You’re a fucking dead man, Cagney.
I shove the tang of blood out of my mind, adrenaline spiking as I hammer my legs upward, hoping to hell the hit I threw distracted the beast enough that it doesn’t catch on to the scent too fast. My eardrums are screaming, the darkness closing in like jaws. The whole time, I feel just one second away from losing consciousness.
And it doesn’t help that the way up feels like eternity stretched thin. My lungs are on fire, my throat ready to collapse.
It’s only when I spot that faint glimmer of light above me that a flicker of sense claws its way back. With what’s left in me, I drive upward. The last stretch is nothing but desperation and raw agony. Then, somehow, I’m back at the surface.Somehow.
The thing is… everything’s a dizzy haze, black spots all over. I don’t know if I’m gasping or if my body’s forgotten how, and the world spins so hard I’m not sure I even made it up.
It’s only when someone starts pulling me, do I know I’m really here. The sand is taken out of my hand, my head is being held in warm hands, and soon I feel something cold and hard against my back.
“Is he alright?” A voice, soft, shaky—a man’s.
“Just throw the damn sand in!” Another, rougher, cutting through the fog in my head.
I don’t know what happens next. Everything is a blur. I sense lips on mine—familiar, like coming home. Then I’m down, flat on my back, feeling the sand against me and those hands, firm on my shoulders, shaking me back to the surface of awareness.
Hands grip my shoulders, shaking me gently. I know I should reciprocate somehow; I should say something perhaps, but the darkness keeps pulling me under.
“You made it, Zayan.” That voice… no mistaking it. My Gypsy. A faint grin tugs at my lips before I even register it. Her. My woman. “You made it.”
Those words? They spark something, dragging a trace of light into the black. Enough to form one clear thought:
I made it. This time, I saved her. I didn’t lose her again.
Pure relief. Happiness. A balm to my pain. A victory.
I let it all sink in.
And with that, the darkness takes me again.
36
Gypsy
Nobody tells you how damn painful it is to care about someone. They always spin it as this magical thing—like you’re supposed to feel giddy, stupid, like one of those fools sighing into the horizon or twirling their hair like they’ve lost their damn wits.
Songs and stories paint it as some grand, life-changing experience. But they never say how it twists you up inside. How it feels like a knife pressing just close enough to remind you it’s there, that it could cut deeper any second.
Passing Ridley on deck, my chest tightens like something’s clawing from the inside out. My heart feels like it’s been hacked to pieces, each half struggling to keep me standing, even though I feel like I should’ve dropped dead hours ago.
Ridley’s gaze snaps to mine as he catches sight of Fabien and Vinicola hauling Zayan’s limp form. “What’s going on?” he demands.
“He keeps slipping in and out,” I manage, fingers digging into my scalp like it’ll force the panic back down. “Dove too deep, and now he’s… not all there. Not yet.”
Ridley’s face hardens, fiercer than I’ve ever seen on a man his age. “Get him to the cabin. Now.”
Fabien’s face is set, unreadable, as he nods and hurries past me with Vinicola, Zayan’s arms swaying like dead weight. I watch them, legs barely holding me, like the whole damn world is tilting beneath my feet and I can’t find any strength in them.
Fuck, this can’t be happening… It just can’t.
I bite down hard and force my body to move, trailing Ridley into the cabin where they’ve laid Zayan out. Fabien’s already at his side, fingers pressed to Zayan’s wrist, face drawn with something akin to dreadful calculation. Vinicola stands nearby, his hands trembling, his face lined with worry that’s so damn obvious it makes my stomach twist.
It’s like I see myself in him.
“Is he breathing right?” I ask, trying to shake off the memory of the sounds he made after resurfacing, each one like his lungs were filling with seawater—a wet, rasping struggle that cuts through me even now.
Fabien glances up. “His breathing’s shallow, but it’s there. We’ve got to keep him warm—the cold and pressure took their toll.”
