Tony
Some words don’t mean anything until you live them. You don’t know suffocation until you drown. You can’t judge poverty until you’ve tasted hunger. War and peace mean nothing until a bullet whistles past your ear.
For me, that word is fear. I never understood it until today. But now, watching Lucia slip from my grasp and fall, I understand the essence of terror for the very first time in my life, with every part of me.
The second she disappears I jump after her. No thinking. No hesitation. I’ve never been in this house before. I have no idea what’s waiting below. I could land on flat ground, a thorn bush, or even iron railings. But in this moment, life or death doesn’t fucking matter. All I care about is shielding Lucia from harm, even if the odds of catching her mid-air are almost nonexistent.
Only when I hit do I realize we’ve fallen into water. As I thrash to orient myself, I look around and spot her rising toward the surface. I know she’s a skilled swimmer, but that doesn’t matter now.
I need to reach her. I need her in my arms. I need to know she’s okay.
Here, in the darkness, beneath the water, with my lungs screaming for air, I come face-to-face with a truth I’ve been denying all along. This woman means more to me than anything in the world. More than the food I eat, the air I breathe, or every dollar I own. For her, I’d sacrifice my power, my wealth, even my life in a heartbeat.
In the brief moment that feels like an eternity, I reach her. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her upward.
Seconds later, we break the surface, gasping for air like we’ve been starved of it for days. I swim toward the edge of the pool, the one that just saved our lives, and spot Rafael rushing toward us.
I pass the coughing and sputtering Lucia into Rafael’s hands as he kneels by the water’s edge. Planting my right forearm on the edge of the pool, I haul myself out and immediately kneel beside her.
I gather her shaking body into my arms, my hand cradling her face as I examine her closely. Her skin is pale, almost bluish, and she’s sobbing uncontrollably, her breaths hitching with each cry.
The chill in the night air sinks into my own wet skin, sending a shiver through me, but all I can focus on is her. My gaze falls on her barely covered body, and a wave of self-loathing hits me. What kind of man forces his woman to wear something like this?
Without hesitation, I lift her into my arms again and head toward the entrance. Lucia, her teeth chattering, begins to cry harder. “Don’t… don’t take me back… to that… house.”
I stop in my tracks mid-step and look down at her.
Her face is turned up to me, her eyes filled with desperation. She still feels unsafe. Still thinks that even with me here, someone might harm her.
And why shouldn’t she?
Goddamn me, she has every right to think I’m a worthless, fucking bastard. Rage at myself floods my veins, burning through the cold like armor.
I change direction and head toward the car. As the driver opens the back door, Rafael approaches with a thick blanket. I wrap it around Lucia’s trembling frame, keeping her close to my chest as I climb into the car without setting her down.
Rafael moves with lightning speed, sliding into the front seat as the driver starts the car and cranks the heater to full blast. Lucia shifts in my arms, trying to pull away, but I don’t let her. Both arms tighten around her, holding her firmly against my chest. I can’t let her slip away again. I just can’t.
Her body is still shivering hard. I bury my face into the curve of her neck, pressing soft kisses against her chilled skin.
Rafael’s voice breaks through the tense silence. “Doctor’s already on his way to the penthouse. He’ll beat us there.”
I just pull Lucia closer to my chest.
Minutes pass. As the warmth inside the car builds, the violent shaking of her body begins to subside. Her skin, still under my lips, feels warmer between the soft, lingering kisses I place along her neck.
Then her voice comes—a weak, broken whisper, like the dying breath of someone barely holding on. “How could you?”
My eyes squeeze shut, and my hand clenches into a fist.
Her weak voice cuts through the silence again. “I’m the mother of your child. A child who hasn’t even been born yet. How could you hand me over to a pack of men like that?”
This time, I lift my head, my gaze snapping to hers, burning with anger. My breaths come heavy, my nostrils flaring. “I just wanted to scare you. To punish you.”
“You’re lying.” She raises her voice. “You made me dress like a whore,”
I just stare at her. What could I possibly say to defend myself? Everything she’s saying is true. And yet, her defiance, her boldness to throw it back in my face, only fuels my anger.
I’m a fucking piece of trash, and I know it.
