Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
I take two big strides, and then I dive over the ledge. For a second, the night air is cool against my face. Then my hands pierce the water’s surface, and it swallows me just like it swallowed Frank’s car with Harper still inside.
The water is so cold it shocks the breath from my lungs. Barely enough light from the lamps lining the edge of the dock embankment for me to see maybe thirty feet down. Below that, it’s all pitch-black darkness.
The sedan is sinking fast. I don’t have much time.
She needs me.
I swim hard and kick with every bit of strength I have. My body jackknifes down. Harper’s face is pressed up against the window—pale, hair swirling around her like seaweed as the car fills with water. Her eyes are vacant. She must’ve gotten knocked out in the crash.
I swim harder. Light is fading at this depth. All I can see is her face. That perfect, porcelain skin shining amongst the green-black waters. My lungs are screaming at me as my supply of oxygen dwindles.
I reach the car and grab the door handle on Harper’s side. She’s so fucking close. Only a thin pane of glass separates us.
But the door won’t open.
The water pressure is sealing it shut.
I yank at the handle, but it won’t budge. Roaring, thrashing, tugging as hard as I can.
We keep descending, me and the car that contains the woman I love and the man who tried to take her from me, all of us plummeting toward the bottom of the river, toward hell, toward a black and silent death.
My vision is beginning to blur and blacken at the edges. There’s hardly any more light left to see by.
I only have enough strength in me for one more effort. After that, the water wins. Frank wins. Death wins.
But I won’t let that fucking happen.
Planting my feet against the runner, I redouble my grip on the door handle and pull as hard as I can while kicking away.
Nothing happens.
Nothing happens.
And then finally, after a final kick, the door gives way.
Harper comes floating out into my arms. Bloodied, pale, unconscious. I don’t know if she’s still alive. Hell, I don’t even know if I’m still alive. Maybe this is all some fucked-up nightmare, and I’ve actually drowned already at the bottom of the river.
But even if this is a dream, I won’t stop trying to rescue her until the end. Until it all fades to darkness.
She’s my kitten. I bought her. I saved her. I love her. I need her.
Never has that been so clear.
With the last of my fading strength, I face upward—still clinging to Harper in my arms—toward the shimmering green surface of the river. And I swim as hard as I can.
My vision is a tiny pinpoint now, one speck of light way above me. It grows bigger as we get closer to the surface. My chest is a clenched fist, squeezing the last of the breath I have in me. Harper is still so limp in my arms, so deathly pale and unmoving.
I came for you, I want to say to her. Even if we die now, I want you to know that. I came for you. I’d do it again if I have to. I’ll always come for you.
And then we break the surface and I suck in a desperate breath of air.
I suck in more air and then swim in the direction of the river bank.
I drag Harper up onto the bank. She isn’t moving. I can’t feel a pulse, but my fingers are so cold from the water that I can’t say for sure if her heart is still beating.
“Harper!” I roar. “Harper!”
I came this far to save her.
I can’t fucking lose her now.
Harper
They say you can see your whole life flashing by you the moment you die.
In a mere second, everything that led you here will cross your mind … everything that spun your world on its axis.
The world around me is bright, and even though my eyes are closed, it feels as though I’m staring straight into the sun. All the colors of the rainbow wrap around me, caressing me with a soft embrace like a warm blanket covering me.
My mother’s face floats above me, her gentle smile and soothing voice lulling me to sleep.
“Mom,” I murmur, yawning as I clutch the blankets closer to me.
“Yes, honey?” she hums, placing the book she read to me back onto the shelves.
“Why don’t I look like you and Daddy?”
I don’t know why the question suddenly springs into my head, but I’ve thought about it many times before.
She pauses near the bookshelves and gazes at me with a puzzled look on her face. “I don’t know what you mean.”
I rub my lips together, questioning my own sanity. “Well, I have green eyes, and you and daddy have brown eyes.”