bitter smirk, my swollen lips barely parting.

"When your phone's charged up again, do me a favor and grab the latest iPhone, okay? I'll come back to get it from you when I'm done having fun."

Heh, if you even make it back at all.

In my past life, I'd shared that viral story about the Lowe family's playboy son showering his date with a million bucks.

Rachel was busy trying to figure out if this Lowe guy was the same dude she'd been chatting with online.

Meanwhile, my girl Jess, who works in media, was filling me in on the juicy backstory.

Turns out, that headline-grabbing stunt was just a smokescreen to distract from the Lowe kid's real crimes.

He did hand out those million-dollar bills, but it was hush money, a twisted apology.

Because three girls died that night, their bodies dumped into the sea by the blackout drunk guys after they were...done playing with them.

The women who boarded that cruise were all lured under the guise of meeting an online match.

When they hit the shore, the surf instructor would take them for a test run first.

Once their makeup was smudged, the surf instructor would check if the girls were still attractive.

When their clothes clung to their bodies, the surf instructor would size up their physiques.

If she could still handle a full lap, she passed the fitness test.

The beauties who made the cut were then escorted to the ship, to become prey for Ethan and his pack.

Some fought back, some begged, some just screamed.

But to those animals, it was music to their ears.

It was a boys' trip, a waking nightmare for the girls.

In my past life, I was about to tell Rachel how lucky we were to have skipped out.

But when I turned around, her face was twisted with rage as she shoved me, hard, into the churning waves.

I stumbled home a hot mess, hair tangled, clothes caked in grime. I probably looked like death warmed over.

Rachel's boyfriend, Shawn, was waiting at my door and jumped about a foot in the air when he saw me.

Lucky for me, my place is a stand-alone, with no nosy neighbors around to gawk at my sorry state.

I had Shawn settle the cab fare, then as soon as it peeled out, he rounded on me. "What the hell happened to you? I've been blowing up Rachel's phone—she said she was coming here. Where is she?"

I ushered him inside, shut the door, then crumpled to the floor, hugging myself as I broke down. "Guys—so many of them. Rachel went off with them. I tried to stop her but they...they jumped me."

Shawn's fist smashed into the painting by the door. He loomed over me, finger jabbing the air. "You're her best friend! How could you just let her go like that? If anything happens to her, you're gonna pay, you hear me?"

After laying down his threat, Shawn stormed out, having gotten the address.

I peeled off my clothes and stood under the hottest water I could stand.

I iced my swollen face, then remembered Jessica saying the cruise ship was supposed to dock at dawn.

I blew up Jessica's phone, then Shawn's, rounding up him and his boy.

We agreed to meet at the docks and wait it out.

As the ship pulled in, my heart pounded in my ears. This was it.

I wish Rachel had sunk to the bottom of the sea, allowing her death to atone for the sins she committed in a past life.

Yet, a part of me also hopes she's alive, enduring countless agonies.

As the cruise ship docked, it had an eerie, abandoned feel to it, with not a soul in sight.

Jessica was the most eager to investigate; she hurried aboard, camera in hand.

Shawn and his buddy followed close behind. Once onboard, I overheard an incredulous voice, "Dude, even the rich know how to party."

"Shawn, is that Rachel? What the—"