Page 56 of Waters that Drown Us

“Ideally, I’d collect samples of their nematocysts directly from their tentacles, or the stingers from their prey, so we can better understand how increasing water temperatures affect toxicity and lethality,” I explain, remembering the night I spent brainstorming this research plan that would hopefully lead me to Alice. “But that’s phase two. Right now, we observe them.”

She hums, tipping her face up to soak in the sun’s rays. I watch the light filter through her white-blonde hair, the underside freshly dyed pink.

I think about what Charlie said when he found Gwen. That the universe connects us to the people meant to change us. And he might be right. Maybe fate is inescapable.

But I like to think fate can be swayed. Because when Alice turns towards me, pressing her sun-warmed lips to mine, I know I would have always found my way to her. No matter how long the thread between us took to follow.

Epilogue Two

Alice

“You know what, I lied. I am afraid of something.”

Emily chuckles behind me, but I can’t hear it. This ear protection is particularly effective, but I can still feel her chest rumble because she’s standing so close. She somehow moves even closer, pressing against my back and positioning her finger over mine on the trigger. With her other hand, she lifts one side of my earmuffs off.

“Sharks and rattlesnake poison are fine, but you’re afraid of a little gun? I thought I was talking to the daughter of an infamous weapons runner.”

I huff as she lets the earmuff snap back into place, already missing the feeling of her breath on my neck. Fifteen minutes ago, when I was watching her target practice, Emily’s whispered voice in my ear would have gotten me halfway out of my clothes. Now, my lust is significantly dampened by the fear that I’m going to accidentally shoot her, or myself.

“May I remind you that I didn’t even know my own clothing size until I faked my death? I wasn’t exactly given a ton of weapons training,” I bite back, trying to focus down the barrel at the target like she instructed.

Without speaking, Emily increases the pressure on my hand, tilting my wrist at a lower angle. She disengages the safety and taps the finger on the trigger with her own.

So I pull it.

And miss spectacularly.

If it wasn’t for Emily’s body bracing mine, I think the force of the shot would have blown my shoulder out of its socket. My bones rattle, a terrible zing racing up and down my frame like I’m a lamppost someone’s taken a baseball bat to. I push the gun into Emily’s hand and stumble away, ripping the ear protection off in the process.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Emily congratulates, her voice filled with genuine pride. How pathetic.

“I didn’t get anywhere near that paper,” I argue, gesturing wildly toward the hanging sheet with an outline of a human drawn on it. Not a bullet hole to be seen.

“Yeah, but you didn’t kill either of us, so let’s call it a success,” she replies, and I hate that there’s not a drop of condescension in her tone. She really is proud that I didn’t shoot us.

“I never want to touch that thing again. I feel like I got clipped by a moving car,” I grumble, rolling my shoulder out. “You said that was a small one.”

“It is,” she says with a shrug, engaging the safety and placing the weapon in its case. “But you’re also small, and new at this. It takes practice to know how to absorb the blowback.”

“Too bad I’ll never learn. Oh well,” I say. I know before she opens her mouth that there’s no way I’m getting away with that.

“Sorry, Pecas. If you want to be a bonafide member of The Syndicate, you have to at least be able to handle a gun. And know how to disarm someone who's pointing one at you.”

I know she’s right. Over the past few weeks, as things have gotten more serious—both in the Costas’ investigation and between Emily and I—I’ve learned more and more what it meansto truly be a part of this family. Emily has been consistent in her offer to leave this life behind the moment her family is safe and mine is eliminated, but every insight I get into the work The Syndicate does only makes me want that for her less.

And for me as well.

We still haven’t formally made a decision about what we’ll do when this chapter of our lives is closed, if we survive. But one thing we know for certain is that we’ll face that unknown together.

“And who says I want to do that?” I ask, easily slipping back into that slightly turned on mentality I occupied before I had to touch the wretched thing. Emily does that to me. Makes me feel safe—free to explore, to give in, to lose control, towant.

“You did, pretty girl,” she replies, a sly smile on her lips as she locks the gun’s case and beckons me toward her. “Two nights ago, if I remember correctly.Make me, Emily. Make me yours.”

“Hmm, I don’t remember that,” I lie, slowly making my way closer, dragging out my steps just to be a little obstinate. This dynamic is new within the last few weeks, but it’s grown on both of us. Me fighting back, her putting me in my place. Usually by means of pleasure so overwhelming I beg for mercy she never gives.

It’s a good dynamic.

“No?” she asks, her tone chiding and patronizing and soothing all the zinging in my bones. She slips her fingers into the waistband of my long, flowy skirt, tugging me into her until my chest is pressed to hers and I have to tilt my chin far up to meet her gaze. “Do I need to remind you?”