Under the Surface. Kira Sinclair
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so I could talk. Clear up whatever misunderstanding you’re laboring beneath.”
He scoffed. “Why were you huddled in the shadows, then? Sell the lie to someone who might believe it.”
Her gaze slipped sideways before quickly jerking back to his. “I dropped something.”
“What? The hammer you were hoping to brain me with? Or maybe you’re a knife kind of girl, look straight into someone’s eyes as you slip the blade between their ribs.”
She gasped, her eyes going wide before narrowing down to slits.
“What the hell are you talking about? I have no desire to hurt you.”
“Sure, that’s what they all say. I’ve seen plenty of bloodthirsty people in my life—women included—perfectly capable of killing with whatever was handy. Bomb, gun, bare hands. When you’ve watched a ten-year-old boy blow himself up because someone told him to, you learn not to underestimate anyone’s capacity to cause physical harm.”
She blinked at him, her mouth going slack for several moments.
“That’s...awful.”
“Tell me about it.”
Her fingers, which were still dug deep into his chest, uncurled, but she didn’t remove them. Instead, she spread them wide, pressing the warmth of her palm hard against him.
“I’m sorry.” Her words were soft. For the briefest moment, he wanted to believe them.
And then he remembered who she was and why she was standing on the deck of his ship.
The anger he’d been suppressing for months—ever since realizing her father had broken in and stolen his work—roared to life.
Bending, he swept her into his arms.
She was lighter than she looked. Not that she appeared heavy, but she was tall.
“What are you doing?”
“Providing you a quick exit. I hope you aren’t particularly attached to those shoes, princess.”
Turning, Jackson swept the water below them to make sure there was nothing she could hurt herself on. He was happy to provide a quick dunking as a lesson, but he didn’t want her to get injured.
He knew the moment she realized just what he intended because suddenly she grew about three extra arms.
She began squealing, begging, yelling. Her claws dug into his chest again. He managed to pry off one and then the other, holding both wrists tight in a single hand.
“Stop struggling and take your punishment like a good little thief.”
“Jackson, seriously,” she panted. “This is barbaric.”
“Nothing wrong with a little hazing, princess. We’ll call this immersion therapy so maybe the next time you’ll think twice about breaking and entering.”
Holding her out from his body, Jackson let her hover above the water. Her gaze darted beneath her. She sucked in a hard breath. And then she looked at him with imploring eyes.
“I can’t swim.”
Something in her gaze almost made him believe her. Or maybe that was just his dick trying to influence him— Mr. Happy wanted her pressed against his body again.
Either way... “Lies aren’t going to save you this time, princess.”
* * *
GOD, SHE WAS going to drown. She’d always known it. Somewhere in the back of her brain, she’d known this was her destiny.
Just like it had been her mother’s.
Although, unlike her, her mom had loved the water. Had resented giving up her transient life on a ship to take care of a daughter she’d never really wanted.
What irony that on one of the few chances she’d had to go back to it, the water had killed her.
And now it was going to take Loralei.
She stared into Jackson’s eyes. They reminded her of the sky at home, bright and blue after a strong summer storm.
But it was clear he didn’t believe her. Thought she was lying to save herself a dunking. Well, it wouldn’t take him long to realize she was telling the truth. Unfortunately, it would probably be too late.
Jackson swung her body, counted to three as if they were at some frat pool party, and let her go. Air rushed up beside her, the roar filling her ears.
She sucked in a huge breath. The action was automatic. Her eyes clamped closed. It pissed her off that the image tattooed on the back of her lids was of Jackson as he’d sat next to her at the table earlier, looking at her with lust in his eyes and a wicked grin curling his lips.
She was now regretting not letting him take her upstairs and follow through on the promise there.
What kind of screwed up, mixed emotions was she harboring for her murderer?
Her body hit the water ass first, her arms and legs folding up with the pressure of impact. Part of her expected the water to be cold, but it wasn’t. It was pleasantly warm, almost soothing.
Her limbs flailed as she sank. Her lungs heaved, bubbles escaping through her nose to drift upward with her descent.
She watched the hull of the ship slip past, just out of reach. Darkness and water closed around her, narrowing her world to the few feet right in front of her.
How long had she been under? It didn’t matter.
Her butt hit something solid. Sand clouded up around her, obstructing her vision even more.
Her body lurched. Her lungs burned with the demand to breathe, but somehow she managed to quell the instinct that would have allowed water to fill her lungs.
Dark spots dotted her vision, followed by bright bursts of color.
Something swam in front of her. It would be her luck if it was a shark looking for a quick dinner. Would it be worse to die from drowning or being ripped apart by sharp teeth?
A face appeared in front of her. Jackson. His soft blond hair floated up in a riot, like a lion’s mane. His gaze bored into her. He was trying to tell her something, but she didn’t have the mental capacity to worry about what it was. A heavy peace settled over her. For the first time she realized just how quiet it was beneath the water. Nothing else mattered.
Was this what her mom had felt right before the end?
She hoped so. So much better than the nightmares she’d been plagued with for years, images of her mom desperate, fighting and in pain.
Something hard wrapped around her chest and she started moving. The darkness began to fade. In some dim corner of her mind, Loralei realized Jackson was towing her to the surface.
Unfortunately, she was afraid it was too late.
Unable to resist the compulsion to breathe any longer, she opened her mouth, searching for air and finding nothing but water.
* * *
HOLY HELL, she hadn’t been lying.
What on God’s green earth was she doing heading up a dive team if she couldn’t swim?
Jackson was used to compartmentalizing responses in order to tackle the priorities in front of him. Getting her out of the water was his first point of action. Making sure she was still breathing his second. After that he could decide whether or not to verbally take a strip from her hide.
Later, someone else could take the pound of flesh from his ass for what he’d done.
It had taken him about thirty seconds to realize she wasn’t coming up. A few more to convince himself she wasn’t playing him for a fool. Another thirty to rocket down to her, snatch her around the waist and start hauling her up to the surface.
Plenty