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“She’s not a woman. She’s my baby daughter, you motherfucker!” He grabs me by the hair and pushes my face into the water, then locks my legs with his to stop me from moving around.
He’s going to drown me.
The motherfucker is really intent on drowning me.
I grab his arms and push, trying to remove his hold on my head, but he has brute fucking strength that keeps me pinned in place. How can it be that this crazy asshole was in a coma and is still recovering?
The fucking idiot. If he kills me, he’ll go to jail and no one will be there for Gwyneth.
That’s when I hear her hysterical cries for her father to stop, but he’s too far gone to listen to her.
Or anyone—aside from the demons in his head.
My lungs burn and I swallow the chlorinated water in my attempts to get some air. My grip loosens from around his arms and black dots fill my vision.
Ah, fuck.
I thought he’d try to kill me. But not that he’d actually succeed.
Still, all I can think about is Gwyneth’s tear-streaked face and how she’ll probably lose both of us now.
Me to death.
King to jail.
Then she’ll be all alone again.
The pressure of King’s hand disappears from my head and I think I’m crossing over to the other side, but then soft palms grab me by the cheeks and lift me up from the water.
I gulp in a sharp intake of air and splutter water as I cough up everything that I swallowed. The scratch and burn in my throat don’t disappear, but none of that matters.
Not when Gwyneth is holding my face, wet strands of her wild hair sticking to her temples and tears streaming down her cheeks. “Nate? Can you hear me? Are you okay?”
I can’t talk, and it’s not only because of the grogginess in my throat. How the fuck did she get in here? She doesn’t know how to swim.
I stare behind her and find that King has her by the waist to keep her afloat even when his face is tight and murderous, and he definitely still has plans to kill me.
Fuck me. This brave woman jumped in the water, despite not knowing how to swim, because she knew her safety is what King cares about above anything else. She risked drowning to save me, my Gwyneth.
“He’ll be dead in a second.” King tries to push her to the edge of the pool, but she wraps her legs around my waist, her sneakers digging into my back. Her arms circle my neck, and that forces King to bring us both to the edge.
Then he climbs up and reaches his hand out to her. “Come here.”
“Not until you promise you won’t hurt him.”
“You don’t want to talk about him, Gwen. Let him the fuck go.”
She stares into my eyes and I nod before I speak in a scratchy voice, “I’m fine. Get out of the water.”
That’s not what she does, though. Instead, she uses the back of her arm to wipe at my face, probably the blood, and sniffles. I wince when she touches the bruises her father left behind and that causes tears to slide down her cheeks.
Ever since she was young, Gwyneth was always the type who felt other people’s pain and discomfort before her own. When King noticed the signs, he stopped her from becoming a people pleaser early on, but he could’ve never tamed the wild emotions that run through her.
It’s what makes her a unique person who’s not a copycat of her father. She’s special that way even though she’s prone to get hurt easily, like right now.
Being the reason behind her pain is the last thing I want to do, which is why I try to tamp down my reactions as much as possible.
King, however, glares down at us, a muscle tightening in his jaw. “Gwen. Come out.Now.”
