Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Nothing. I dived deeper, hysterical. I’ve lost her. Oh, Jesus, she’s gone.
And then my fingers dug into muddy grit. I’d reached the bottom. No, no, no, please—
Something bumped my leg, I twisted around, and grabbed at it. Fingers. A hand. I squeezed.
It didn’t squeeze back.
I pulled the body to me, and it was her; I could feel the bun at the back of her head. I kicked for the surface with her hanging limp in my arms.
I surfaced next to the submarine, nowhere near where I needed to be, and had to grope my way back to the catwalk in the darkness, then claw my way up onto it one-handed while hanging onto Alison, then finally haul her out of the water. She still wasn’t moving. I tilted her head back, pinched her nose and put my lips on hers, then blew into her mouth. It was so dark that I couldn’t even see if her chest was rising. I had to feel for it. Yes, it’s moving.
Five breaths and she still wasn’t responding. I felt for her breastbone and started chest compressions, like Mikhail taught us when we were kids. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. Still nothing. I could feel tears wetting my cheeks. Come back to me. Please.
I straddled her and went back to chest compressions. One. Two. Three. Four. She lay there, silent and still and terrifyingly cold under my hands.
It started to creep in, then: the reality that I’d lost her. And it wasn’t like the loss of my parents, or even the loss of Yakov. It was like someone was tearing out a part of my soul. She’d become a part of me, and me a part of her. We needed to be together.
Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. She didn’t move.
I felt her slip away from me, and as the pain hit, I suddenly knew how wrong I’d been. I’d had her, I’d had a shot at a future with her, and I’d been ready to let her go, just so I could hang onto my anger, just so I didn’t have to face the guilt and pain. You stupid fucking bastard, Gennadiy. No pain could be worse than this.
Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Give me another chance, please!
Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.
I put my lips on hers and breathed—
Her body spasmed, and she choked. I rolled her onto her side and heard her coughing up lake water.
“Are you okay?!” I blurted into the blackness.
She coughed and rasped, unable to speak. But she found my arm in the dark and patted it. She’s okay!
The lights flickered on. I looked up, blinking in the sudden light, and pointed my dripping-wet gun at the loading dock—
Valentin’s head appeared over the edge. His eyes widened when he saw the two of us, and he scrambled down the stairs to help.
I looked down, and now I could see Alison, soaking wet and bedraggled but alive and as the relief swept through me, I grabbed her and crushed her to my chest.
Valentin drove us to the ER, where the doctors checked Alison over and monitored her for four hours. They finally decided she was okay to go home, as long as she was watched closely.
That wasn’t a problem because I was never taking my eyes off her again. I hadn’t let go of her hand since we left the warehouse. And as soon as we got somewhere private, I was going to finally tell her the truth about the anger...and what lay beneath it.
55
ALISON
When we arrived back at the mansion, it was almost five in the morning. I was wet-haired, wrapped in a blanket, and smelled of lake water, and all I wanted to do was collapse. But Mikhail ushered us towards the dining room. Really? A war council, now? Can’t it wait until morning? And Gennadiy seemed to agree: he wouldn’t let go of my hand and kept glancing towards the hallway and the stairs, as if he really needed to get me alone.
Mikhail circled the table, pouring a vodka for each of his nephews in turn and clapping them on the shoulder. It was obvious his family meant the world to him. But why doesn’t he have a wife or children of his own, I wondered. His dogs went with him in a kind of furry entourage, surrounding each nephew with woofing affection, paws on shoulders, and furry heads butting up for head scratches.
Mikhail poured vodka for Gennadiy. For Valentin. Then for Radimir, who was sitting there holding hands with Bronwyn while he spoke to her in a low voice. She seemed to be flipping between flushing at whatever he was saying to her, and throwing worried looks at Gennadiy, Valentin, and me, maybe wondering what if it had been Radimir who nearly died tonight? Mikhail started to pour a shot for her, but she shook her head.