Page 221 of Filthy Elites

I’m dripping water all over the fucking place, but I push what I can out of my hair so it doesn’t drip in her face when I lean over her, then I drop to my knees and see if she’s breathing.

She isn’t.

Fuck.

“Should we call someone?” Scofield says, glancing at me uncertainly.

“Oh my god, she’s fine,” Anae says, but this time there’s an edge of nervousness, like it might be occurring to her she’s taken it too far.

Not because the girl isn’t breathing, but because people are starting to question her.

I don’t answer. All my focus zeroes in on the girl and the noise around me dies away.

As a competitive swimmer, I know what to do in a situation like this. I tilt her head back and lift her chin to open her airway. I listen one more time to make sure she really isn’t breathing, and when I confirm she’s not, I position my hands in the middle of her chest and do compressions. After the first round, I pinch her nose, lower my mouth to hers, and breathe my air into her lungs.

I sense the nervousness of the people gathered around increase when I do a few rounds and the girl is still unconscious.

“Come on,” I murmur, pressing her chest, and then leaning down to press my mouth against hers again.

Relief hits hard when her body jerks and she starts coughing up pool water.

I sit back on my legs and breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

That was fucking close.

Even though it’s a hot night, the girl shivers as she tries to regain her bearings.

Glancing at the nearest of Anae’s bimbos, I tell Mallory, “Go get her a towel.”

Mallory’s gaze flits to Anae but doesn’t linger long enough to see whether or not she supports my order. She comes back a moment later with a fluffy turquoise beach towel and hands it to the girl with a meek, “Here you go.”

The girl looks at Mallory for a moment, then snatches the towel and mutters a thank you as she drapes it over her back and pulls the ends around her shoulders.

Finally, the girl’s gaze flickers to me.

She studies my face, a frown creasing her brow. “You’re not an angel.”

A smirk tugs at the corners of my lips. “No, I am not.”

Her gaze flickers to the tattoo covering my right shoulder, a crow with spread wings. She looks down and breathes in, placing a hand on her chest.

Addressing the crowd, I say, “Someone call her an ambulance.”

“No,” she says quickly, shaking her head but not looking at me. “Thank you, but I’m okay now.”

“You still need medical attention. There was water in your lungs. You need to be looked at by a doctor. You could still die.”

“I won’t die,” she says almost dismissively. “I have too much to do.”

“I don’t think being busy is enough to keep you alive.”

She shakes her head, pulling the towel off and trying to stand.

Her legs go out from under her instantly. I’m right there, catching her around the waist so she doesn’t fall.

I pull her into my lap since her little ass doesn’t want to listen. Looking directly at Scofield, I say, “Call her an ambulance.”

“No,” she objects again, struggling to move off my lap.

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