Page 109 of Savage Surrender

There’s another shout, but I can’t see anyone anymore.

I swim in the direction I think the house is in, but my arms are burning. The beach should move closer, but it doesn’t.

The current catches my legs and pulls me under. There’s a cramp in my stomach that pulls tighter every time I kick.

I float on my back to catch my breath. My mouth clears the surface just as a wave slaps my face. Salt burns down my throat, and I start coughing.

Someone is shouting again. I saw something about swimming parallel on a warning sign.

The next wave rolls me. Sky, water, sand - then water again. My shoulder strikes something soft and solid, and an arm hooks around my waist.

I claw viciously before I can tell which one it is, but he doesn’t let go.

A rough palm grabs at my skin, pulling me closer. I kick backward until my heel connects, and he lets go. The current pulls him away from me.

I don’t know which direction is parallel.

I follow the pale blur above my head and break the surface long enough to cough. My arms are going numb.

I kick to reach the surface, but my legs are difficult to move.

I gasp for air and get water.

23

WELLER

Ikeep both hands locked around the deck railing until Bianca disappears beyond the dunes.

She looks back once. Neither of us follows her down the boardwalk. She asked for a little air, and I’m going to give it to her even if every instinct in my body is screaming while I watch her go.

The empty stretch between the house and the trees bothers me the second she’s gone.

Tristan has a phone in one hand and takes up a position at the other end of the deck, where he can see the boardwalk and our portion of the beach through the dunes.

Two minutes pass. Then five.

Tristan walks to the top of the steps and stops. His thumb moves over Bianca’s name on his screen without calling it.

“She asked for air,” I remind him.

“I’m aware. But a little light stalking couldn’t hurt.”

He must think better of it because he comes back to the railing. Thirty seconds later, he’s at the steps again.

Giving her space felt possible when she was close enough to touch. Now every gust of wind brings salt, wet sand, and the faint remains of her scent.

I check the time again. It’s only been eight minutes.

“Twenty minutes, and then we go after her.”

Tristan looks at me. “That’s twelve minutes too long.”

He’s right, but Bianca is struggling. She’s accustomed to a level of freedom we can’t allow. Downtown is fifteen minutes on foot, and she may not even be going that far. I can give her twenty minutes.

I make it to nineteen, and something tears through the bond so hard my grip slips on the railing.

Her fear.