Page 26 of Anchor
Then he glances down my body, his grip releasing, and slightly pats me down with his free hand. A moan nearly tears itself from my throat.
I bat his hands away and nearly head-butt him when I sit up. All I can think is I need to get away. “I’m fine,” I say, more sharply than I intend. My butt scrapes against the rough carpeting as I put some much-needed space between us. “No need to manhandle me.”
Gabe squints at me, like I’m a problem he can’t quite figure out, but I turn a wary eye to Mr. Jones, who’s taken ahold of the wheel and seems to have forgotten us. While he’s distracted, I get to my feet. The air around me is stifling. Tension pours out in waves from both men and I’m stuck right in the middle.
Jones has shifted into full throttle and the cumbersome ferry plows through the waves like they’re nothing. We’re going faster than I ever expected this thing to go—and we’re headed straight for emptiness.
When we’re far enough away the rescue boat is but a blip in the distance, he slows us down until he finally brings the ferry to a stop. It couldn’t have taken more than a few minutes, but in the middle of nowhere, it feels like we’ve traveled across galaxies instead of just a couple miles. The adrenaline’s worn off and I’m scraped raw inside. If I do make it out of here, I’m terrified of what, if anything, will be left of me.
Gabe is shooting me furtive glances from where he leans against the wall to my opposite. Remembering all too well the way he felt against me, and hating myself for even thinking of it for a moment, I try my best to keep my eyes downcast.
I feel very alone. I press a hand to my knotted middle as if I can contain the ballooning fear inside of me. When it feels as though a scream—or my heart itself—may burst right out of my chest, I bite down on a knuckle. An indeterminable amount of time passes as I try to control the raging tempest inside of me.
All I can think about is the explosion. The injured passengers. Was there anything I could have done to save them? If I hadn’t jumped in front of the little girl, would more lives be spared? Was the blood of those who died today on my hands? There were kids amongst those survivors. Did they make it to safety in time?
The thought spurs me to my feet and I pace in tight circles, growing increasingly blind to my surroundings as panic overwhelms me like a rogue wave. I rake my hands through my hair and my fingers snag on snarls. Chunks come away as I try to wrest my hands free.
A heavy weight blankets my shoulders until warmth from the body behind me washes away the icy shroud. “You’re okay,” he says. There’s an indefinite pause as my mind jerks back from the brink of sanity and then I recognize his hold around me. When I tune back in, I hear his calm, steady voice repeating, “You’re okay. I’ve got you,” in a soothing refrain.
My knuckles are white where my fists clench around his forearms. “I’m sorry,” I whisper so only he can hear. “I just need a minute.”
His hold never falters. “I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he says. “Take all the time you need.”
When I’m sure I won’t fall apart, I ease myself out of the circle of his arms. With a rueful smile in his general direction, I straighten my clothes, smooth back my hair, and take a few deep, calming breaths.
I open my mouth to apologize, but he waves it away. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “We all have to fall apart every now and then.”
His words wring a surprised laugh from me. “I’ll remind you of that when this is over.”
We both turn toward the sound of footsteps. Before Jones can reach us, Gabe says in a low voice, “You can remind me at dinner when this is over.”
There isn’t any time to respond because Jones is grabbing me roughly by my uninjured arm and forcing me to kneel in the middle of the room. Much as I’ve been thrown around in the past few hours, I should be used to it.
I want to turn around. I want to be able to see my fate—if the situation devolves to that. I don’t want to die a coward. But at the same time, I’m terrified of what I’m going to find.
“Sit down,” I hear Jones say to Gabe. I don’t need to look up after all, because I can hear the tell-tale click of the gun pointed in my direction.
From the corner of my eye, I see Gabe’s bare feet* come into view. It strikes me as a particularly vulnerable part of a man and this one specifically. He seemed so formidable charging in here like he was the proverbial knight-in-shining-armor.
Only this knight has no armor to stand between him and the path of a bullet.
“Whatever you want, you want it from me, so deal with me,” Gabe says. My body is once again wracked with shivers and it yearns for the warmth emanating from his proximity.
“Oh, I am dealing with you,” Jones replies. “Apparently, a show of force is the only language you understand.”
“Then leave her out of it.”
Jones chuckles and it only increases my trembling. “I think this will be a whole lot easier if you have the proper motivation.” There’s the rustle of clothes, the whisper of his cotton shirt brushing against his body. “Sit down over there while we have our conversation. If you play by the rules, then it will be a civilized one.”
Gabe does as Jones instructs and I watch his feet recede while I scan what little I can see of the room from my kneeling position.
Jones pulls up a chair next to me and the gun comes into my line of vision, freezing the breath right in my chest.
“Look at me,” Gabe says and my eyes find him. “Whatever happens, you keep your eyes on me, okay, honey?”
“Don’t talk to her.” Jones moves in Gabe’s line of vision.
Gabe holds my eyes defiantly for a few long seconds until I nod, then he glances back to Jones. “What would you like to talk about?” he asks in an even voice.