Total pages in book: 254
Estimated words: 240032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1200(@200wpm)___ 960(@250wpm)___ 800(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 240032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1200(@200wpm)___ 960(@250wpm)___ 800(@300wpm)
His face was white, his expression so totally different from the cocky, mischievous boy that cackled over the weirdest stuff. “Yes!”
“If I get to you, I want you to get on my back, and we’re going to try and get to that log over there. You see where I’m pointing? The fallen one halfway across the river?”
“Yes!”
This had to be the worst idea I’d ever had. Why didn’t I have rope? Why wasn’t this river low?
What the hell had they been thinking trying to cross it?
“If you fall off—” I started.
“What!” he screeched. “I’m gonna fall?”
He was making this worse. “If you fall off of me, if, I want you to float on your back with your legs up and try to grab onto a branch or swim to the side with your arms. But only if you fall into the river, do you hear me?” I yelled, trying not to get angry he’d gotten us into this situation.
How in the world had he managed to get all the way into the middle of the river in the first place?
“Yes!” He was so scared his shaking was visible, but that wasn’t going to stop me from wringing his neck if no one else did.
“And nobody jump into the water if anything happens to me, okay?” It was my turn to shriek—sounding deranged—so that hopefully Duncan would hear me. He was the only one I was worried would risk his life to help me if something happened.
Someone shot back a “yes,” and I was going to take it. I didn’t have time not to. Knowing I was more than likely going to regret this, I settled my butt on the rock beneath me and slid my legs into the water, gritting my teeth the whole time. It was so cold. I touched bottom sooner than I’d expected, but the power of the water rushed between and around my legs. It was only about waist high, but the current was strong. Too strong.
“I got this. I got this. I got this,” I said out loud to myself as I started my journey with a single step. Which I realized was a strong word when I twisted around to see how far it had gotten me. It was more like… a small shuffle. A very small shuffle. My feet grazed the slippery pebbles beneath them, not wanting to break too much contact with the bottom. The last thing anyone needed was for me to trip over something, and the current was hard enough to ignore in the first place.
I took another small step with the same leg, then dragged the other one forward.
Careful.
It was so freaking hard to move. I held my arms out at my sides to keep my balance, my legs slightly bent.
This was a horrible idea, and maybe I was descended from Rumpelstiltskin, because this kid was going to owe me his firstborn, I decided at some point.
Something hit me in the calf, but I managed to keep standing. I shuffled, then shuffled a little more, regretting so much right then. I couldn’t decide what in the hell I’d been thinking doing this. Getting into the water, Nina? Dumb, dumb, dumb. I was pretty sure that was the first thing every single raft guide I’d ever met had stressed: do not stay in the water.
And you know what? Pascal wasn’t just going to owe me his firstborn. I was going to get his second and his third, and every child his children had. This was going to be my supervillain origin story. I was going to start claiming children’s lives and futures after this. They were all going to owe me.
My foot slipped, and I had to wave my hands in the air to keep from going under, my heart fluttering. Someone from the direction of the bank yelled as Pascal started crying louder, but I had to ignore them all. I had to focus. I had to get to him and make it back.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I could do this. I could do this. This was a magical river. Maybe it would give me nicer skin or add a couple years to my life the longer I was in it. People paid a lot of money for cold therapy bathtubs, and here I had this river for free.
It’s not that cold, I tried to lie to myself.
What felt like ten minutes later, with water rushing at my hips and my entire back soaked, I made it to Pascal, who was still making a scene with his tears and sobs. Snot ran down his mouth, literal tracks of tears down his cheeks, and he was wailing louder than La Llorona I’d heard once when I’d stayed by a river in Texas. I never went there again.
“Get on my back, Pascal,” I told him in a voice that would have impressed Henri, refusing to meet his eyes because I had to stay focused. If I thought about it too much, I was going to get scared. It wasn’t just my life I had to worry about.