Page 9 of Depths of Desire
I freeze. My fingers curl into the metal frame of the door. "How can we be out here? Isn’t this where people are?" My voice is barely above a whisper, thick with disbelief.
Nico doesn’t falter. "Yes, this is where people are." His voice is steady, unshaken, like none of this fazes him. "Stick close to me, and we’ll get through."
He doesn’t wait for my agreement. He just takes my hand, his grip firm, commanding, sending a bolt of electricity straight up my arm. My heart stutters, but I push the feeling down, focusing instead on survival.
We peek around the corner. A tight knot of men clusters in the middle of the deck, their voices clipped, their body language tense. A few of them glance toward the bridge, the glow from the ship’s navigation lights cast harsh shadows across their faces. More men arrive, their movements hurried, restless. A couple of officers from the Guardia Costiera stand at the edge of the chaos, their arms crossed, stances wide to offset the movement of the stalled ship. Their presence is like a storm brewing on the horizon.
Nico doesn’t hesitate. He pulls me in the opposite direction, moving swiftly, silently. His movements are controlled, purposeful, like he’s done this before.
We reach the first set of containers and slip between them. The scent of rusting metal and saltwater thickens the air, clinging to my skin. The corrugated container walls are cold beneath my fingertips, the dampness seeping into my bones. The wind picks up, whipping against me, sending my hair flying around my face.
My pulse pounds as I try to focus. We’re headed to the front of the ship. The bow. My brain latches onto trivial thoughts, clinging to them like a lifeline against the rising tide of panic.
Yeah. The bow. The front of the ship. That’s where we’re going. But what the hell are we going to do once we get there? My breath comes too fast, too shallow, each inhale sharp and desperate. I try to slow it down, but fear wraps around my ribs like a vise, squeezing tighter with every step.
We reach the end of the containers, and Nico leads me to the railing. The ocean stretches below, dark and endless, its surface rippling under the moonlight. The drop is dizzying.
"Okay,” he says as he turns to face me. “You’re going to have to climb down the anchor chain."
His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it now—urgency, steel.
I blink. "I’m sorry, what now?"
"The anchor chain," he repeats like it’s the most normal thing in the world. "You’re going to jump over the railing and grab hold of it."
I stare at him, my stomach plummeting. "Are you out of your freaking mind?"
"Look at the chain," he says, gesturing toward it. "It’s wider than you are. You’re not going to miss. You’ll land on it, slide down, and there’s a boat waiting. You’ll hit the water, and then you’ll swim. Don’t worry, I’m coming right after you."
"Nah. Nope. Not doing it. You cannot convince me this is a good idea."
Nico exhales, his patience thinning. "Do you want to go to prison?"
I blink again, my brain scrambling. "I’m sorry, what now?"
"Do you want to take your chances with them and the dead body? Or with whatever the hell they’re smuggling on this tub?"
I glare at him, my pulse hammering. "What are they smuggling? Is that why you’re here? Or are they smuggling for you?"
Nico’s expression hardens. "None of your fucking business. And right now, we’re getting off this ship."
"But I have my stuff?—"
Nico picks up my bag and, with zero hesitation, hurls it over the side.
I watch, stunned, as it disappears into the night.
A slow, burning rage ignites in my chest. "I fucking hate you."
He smirks. "Hate me all you want, but we’re getting off the ship. Jump down onto the chain, and then I’ll show you. If you slide a little, it won’t be so bad."
"Oh, sure. Won’t be so bad. How about this? You go first, and then I’ll get you."
His grin is sharp. "Okay. Fine."
And then—he jumps.
Effortless. Smooth. Like it’s nothing. He grips the chain as if it’s second nature, balancing with ridiculous ease. He looks up at me. "Now jump."
