Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
Have I mentioned I don’t want to drown?
As we crest with Shepherd and Juan fighting, Molly whining, the door to the stairs outside blows open.
Water streams in, so frigid it’s like knives sliding across my skin.
Shepherd spares me another glance.
“Hold on tight. We’re moving now,” he tells me, voice strained and knuckles white from his grip.
“Starboard!” Juan yells, turning the wheel.
The yacht sways like a dazed dragon, groaning in protest, and I’m sure this is going to be it as another wave picks us up like we’re a paper plane.
This one feels endless, almost as bad as the last one that knocked me out.
When we reach the top, we’re nearly vertical again.
I hug Molly as tight as I can.
I know from the stress building in my stomach what’s coming next and I try to brace myself.
Our descent is too swift, too furious, and the ship plunges back into the murky waters like a bad carnival ride.
The impact throws me forward until I lose my grip on poor Molly.
So much water billows in through the open cabin door.
A quick, angry wave grabs me, pulls me, freezes my fingers, dragging me toward the door.
“No, no!”
Before I can finish screaming, we’re moving over hills of water again. The ship tilts and the flood that came in starts spilling back out—only this time, it has me by the ankles, and it’s taking me with it.
I can’t breathe.
I make a strangled, gurgling sound, muffled by water.
Shepherd turns, sees what’s happening, and visceral panic crosses his face. He leaps across the room and grabs me, his fingers splayed, grasping, desperate.
He misses.
There’s no stopping gravity. Not when I’m careening helplessly toward the open door, the mouth of ocean doom outside.
Then Molly lunges and her teeth snag my jacket sleeve.
She bites down hard enough to bruise.
Yes, enough.
It keeps me from losing my fight against the water.
Everything hurts and I’m winded, but I’m still alive.
Still on board the ship.
Still in this.
I throw up a hand, praying for something to grab on to. My fingernails slide across the smooth surface.
Then another wave roars in through the open door and this time, even Molly’s tormented grip isn’t enough to save me. I’m all out of chances.
Down.
Down.
Down.
I brace for the worst, pinching my eyes shut while a dark voice laughs in the back of my mind.
Irony of ironies.
Your fear of the ocean was always right, and you didn’t listen.
I’m just hoping the final plunge that turns my lungs to ice and rams its way up my nose, my mouth, is quick.
I’m not expecting a hand.
Not a defiant grip, strong fingers digging into my flesh.
Shepherd swings me around so I’m almost out of the water.
We lunge backward, tangled together, hands searching and fingers wrapped around the freezing metal of the bolted chair against the wall.
It’s way too late for any dignity.
As the ship bounces and sounds like it’s splitting clean in half, I bury my face in his chest, too numb to feel his warmth.
But he’s there.
I know he is.
Frozen, miserable, and angrier than the storm itself, but he’s there for me.
The thud of his heart matches mine.
Alive, even in the jaws of death.
Still blinking water out of my eyes, I look over his shoulder.
First I see Juan, dead-eyed and staring in disbelief.
Awesome.
There’s another killer wave charging dead at us.
I’m almost bored of dying at this point.
If we get out of this alive by some miracle, I will never not respect the sea.
Shepherd’s swift movement is the only thing that keeps us watching and waiting for the end.
“Hang on to the chair!” he yells hoarsely.
“Wait, where are you—” I never get to finish.
Not before he’s bolting for the door that keeps flapping with the wind, the latch broken or jammed. He looks like he’s holding up an avalanche as he flattens himself against it, still staring at me.
Holy hell, no.
There’s still too much water pooled around my feet, the floor so slick. There’s no way he’ll have traction if—no, when—the water blows it open again.
“Shepherd!” My scream tears my throat, but he doesn’t move.
Then the wave hits and everything goes upside down.
I’m panting and sobbing and fighting but—I don’t feel that familiar suffocating flood, do I?
He’s actually doing it.
Like some kind of freaky, grumpy superhero, he holds back the deluge.
He saves us yet again.
I don’t breathe until the ship stops turning.
The final impact isn’t as terrible this time, or maybe I’m just used to being heaved around like I’m in a blender.
Everything goes deathly still.
I have to check to make sure Molly’s still there. I swear, if I didn’t know any better, she’s holding her breath just like we are, waiting for the next wave we can’t hold back.
But although we’re tossed around for a few more minutes, the next hills of water are kittens after dealing with a lion.
Minutes pass.
Quiet grows.
The ship moves like it isn’t about to break apart, and amazingly, there’s no sign we’re sinking.