But not with this level of vitriol.
Not like he wants me dead.
I push against him like I would the wall of the pool, trying to get far enough away to surface, but the moment I sneak abreath, he yanks my ankle, forcing my head back beneath the water. Squirming, kicking, wanting to scream in frustration when I don’t have enough air to risk it, my head still fuzzy from the knock against the desk, it’s too fucking much.
I kick with my heel—like RJ trained me to do—at Trevor’s diaphragm, and his grip loosens enough for me to flutter away, surfacing for a mouthful of water, the pool rolling with waves from our struggle. With one more kick, my head’s above the rolling surface, my eyes burning from the chlorine. I dive back under, even if that’s the last thing I want to do, because it’s faster to swim like I’m playing a game of goddamn dolphins than it is to stay where there’s actually air.
And freedom from the man who seems to want to kill me only comes if I can somehow get out of this fucking pool.
I’m almost to the edge when fingers wrap around my ankle, and I kick with everything I have as I’m tugged deeper, whoever has me diving to the bottom of the deep end. I swing and flail, getting Trevor in the ass and back as he dives, but they’re glancing blows, the water pushing the force away from him.
He reaches the bottom, clawing his way up my leg until he can grasp my bound wrists with one hand and pin both my ankles with his other hand.
I fight as hard as I can, but there’s only so much I can do without air. Stuck at the bottom of a beautiful indoor pool, held by a man used to getting whatever he wants, I know that my denial of him has led to a deadly tantrum. I’m the toy he’s bashing against the floor, too upset to see that he’s destroying me.
For a moment, I wonder what Trips’ father will do to him if he kills me. Probably a backhand—nothing too terrible forhis darling boy. Where will they bury me? What will they tell my dad? Would my mom even cry?
I can’t fathom what the guys would do.
I don’t want to say goodbye.
My lungs spasm, and I can’t help it when my body takes over, desperately inhaling chemical-infused water, my brain and lungs immediately rejecting what they forced on me, everything inside and out burning like I’m on fire all the way through.
But then, it’s like my body gives up the fight, even as my mind races, the glittering blue tiles drifting toward my face. I can’t help but wonder how I keep ending up like this. Dying. Again.
Is it me? This place?
I’m not ready to go. I want to fight with Trips, grow with RJ, play with Jansen, indulge with Walker.
I want so much more.
This won’t be my end. I won’t let it.
Chapter 31
Trips
Nothing but waves and my brother’s curses exist for me, but the ringing in my ears is louder. Throwing my body backwards against the guard behind me, I bowl him over, rolling and snatching a boot knife from the guard beside him.
A moment later, my arms are free, the sting of my hasty use of the blade hardly registering. What is unbearably real is Clara’s desperate dolphin kick across the pool, the longest way to the edge, likely unable to see the shorter path to her left.
The guards still on their feet come at me, and I know that every moment I spend fighting them is a moment Clara needs me. Using every bit of skill RJ taught me, honed by the hours in the gym with Falk and my superior mass, I break free, unable to worry about what kind of damage I did to the men who tried to stop me. All but Falk and the new guard were men I’d sworn I’d hurt their enjoyment of Clara’s humiliatingvisit with the doctor this fall. A few broken bones are hardly payment, but I’ll take them. For now.
Diving in, I’m halfway across the pool when the waves calm enough to see that Clara and Trevor have vanished. Another moment I don’t have passes until I spy Trevor struggling to keep Clara pinned at the bottom of the deep end.
A splash sounds behind me, but I ignore it.
Not when Clara’s thrashing, bubbles escaping her mouth much too quickly.
I gulp down air and dive, my eyes burning as I watch Clara’s fight fade, her body going limp in my half-brother’s arms. The idiot finally realizes he’s fucked up, pushing off the bottom, dragging Clara behind him as he struggles to reach the surface. Twisting, I stroke to them, the knife in my hand slicing his arm. He drops Clara, and I grab her before she sinks farther, kicking with everything I have to get her out of the pool.
To get her away from him.
But when we get to the surface, she doesn’t move, and I kick to the opposite side of the pool from Trevor, hauling her to the tiles, tilting her on her side, the knife still tight in one palm, terror grasping my heart in two fists and squeezing tight.
Not again.
Not fucking again.
