Page 135 of Sin Like the Devil

Xander is gone.

I keep my eyes screwed shut as the cold water covers them. That way I can pretend I’m floating out to sea on a blissful wave, content to let the current carry me back to shore when it’s time to return.

Chest burning with each passing second, the pressure is a slow build. Lungs seeking to expand once all the air has escaped as dying bubbles. But there’s no air underwater. No reprieve from the inevitable conclusion.

Just nothingness.

The watery grave of Harrowdean’s whore.

I hear a crash ringing all around me as something collides with the water. When the first bit of water pushes into my mouth and lungs, causing me to gag, I feel hands grasping at my wrists.

Snap.

The plastic zip ties give way. More water spills into my mouth, filling my lungs with each new iteration of panic. Something sharp nicks my wrist as the bindings release, tie by tie.

I feel the last bubble escape my mouth. My throat, chest cavity… everything feels like it’s on fire. The snipping of my wrists being set free feels faraway, lost in the expanse of the pool’s inky depths.

I hope Lennox is satisfied.

I hope Raine is safe.

I hope Xander learns to feel again.

One wrist suddenly breaks free, floating at my side. I’m too weak to even move it. Sharp nicks from a blade pierce my other wrist, working its way through the plastic trapping me in place.

On the verge of fading out, I feel the last piece of plastic leave my skin. I’m left afloat, sinking deeper into the welcoming nothingness. Until arms wrap around my waist. I’m propelled upwards, through layer after layer of umbra.

Rain showers down on my head as we break the surface. I frantically try to suck in a breath, but the oxygen can’t seem to find its way into my airway. Nothing penetrates the blockade of swallowed water.

“Breathe, goddammit.”

The voice offers what should be a cold command, but it comes out sounding more like a plea. The desperate call of salvation from the unlikeliest of sources. I wish I could appease that voice. I want to breathe.

Wet clothing slaps against hard ground. Pain radiates up my spine. Hands slip and slide all over me, searching for signs of life. I feel his arms band around my ribcage before I’m jerked—once, twice, three times.

On the third painful manoeuvre, water comes spewing up. It pours from my mouth and nose, burning so fiercely, I may as well have swallowed fire. When the heaving stops, I’m laid back down, and a mouth seals over mine.

Short, sharp bursts of air are pushed past my lips. The five rapid rescue breaths force my airways to reopen and accept sustenance once more. Lips disappearing from mine, I’m free to drag in my first excruciating breath.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Each ragged gasp brings life back to my soul. I can feel my limbs twitching and wrists throbbing. I’m flat on my back, still being hammered by rain. But something must be braced above me, protecting my face from most of the downpour.

Fingertips smooth wet curls back from my face. Gentle. Almost tender. The same hand that clasped mine in the medical wing despite thinking I wouldn’t remember his momentary compassion.

My eyes flutter open. His face is shadowed but visible. Water drips from his hair and clothing, the continued flashes of lightning revealing what I’d never believe without seeing it myself.

Emotion.

His almost-black eyes are full of it.

“Y-You… saved me.”

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