Page 230 of Sins of the Hidden

I wish I could've shown him that he wasn't a monster.

Concrete blocks dragged Oakley under, my world shattering. The rope caught on the dead man’s body, taking him under too. Her hand vanished beneath the dark water, fingertips reaching once—then gone. No thought. No calculation. Just blind fucking terror.

"OAKLEY!" Her name ripped from my throat as I launched myself into the water, my body cutting through air before slamming into the surface.

Water punched through my lungs, oxygen ripped away. Every nerve screamed for air, but nothing existed except her—absolutely fucking nothing.

Through swirling darkness, her form appeared, sinking like stone, hair floating around her face like a halo in the churning water. The body entangled with her, bloated limbs dragging her deeper into the abyss.

I shot forward, my arms extending through the water. My fingers closed around Oakley's shoulder first, gripping her tightly as I pulled her toward me. The corpse's arm wrapped around her waist, his dead weight tugging her down. I grabbedhis shoulder with my other hand, pushing hard against his chest to separate them. His body refused to budge, the water making every movement sluggish.

I grabbed that asshole's corpse, trying to rip it away from her. My fingers slipped uselessly against waterlogged clothes. Arms shaking, movements jerky, lungs burning—too slow, too fucking slow to reach her. I dug my fingers into his jacket, using all my strength to tear him away from Oakley. My knee jammed against his torso for leverage as I yanked Oakley free from his grip.

My bat wedged between their bodies, fighting to separate them as I grabbed my wife with my free arm, pulling her toward me. With Oakley's waist secure in my grip, I shoved the bat hard against the corpse's chest, pushing him away.

The bat got stuck in his waterlogged clothes. I pulled with desperation, lungs screaming for oxygen, spots dancing across my vision. The choice was clear—Oakley's deadweight in one arm, my bat trapped in the other. My vision darkened more, time running out.

My fingers uncurled from the handle—letting go of the only constant in my fucked up life.

The thing that freed me from childhood hell. The extension of my body that had given me every moment of power, of control, of existence. Each groove and stain told the story of another kill, another victory, proof that I was the one still standing.

The water seemed to grab it greedily, pulling it down faster than it should have fallen. All I'd ever been disappeared into the depths as I chose her over everything I'd ever known. The bat disappeared like it never was. My hand felt... nothing.

I let go of everything I'd ever been, and still she wasn't breathing.

My hand found the rough concrete block tied to her ankle. The rope was tight, swollen with water. I tugged at the knot, butit was too secure. I wedged my fingers between the rope and her ankle, pulling with all my strength. The fibers cut into my hand as I strained against it. I braced my foot against the block and pulled Oakley in the opposite direction, feeling the rope begin to give. One final violent jerk and the rope snapped, the concrete block tumbling away into the depths.

I wrapped her in my arms, kicking upward. My muscles screamed against her weight and the water's resistance. Every thrust fought against the darkness that wanted to claim us both.

I broke the surface, sucking in fresh air. Oakley hung lifeless in my arms, head lolling against my shoulder. Skin gray, lips bluish and parted, no breath passing between them. No fucking movement. Nothing.

"Stay with me," I snarled, fighting toward shore through water that seemed determined to drag us back down.

The bank sucked at my boots, mud grabbing like hands trying to pull us back into the depths. I staggered forward, refusing to fall, refusing to fail her. When I finally reached solid ground, I dropped to my knees, laying Oakley's motionless body on the mud.

Her chest didn't move. Her face remained empty. Death was coming for her.

"Oakley." My voice cracked as I pressed my ear to her chest, searching for any sign of life. Only silence answered, a void where her heartbeat should be.

I tilted her head back, pinched her nose, and sealed my mouth over hers. Her lips unmoving against mine. I forced my breath into her lungs, feeling the resistance of fluid still trapped inside, watching her chest rise under my command. Once. Twice. Her flesh felt unyielding beneath my hands, with the taste of mud and metal on her lips—the taste of death trying to take what was mine.

My hands positioned over her chest, driving compressions, feeling her ribs give slightly beneath my strength—the sickening flex of bone that would normally mean I was killing, not saving. The contrast wasn't lost on me. These same hands that had crushed windpipes and shattered skulls were now desperately trying to restart her heart. "Don't you fucking leave me."

The marks mirroring my own childhood scars—history repeating itself in the worst fucking way. Another breath forced into her mouth, forcing life back into her even if it meant surrendering my own.

I could feel her chest expand beneath my palm, then deflate without resistance. More compressions, harder this time. I counted them out loud—a desperate mantra. "One, two, three, four..." Each one a demand, a prayer, a threat to whatever force was trying to take her. The ground beneath my knees turned to mud, mixed with my own blood from scraped skin, but I didn't feel it. Nothing existed but this—but her.

"You owe me a fucking answer," I snarled between breaths. "You fucking promised me, Oakley."

Nothing. Just the trickle of water slipping from her mouth, like the last thread tying her to this world. Everything else blurred—time, breath, memory—until all that remained was her pale face.

Too late. I'm too fucking late.

I bent over her, forehead against hers, as if I could anchor her to me. As if grief alone could drag her back. Then I sealed my mouth over hers again, pushed another breath into her lungs, and started compressions all over. Harder. Deeper. Desperate.

A spasm rocked through her body. Water gushed from her mouth as her lungs expelled the toxic sludge. I wrenched her onto her side, supporting her head as her body fought for survival. Each convulsion meant life. She was fighting. Her chestrose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths—unconscious but alive. A small sound escaped her throat, barely audible over the rain.

My body sagged. For one second, I could breathe.

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