Page 5 of Blind Devotion (Letters of Ruin #1)

Almost there.

My head rested against the scorching hot swimming platform of the boat. My chest heaved. With every stretch of my arms, my body screamed in protest. So close.

I just needed a little break. Just enough to gather more strength to pry my dangling legs out of the water.

So many voices assaulted me: abrasive, blasé, airy, clipped, female, male.

Loud music thrummed. Round and round, it all pounded against my temples.

I couldn’t pick up any words, but nobody sounded cruel or blubbery.

There was no begging, no wailing, no yelling.

It felt safe. Safe enough for me to give in to the lull, just for a few moments.

A piercing wail shocked me awake. The voices closed in. Higher. Louder. Clinking thumps rang—one, two, three, four—followed by a heavy thud that echoed in my ear against the deck. The sounds repeated as footsteps loomed closer, the boat swaying with them. Waves crashed harder.

Hands pressed into me—touching, prodding, pulling me up, flipping me over, twisting my head this way and that.

So many hands. Tens of dozens of flashing memories flickered before my eyes.

Dozens, hundreds, thousands of hands. Too many.

Always shoving me, pushing me over, immobilizing me.

Hands that were near. Hands that were far.

Hands tugging my hair, even though the wet strands were plastered against my back.

They were there and not, and I couldn’t tell which were real and which were fake, except that it needed to stop.

They had to let me go. I couldn’t take it.

I thrashed against them, kicking and flailing my arms. The pain didn’t matter. Only getting away did. I croaked screams and coughed through the burn that caused.

They said things, words I was too lost to hear, but the voices that came with the hands always said things. Pretty things. Useless things. Painful things. Debasing things. They never made anything better. Only getting away stopped them. I wasn’t prey. I wasn’t going back there. I couldn’t.

One voice cut through the rest. Dangerous like the roar of an inferno. Refined like the smooth, slick polish of the deck.

“Give her to me.”

No, no, no passing me around, but my grievances went unheard as my body went weightless. My wounds burned from the pull and strain, but I wouldn’t give in. I jerked and pummeled my fists against whatever could be found.

“ Arrêtez !” that voice commanded. “ ?a suffit !” Stop. That’s enough.

Gruff, demanding, harsh, and yet it broke through. I froze. The feel of various hands dissipated until only his remained. I needed to make sure.

My eyes screamed in protest as I forced my eyelids to lift. Bright light flared back at me in a confusing blur of distant dark and light blobs to the left of my nose. I squinted. The sting increased, and I hissed through labored breaths.

People, those blobs had to be people. Too many of them. I clutched one of his biceps. My fingers didn’t even fit halfway around it, and when he tensed, the muscles corded.

“Help me,” I muttered with effort, my chest shaking. The throb in my temple flared. “Please.”

“I have you.”

“Pro-mise?”

“Yes.”

I don’t know why I believed him, but I did.

It was the sound of his voice and the way he wrapped his arms around me.

It was his cologne, that woodsy scent offset with rosewater and plums. It felt so familiar.

I couldn’t explain it, but my lips curled with relief, and I collapsed against his shoulder.