And I was bouncing.
My stomach flipped, sloshed, and bile tracked up my throat.
I had to fight.
I had to…
“I can’t…”
Speak, think, move, breathe right.
“I’ve got you,” the voice said.
I heard the door open, the soft crash of waves, then the door clicking closed behind me.
No.
No, this wasn’t right.
I needed…
“Noa!”
My heart leapt.
Because that voice I immediately recognized.
Caymen.
My body jolted, some part of me responding to the plea in his voice.
“Noa, fight!” he roared.
Was he coming closer?
Was that a rush of water?
It was all too much.
My head was too swimmy.
Thinking hurt.
“Noa! Fuck!”
I heard the slap of wet feet. And I managed to worry about his feet. His cut feet. They really shouldn’t have been in the saltwater.
But as soon as those thoughts slid away, none managed to replace them.
“Put her down,” Caymen roared.
“Of course,” the man said.
Then I was falling.
And with no way to brace for it, I crashed down hard on my side, the pressure making a pain explode, and a warm trickle slid down my arm, but I couldn’t remember why.
I heard grunts, curses, and the crunch of fists colliding with bodies. When I tried to look, though, everything was blurry, making the sick feeling rise up my throat again, so I squeezed my eyes shut instead.
