Page 9 of Waters that Drown Us
I whip around before I can control the expression on my face, the solar charger for ROV slipping from my fingers and landing with a thud on the dirty carpet. I’ve known Clara my entire life, so the carefully controlled and commanding expression on her face is easy to read. She’s pushing me because she knows something is up. She has since the moment we realized Alisa was alive. It’s her job to pry and pick at the weaknesses in our ranks, not only to ensure the mole that betrayed her mother is unearthed and exterminated, but to safeguard the future of The Syndicate.
It’s her job to question me, to make me prove my undying loyalty to The Syndicate and our family. Even if she loves me.Especiallybecause she loves me.
“I was under the impression I had until the end of the year,” I say carefully, knowing an outright argument would get me nowhere. It’s only family on this call, so we get some leeway, but even here I can’t go so far as to openly defy an order or question her leadership.
“Circumstances have changed,” she replies in monotone, not a shred of emotion in her voice. “Ilya returned to Russia for a few weeks when Konstantin’s men found what we left of his brother, but he’s back now. Outside of Sacramento this time.”
My stomach dips, fear crawling through my veins as I curse under my breath. We really hoped our handling of Lev—the obvious torture, the burned remains, the indignity with which we left his charred bones on Konstantin’s proverbial doorstep—would make them hesitate to take more action. But I should have known that Konstantin would be willing to sacrifice anyone to get his daughter back under this thumb.
“Do we think he knows where she is?” I ask, not certain if I’m afraid of the answer or looking forward to it. I can handle Ilya Andreeva on my own. He fights dirty, but I’m worse.
It’s keeping Alice alive in the crossfire that concerns me. If I’m going to sacrifice my first love, I’m certainly going to get more out of her than an Andreeva. We need Konstantin.
“We’re monitoring his movements as best we can, but he’s being more careful this time,” Deniz replies. Clara’s stone expression softens a little at the sound of his voice. “He’s not going to be as hasty as his brother.”
“Never was,” Charlie mutters, dragging his tattooed hands through his hair. He’s not wrong. The Andreeva brothers were known for their violence, but Ilya’s was always more controlled, which made him far more dangerous.
“In any case, time is no longer our luxury. You get the information we need from her in the next six weeks, and figure out if she’s worth enough to Konstantin to make himself vulnerable,” Clara commands. Her edict hasn’t changed since that weekend in the cabin, and I still haven’t found a way around it.
“And if she’s not, what’s our plan? Abandon her here and let Ilya kill her? Or worse?”
Charlie keeps his gaze lowered, and Deniz is clearly staring at Clara through the screen. But my Matriarch doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shift a millimeter.
“Her life isn’t our concern. If she’s Konstantin’s victim—and that’s not yet certain—she has my sympathy. But I am not Bea, and I will not risk the safety of our family and our mission for the daughter of a monster.” It’s silent for a beat, and I think she’ll end the meeting there. But something shifts—perhaps she meets her fiancé’s eyes. “If you think she’s worth saving…well, it seems you need a better plan.”
-
“I feellike we got off on the wrong foot yesterday,” I yell, hanging on to the railing of this horrifying boat for dear fucking life.
Alice doesn’t turn around, which is fair. I don’t think she can hear me over the wind and the roar of the engine. I’d get up and move closer to her if I wasn’t half-convinced I’d be flung off this glorified dinghy into the sea.
The thought of the depths below me is harrowing. Dark, cold, unknown. Monsters and dangers who can see and smell your fear so acutely, you have no hope of hiding from or outrunning them. Floating in that open sea, with nothing around you for miles, is my version of hell.
Alice was eerily accurate when she said I’m afraid of everything. Fear plagues every moment of my existence. When I was young, it kept me from being the daughter of The Syndicate I was supposed to be. I didn’t want to learn to swim, or wield a weapon, or even try new foods. Outside of well-controlled environments where I could dictate every variable and predict every potential outcome, I wanted nothing new.
Aunt Lucia blamed my parents. Said they were too soft on me, as the youngest. Though it was uncommon for the sitting Matriarch to take anyone under her wing except her successor, Lucia made an exception, teaching me to face my fears herself. Forcing me to defend myself against attacks. Throwing me into a lake and demanding I save myself.
Pitting Clara and I against each other, with our fists and our minds and our will.
It took me a long time to learn how to survive her, to survive my own panic. But now I know that no matter how afraid I am, it can’t consume me. The panic lives in my chest like a snake, like a vise, constricting my heart and lungs every single second I’m forced to face a fear. And I survive it, because I am stronger and more cunning than that snake can ever be.
So I let it tighten in my chest. Like holding your fingertips to flame to dull the nerves, I allow that feeling slither into each bronchus of my lungs, suffocating me. I remind myself that it can’t kill me. That I don’t need to breathe. I just need to survive.
And once I’ve settled into that sensation, I force myself to stand. I slide my fingers across the railing as I walk toward Alice, tightening my grip at each bump and jolt, until I’m right next to her.
She smells like the sea. I think we could be a thousand miles from here and she’d still smell like salt and brine, sunshine and zinc. There are faded pink streaks in the white-blonde hair tucked under a baseball cap that I didn’t notice yesterday, and I wonder when she decided to dye her hair.
“I said I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday,” I repeat, equally as loud. She still doesn’t react, even though I know she heard me this time. “Look, I need you not to hate me so I can finish this research and get my PhD and graduate sometime in the next century. Please.”
I wish this part was a lie, but it’s painfully true. No amount of money or political influence or willingness to skin someone alive would convince the MIT Department of Biological Engineering that I deserved any amount of leniency or grace during the dissertation process. I love my work, and I appreciate how it benefits The Syndicate, but I would welcome a single molecule of understanding, emotional support, or recognition that I’m a human being and not a research robot from Dr. Devenigh, my advisor.
I think it’s slightly more likely that Clara abdicates her throne and joins the circus.
Alice still doesn’t respond to me, but her grip loosens on the wheel slightly, which I take as a positive sign. I keep my eyes firmly on the navigation equipment, pretending to be confused by it. Whoever said that keeping your eyes on the horizon makesyou less seasick is a cruel liar. I’ll be focusing on the things I can literally control for the foreseeable future.
We make it to our coordinates a lot faster today, probably because Alice is not taking it easy on me. As the boat slows, she rolls her shoulders and cracks her neck, steeling herself for the silence.
“Even if I hated you, I would still do this because I can’t get fired from this job,” she sighs, her eyes mostcertainlyon the horizon. “But I was rude yesterday, so I should apologize. I’m stressed.”