Page 257 of The One
Did I hit her? I can’t tell.
There’s no scream. Only the hollow silence of her absence before a loud splash comes from below.
But I have no time to contemplate Sofia’s fate.
Mari slumps to the deck.
No!
My heart hammers as I rush to her on unsteady legs.
I drop to my knees, carefully turning her over. Her chest rises and falls in sharp, uneven breaths, her eyes filled with unshed tears. Before I can say anything, she throws her arms around me, clinging to me like I’m the only thing keeping her grounded.
I hold her just as fiercely, my hands gripping her back, pressing her close.
Then I feel it.
Something warm and wet.
When I pull back, my breath catches. My shirt is soaked in blood.
I panic. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out the storm. I tighten my grip on her, my hands shaking.
“Mari, baby, where are you hurt? Talk to me!” My voice is raw, desperate, barely holding back the terror threatening to take over.
She blinks up at me, dazed. “I… I don’t think I got hit,” she stammers, eyes wide with horror as she stares at the blood. Then, softer, “The bullet must have grazed me.”
Not taking any chances, I scoop her up, carrying her inside as the storm rattles the boat. My heart slams against my ribs with every step. I lower her onto the sofa, hands moving fast, lifting her shirt to find the wound.
There. A deep graze along her side, bleeding but not life-threatening.
My relief is beyond what’s possible, but frustration is right on its heels.
“You reckless, stubborn woman,” I mutter, already reaching for the first aid kit.
Mari lets out a weak chuckle, wincing. “Saved our asses, though.”
I shake my head, pressing gauze to the wound. “Yeah, but let’s not make a habit of it.”
She gives me a faint smile, but exhaustion dulls her eyes. As I secure the bandage, I brush a damp strand of hair from her face.
“We’re okay,” I whisper, more to myself than her.
Because for a moment, I really feared I’d lost her.
That thought alone makes my chest cave in, pain ripping through me.
That’s something I’d never survive.
Then her voice, small but urgent asks, “What about Sofia?”
“She went overboard. I shot her too, but I’m not sure if I hit.”
“I know that. But… does that mean she’s dead?”
A fresh wave of adrenaline surges. I curse under my breath and grab the large torch. The force with which she hit the railing, the way her body went limp before disappearing over the side, I’d be surprised if she was conscious when she hit the water.
But villains always have nine lives, don’t they? Her father certainly did.
