Chapter 33 Faina
FAINA
The force of hitting the water knocks a grunt of air out of me, and the sea closes over my head like a hundred cold hands clutching at my body.
He shot me.
He actually shot me.
But he didn’t kill me.
Hot pain throbs through my shoulder where the bullet made contact, but given how I can still move my arm, it feels more like a bad flesh wound than a painful impact. But it’s difficult to do anything for a few long seconds as the cold shocks my system and I drift down into an infinite darkness.
Through the water, the yacht twinkles and shimmers like a mirage in the sky and several beams of light appear through the water. They must be searching for me.
I can’t let them find me.
Cian’s plan seems to have been to split us up, but I can barely think through the cold to estimate what he wants me to do after that. As I drift down with shock locking up my muscles and joins, no air escapes past my lips but my heart continues to pound.
For a single moment, I consider this to be the end.
After all, what if Cian wasn’t lying and he’s just a terrible shot at a close distance? Maybe this is to be my death?
No.
I can’t end it here.
If not for me then definitely not my baby. They don’t deserve to have their life snuffed out so early when I’ve spent the last few weeks daydreaming about what they might look like.
Sense finally kicks back in after what was only a few seconds, although it felt like so much water.
Kicking my legs hard, I move through the water and swing one arm to pull myself along.
After a few strokes, I grit my teeth and push through the pain of using my injured shoulder to swim.
Each stroke of my arm sends a fire of pain through my body.
My lungs begin to burn and ache from a lack of air.
My stomach somersaults and twists as muscles contract, trying to force me to breathe.
My heart pounds and my head is woozy all the while I keep swimming.
I swing my arms, kick my legs, and swim with all my strength underneath the yacht to use it for cover.
We’d been brought aboard via helicopter, but during the flight, I’d seen several speedboats and dinghies attached to the side of the yacht, which means there should be several spots for me to climb back on board.
I just need to get there.
It feels simple until on the next stroke, my dress becomes tangled around one leg and refuses to let go.
The sheet fabric clings like a second skin and tightens each time I kick my leg.
Without my legs to push me through the water, I only have my arms to drag me and there’s no way I’ll get there before I run out of air.
Shit, shit!
Panic rises and despite my best efforts, none of my calming thoughts work.
Treading water while slowly sinking, I reach behind myself and wrestle with the zip.
It tugs down an inch, then another, and finally a third inch, giving me enough space to pry the dress from my body and past my waist. Free from the constraint, I kick the dress down into the depths of the ocean and resume my frantic swim along the edge of the yacht.
My lungs are on fire. Every cell inside me screams for air and the throbbing agony of my shoulder is no longer the loudest pain. I’m going to drown. I need air.
I need air.
I need air.
… air!
With the last of my strength, I kick as hard as I can and swim upward toward a darkness that seems as infinite as the shadows closing in around me from below.
What will Cian do if I never come back?
Will he just go along with Hawk’s plan until death takes him?
Or will he take his own life?
Every organ is ready to burst, my throat feels like it’s about to turn inside out, and stiffness cakes my oxygen-deprived muscles. I’m clawing my way to the surface with the last of my strength and finally, I breach it.
A raw, ragged gasp tears past my lips as water falls away from my face and I suck in much-needed air.
I do it again and choke as I sink back under the waves with a mouthful of saltwater, then I push myself back up and gasp for more air.
Above me, the yacht rests silently in the water and after a quick glance around, I spot one of the speedboats I saw earlier.
It floats next to a ladder a few feet away.
Unwilling to accept the relief surging through my mind, I put the last of my strength into swimming toward the ladder and I don’t stop until the metal rungs are firmly in my grip.
Climbing on board is almost as difficult as swimming and by the time I reach the top, I’m spent. I collapse onto the deck, coughing and hacking up the water I swallowed, then I fall onto my back and lie there gasping like a baby taking its first breath.
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit.
I did it.
I made it.
Above me, the stars blink in and out of focus as adrenaline and rushing oxygen make my vision waver. My heart’s pounding so violently that dark spots pulse on the edge of my vision and my throat is painfully raw.
Thankfully, the cold of the ocean has somewhat numbed my shoulder.
“Get up, Faina,” I croak. “Don’t rest. Not yet.”
Cian has given me an opportunity and I’m not going to waste it.
But before I do anything, I need some fucking clothes.
Sneaking below deck is deceptively easy but I’m forced to run when Hawk and Cian’s conversation drifts through the night air as they wander the upper deck. I catch Hawk praising Cian for making the right choice and then make myself scarce.
The lower deck is an infinite network of corridors and rooms that are thankfully mostly empty.
Locating an empty bedroom, I sneak inside and close the door then head straight to the en-suite to check myself over.
Soaked to the bone with my underwear barely clinging to my body, I examine my wound in the mirror.
My pale skin makes the graze stand out like a vibrant, red scar.
Blood flow is sluggish and the cold keeps me numb enough that I don’t feel it as much when I move.
For a moment, I stare into my eyes in silence while trying to ground myself in what’s happening. Both of us could die here. Everything we’ve worked for could just end.
I can’t let that happen.
After cleaning the wound and patching it rather badly with some bandages I found under the sink, I return to the bedroom and start going through the drawers and closet in search of clothes.
Empty.
The next two rooms I sneak into are exactly the same, but the third finally shows signs of life.
The bed sheets are rumpled and someone sings happily in the shower, completely oblivious to my presence.
Raiding their closet, I find a black work shirt and a pair of cream slacks.
Not my taste but they’ll do. Dressing quickly, I sneak back out of the room but hesitate in the doorway.
The last thing I need is someone realizing clothes are missing and raising an alarm.
Back in the room, I scan surfaces and drawers until I find some loose wire at the back of a drawer. Its new home becomes the lock on the bedroom door as I jam it in place to bust the lock after closing the door. At the very least, it will buy me some time.
Deeper into the yacht, I come across more and more people but they don’t even bother to look my way.
Some are engrossed in work on laptops and computers, others are wired into the entertainment system or passed out drunk.
Quite a few of these people I recognize from the plane, including the stewardess.
Given that Hawk always travels by water, it’s safe to assume this is his main base of operations and these are the people who keep it running. Which means every single one of them is dangerous.
We have to take him out here and now. If we don’t then we’ll lose him for good, and it’s impossible to pinpoint a man who travels the world constantly. As for how, I’m running low on ideas and battery.
I pause at a fork in the corridor and hug the wall, still trying to regain the air I lost in the water.
Every second I linger here is another second Cian is with Hawk, and there’s no telling how much time this trick will buy us.
As I scan each hallway searching for a clue, a man exits one of the nearby rooms and starts striding toward me while noisily chewing on some gum.
Each smack of his lips irritates me more and more so as soon as he reaches the corner, I slam my hand into his throat and choke him.
He stumbles backward. I run toward him, leap up against the wall, and push off with one foot while bringing my other leg up around his shoulder.
The moment I make contact, I tighten my thighs and throw myself backward, toppling him over and using his weight against him.
He flies over me, silent due to the blow to the throat, and lands in an unconscious heap on the other side.
Panting, I stand and loop my hands under his armpits then drag him into the thankfully empty room he just left.
Searching his pockets, I steal his gun and a radio then continue my search.
A few more guards fall under my hands, warming my body to the point that my shoulder throbs painfully with every step, but I use that pain to keep me focused as I head deeper and deeper into the yacht.
There has to be an engine or control room here somewhere, and that’s the key to making sure this yacht ends up at the bottom of the ocean.
Gradually, a low hum reaches my ears within the depths of the yacht and I follow it.
The aesthetic of the hallways transitions from a warm peach on the walls and soft carpet to wooden floors and pristine white walls, which feel more like a hospital than a luxurious yacht.
Pipes become visible along the ceiling and soon the hum of the resting yacht engine is loud enough that I must be in the right place.
As I approach the next door standing between me and my destination, the radio on my hip crackles.
Glancing down, my heart skips faintly. In my haste to loot that man and flee, the item I mistook for a radio is actually a satellite phone.
“Shit,” I murmur, slipping through the door and pressing myself back against the wall.
Holding it, my mind races. Can I call anyone?
There’s no one who can get here in time when we’re halfway around the world, but maybe someone can help me blow up the yacht.
There’s only one person available to call and I dial his number, willing the line to connect.
Thankfully, it beeps and starts ringing.
A few seconds later, he answers. “Hello?”
“Rocky!” I gasp. “There’s no time to explain. How do I blow up a yacht?”