Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
He slammed the hilt of the knife against the glass.
Once.
Twice.
Third time—crack.
The front window burst to match the back one. More water surged in like it had been waiting. She jerked back and was sucked under. He went in after her, the force of the flood nearly taking him with it.
She fought the seatbelt as her hands clawed at the buckle, twisting and pushing. No give.
He jammed the knife in and sawed the belt at her waist. One, two seconds, and the thing snapped. Then he pulled her beneath the shoulder strap.
She came free, floating into his arms. Her body was heavy with soaked clothes, her limbs sluggish, her mouth slack. But her eyes remained open. Barely.
He grabbed her around the ribs, twisted, and kicked for the exit. The glass was fully shattered. He shoved them through it, turning his body to shield her from the frame’s jagged edge.
Up.
The surface was too far.
He kicked harder but couldn’t feel his feet. His thighs were locking. His vision blurred from the pressure and cold.
Air. Just get to air.
They broke through.
He sucked in a ragged breath and felt her body twitch in his arms. Her face was against his neck, lips parting, her mouth freezing cold. She coughed.
Still breathing.
The river didn’t stop. The current pulled them sideways, churning beneath them, freezing and ruthless. He adjusted his grip and kicked again. The rocks weren’t far, but Mother Nature fought him every step.
Amka couldn’t help and felt like dead weight, but that didn’t matter. It was better that she wasn’t fighting him or the water. He had them both.
She was alive.
His boots slid over slick rocks. He stumbled, lost traction, went under for half a second, and then exploded back up, dragging her with him. The current tried to twist them. He cursed out loud and shoved forward, planting one foot after another until they were out of the rush.
Barely.
The river spat them onto the bank.
He dropped to his knees, her weight in his lap, water streaming off both of them. He could hear the truck engine still running in the distance, muffled by trees and wind and the pounding in his ears.
She coughed violently, turning into his body.
“Amka,” he said, voice raw. He leaned in close to her face as he forced himself to stand, cradling her against his chest. Water sluiced off him but not enough. His clothes weighed tons.
She didn’t answer.
He cupped the back of her neck, rough hands trembling as he forced her head back. “Come on.”
She coughed again and spit out half the river onto his torso.
His eyes closed for a split second. The pressure in his chest cracked and released. “Good,” he muttered, stumbling toward his truck. “You’re good. You stay with me.”
Because she had no idea. No idea how many times he’d watched her from across the room and known she was the only soft thing left in this frozen place. No idea she’d already saved him. And he wasn’t about to let her go under now.
Amka surfaced to reality in flashes. Heat blared against her face, the truck’s vents roaring with impressive power, but it barely registered through the cold that owned her bones. Her skin burned and froze at the same time, like her body couldn’t decide which direction to go. Then the engine cut, and strong hands pulled her sideways across the seat.
Christian. She might’ve mumbled his name.
He lifted her out of the warm vehicle and into the drilling rain, holding her against his hard chest. His drenched shirt bunched under her palm, and she tried to push away.
He didn’t let her.
The cold slapped her again, but he didn’t stop. He stumbled up the steps and through the cabin door that crashed open against the wall. Then she felt him—really felt him—tearing at soaked clothes, stripping both of them down fast, efficient, like fabric was the only thing keeping her from dying. Maybe it was. She wanted to speak but her jaw barely worked. He didn’t care. He was already pulling her toward the bathroom, already saving her. Again.
A faucet turned and then water fell in the shower.
He lifted her and placed her inside already billowing steam. The first thing she felt was warmth. Not the gentle, toasty kind that drifted from a fire or the slow simmer of good bourbon, but a blistering, bone-deep heat. It came in waves, scorching and overwhelming. Like she was thawing too fast.
Then came the pain.
A thousand tiny needles pricked across her skin, nerves lighting up as blood returned to the frozen parts of her body. She couldn’t move. Not because she was restrained but because she was wrapped. Encased in hard muscle, iron arms, and what she was pretty sure was the heating equivalent of a human furnace.
Christian. Her back to his front. Hot water sliding over them both.
“Let your body relax. The pain will be quick,” he rumbled, his mouth above her head.