Chapter 30
Clara
Iknew spitting in his face was a bad call the second I did it.
I could handle his taunts, his promises that if he had his way, he’d sell me to the highest bidder just to watch me break, nonsensical things I could push aside even as my fury burned.
But he’d switched to insulting Trips, and I couldn’t leave it well enough alone.
God, I know better than this.
Swimming with my arms tied behind my back isn’t something I trained for, and Trevor pushing me back under when I flail to the surface leaves nothing but a shock of terror in my bones to work with.
I knew this was coming.
But not with this level of vitriol.
Not like he wants me dead.
I push against him like I would the wall of the pool, trying to get far enough away to surface, but the moment I sneak a breath, he yanks my ankle, forcing my head back beneath the water.
Squirming, kicking, wanting to scream in frustration when I don’t have enough air to risk it, my head still fuzzy from the knock against the desk, it’s too fucking much.
I kick with my heel—like RJ trained me to do—at Trevor’s diaphragm, and his grip loosens enough for me to flutter away, surfacing for a mouthful of water, the pool rolling with waves from our struggle.
With one more kick, my head’s above the rolling surface, my eyes burning from the chlorine.
I dive back under, even if that’s the last thing I want to do, because it’s faster to swim like I’m playing a game of goddamn dolphins than it is to stay where there’s actually air.
And freedom from the man who seems to want to kill me only comes if I can somehow get out of this fucking pool.
I’m almost to the edge when fingers wrap around my ankle, and I kick with everything I have as I’m tugged deeper, whoever has me diving to the bottom of the deep end.
I swing and flail, getting Trevor in the ass and back as he dives, but they’re glancing blows, the water pushing the force away from him.
He reaches the bottom, clawing his way up my leg until he can grasp my bound wrists with one hand and pin both my ankles with his other hand.
I fight as hard as I can, but there’s only so much I can do without air.
Stuck at the bottom of a beautiful indoor pool, held by a man used to getting whatever he wants, I know that my denial of him has led to a deadly tantrum.
I’m the toy he’s bashing against the floor, too upset to see that he’s destroying me.
For a moment, I wonder what Trips’ father will do to him if he kills me. Probably a backhand—nothing too terrible for his darling boy. Where will they bury me? What will they tell my dad? Would my mom even cry?
I can’t fathom what the guys would do.
I don’t want to say goodbye.
My lungs spasm, and I can’t help it when my body takes over, desperately inhaling chemical-infused water, my brain and lungs immediately rejecting what they forced on me, everything inside and out burning like I’m on fire all the way through.
But then, it’s like my body gives up the fight, even as my mind races, the glittering blue tiles drifting toward my face. I can’t help but wonder how I keep ending up like this. Dying. Again.
Is it me? This place?
I’m not ready to go. I want to fight with Trips, grow with RJ, play with Jansen, indulge with Walker.
I want so much more.
This won’t be my end. I won’t let it.