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This man is not threatening me. He’s hell-bent on possessing me, even if it means imposing destruction on my body. I touch my face. It’s wet. Through the diminutive gaps my eyelids manage to reveal, my vision tunnels on Aidan’s knife. Blood. It’s dripping with blood.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He holds my trembling hands, sobbing. “I want you. Do you know that?”
His cry sickens me. “Go to hell!”
“What did you say?” The man was a trained fighter, and he handles me as if I was his opponent in the ring. He picks me up by the hair and smashes my face against the railing several times. Perhaps at the spot where our hands hung onto, together, barely minutes ago.
“Now no other men will want you. Look at your fucking face!”
He stops the banging, but I’m still in his grip.
“No one says no to me,” he roars, letting me fall as he releases me.
With the little energy left within me, I get up. The man might be in command now, but I still have a choice. It’s not ride or die—it’s flee or die. I’m breaking the cycle of control once and for all.
“What are you doing?” It’s a question Aidan throws when my actions don’t suit his mood.
I don’t have the strength to jump overboard, but I use the railing to push myself up and tip my body toward the water, enough for gravity to suck me into the mighty Lake Geneva.
“Nooo!” Aidan shouts.
A chill entombs me as I dive under the boat, hiding from his scanning eyes. He knows I’m a runner, but he doesn’t know that I’ve earned bragging rights for having two of the strongest lungs among amateur athletes in Europe, thanks to my training as a free diver.
The fog works in my favor, allowing me to steal a few quiet chances to breathe, but I keep myself submerged most of the time.
“Amalia!”
That savage hasn’t given up calling my name, and so I haven’t given up on myself. I swear, I will not take my last breath here!
Water whirls around me. Disoriented, I barely escape the propeller, but I manage to use the wake to disguise my moves.
Whatever happens, I’m not going to let my abuser own me—dead or alive. If I survive, he’ll never touch me again, let alone have me—not even the tiniest strand of my hair. If I die, I want the water to claim me.
Coldness bites at my face, and loose skin tugs away from my flesh like anemones dancing in the water. If I was a teddy bear, it would probably take three days to repair my face. But as a human?
I will never be the same—if I survive.
My adrenalin is still pumping, and I make the most of it, one stroke at a time, to get somewhere. Somewhere…
Lake Geneva is the largest body of water in Switzerland. Swim the wrong way, and I could die of hypothermia or exhaustion before I see dry land—and I’m not far from reaching that state. My limbs cramp up. My lungs, my strongest organs, are giving out signs that they’re running on empty. I’m nothing more than floating debris in the black water. I can’t even open my eyes.
As the wind picks up, the waves push me against a big, sturdy object. It feels like the side of a boat.
Two hands hook under my armpits, followed by a pull. I’m dragged out of the water, not knowing where or by who.
My eyes are no more than two clumps of sands, and my lids are stuck shut. I wail helplessly as the water abrades my exposed face when it meets dry air.
My fear intensifies.
Has Aidan found me?
My head rests on a taut shoulder. It could be anyone’s shoulder, but one thing is sure—it doesn’t belong to Aidan Rolland. The way this person holds me is unfamiliarly comforting. I’m in the company of a stranger. A gentle stranger, if what’s left of my senses are right.
My water-clogged ears catch a couple of French words. I converse in English here because my French is terrible, to say the least. But I think the man asked me if I can hear him.
“Yes,” I sigh—to answer him, and to let out my relief.
My breath bounces back, buffeting my own lips. Something is in close proximity to my mouth. Most likely the man trying to hear what I’m saying.
