Page 41 of The Pawn

I ignore his perplexed, overly British and French ignorance. There's a task at hand to concentrate on, and my arms are getting tired. I have a choice now: I can go up the wall fast and hope I don't slip, or go slowly and hope my arms don't fail me from pure exhaustion.

Fast is the choice I make.

Picking out a path, I propel my body up. Once. Twice. A pause, a deep breath, then a third time.

I'm almost there. I've reached the point of the wall where there's a chimney—a wall opposite, Sasha told me, where you have to spread your legs and arms out to either side to get up. It's a narrower space, and the only way up the ledge is to leap towards it halfway and climb the rest of the way on the opposite wall.

This is going to take all my strength.

I wedge my toes into the footholds. Grab tight with my hands. Stretch as far as I can. And then, when the moment is right, and I feel like I can do it, I look up and prepare to jump.

I make just one mistake.

For a brief moment I look down.

Lukas is there, staring up at me, his blue eyes steady, hands on the rope and belay system. He doesn't look like he intends to drop me one bit–the rope is tight, his eyes watching closely. A deep, illicit thrill goes through me at the realization that he's been staring at me andonlyme this whole time.

Standing just beside him is Cole.

With an arrogant smirk on his mouth.

I turn away as the fire of my anger roars to life inside me, demanding fuel, uncaring whether or not it eats me up alive. My arms were already trembling from exertion, but now they're full-on shaking with exhaustion.

Wanting to show that arrogant, prideful, hateful boy just exactly what I'm made of, I look confidently up towards my goal and leap all at once.

Muscles flexing. Fingers grabbing. Toes scrambling.

For a moment I have it. I feel victory within reach. I hold myself up with my own strength, all alone in the world, needing no one but me.

Then I slip.

And fall.

Chapter 21

Amoment suspended in the air, heart in my throat.

Then the rope goes tight and my harness catches me. I grab on to the rope, swaying near the climbing wall.

Failure rushes through me, hot and shameful. Tears prick at my eyes. I came so close only to fall. But at least the harness caught me—no harm, no foul.

"Too bad," Lukas calls up. "I'll lower you down now."

He gives the rope slack a few inches at a time, lowering me through the air. The ground is still quite a bit away from me, so I try to pull myself together before I reach the floor.

I don't get the chance.

As another few inches of slack go through the line, suddenly the speed I'm approaching the mats increases. I hear a commotion from below, and am craning my head around to see what's going on when all at once the rope flies away from my harness.

I'm falling again.

This time, with no belay to catch me.

Seconds. It takes seconds for me to go from hanging safely in the air to falling through it. I land back-first, the air going out of my lungs, dazed and confused.

In Lukas DuPont's arms.

He's caught me with seemingly little effort, taking me in his arms, supporting my back and knees. His muscles are flexed beneath me, the heat of his body against mine. I'm suddenly aware of the fact that my chest is pressed against him, that his fingers are digging into the warmth of my thighs. Heat flashes through me, low and forbidden, along with relief that I didn't hit my head.

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