Page 7 of Lacey's Fight

Too broken to ever be repaired.

“Almost there.”

The voice rumbled through the chest she was held against, and she realized—somewhat hazily—that they were still in the ocean.

Probably not a good thing that the raging storm and crashing waves had faded into nothingness in her mind.

Maybe she gave an answer?

To be honest, Lacey wasn’t really sure.

Everything seemed so different, so … pale.

Not vivid like it had been when she’d been towing Carmela toward the yacht. The girl had battled against her at first, dragging Lacey beneath the surface several times before exhaustion took over and the teenager became dead weight.

Dead weight that continued to pull her down toward the sandy bottom of the ocean dozens of feet beneath them.

Fighting against it had felt futile, but it wasn’t in her DNA to give up.

So she’d kicked as hard as she could, used her free arm to propel herself through the sea, and prayed she had enough strength to get herself and the girl to the yacht.

Then out of the storm emerged a savior.

All black and strong, bringing with him the confidence of someone who didn’t fear much of anything.

Was he the one who had spoken?

The owner of all the muscles?

She didn’t know his name, but if he somehow managed to get them both back onto the yacht before they became victims of the storm then she definitely wanted to learn it.

Oh, and learn a whole lot more about those muscles.

Lacey bet he had them all over. She loved a nice chiseled six-pack, but who didn’t? And well-defined legs? Also sexy. But what really made her heart flutter and heat pool between her legs was muscled arms.

Mmm.

So sexy.

There was just something about being held by strong, muscled arms that made her feel safe and protected.

“Take her.”

The shouted words made her flinch, and like a bubble had been popped, the cold began seeping into her body. The rain pounded on her head hard enough to give her a headache, and if it weren’t for the sturdy hands gripping her hips, she knew she would have been washed away by the ocean.

“Too loud,” she mumbled, but she doubted he heard her because the wind tore her words away the second they were out of her mouth.

Those hands lifted her, hoisting her out of the water, and then more hands were grabbing at her, lifting her up.

For a moment, it felt like she was left dangling in mid-air, but then she was being laid down on something hard.

The yacht.

Relief stole her ability to do anything else but sit there and shiver violently. This was exactly why she hated the ocean. It could be so ruthless in its desire to destroy and claim anything that entered it.

Much better to stay on dry land.

“She okay?” The voice belonged to her savior. Even though she’d heard it only above the howl of the wind she’d recognize it anywhere. It resonated with her like it had been tattooed on her psyche.

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