Chapter 29 · Free-Fall Survival

The cable snapped. My stomach went straight into my throat.

Then the floor hit us.

Not a floor. Water. Pitch-black, freezing, tasting like old rust and burnt motor oil. It blew right through the smashed elevator doors and knocked the breath straight out of my chest.

I went under. Dante’s arm stayed clamped around my ribs like an iron band.

"Lucia." His voice was pure gravel against my ear. "Up. Kick up."

I kicked. My head broke the surface, and I sucked in cold air that tasted like copper. The car had jammed sideways, one mangled corner wedged hard against the concrete shaft. Black water was already lapping at my collarbone.

My right hand was still up. The Beretta was still in it. Held it over my head the whole damn way down like some psycho lifeguard.

"I'm up," I wheezed, wiping black grime out of my eyes. "I'm up, you stubborn bastard. Where's your other hand?"

"Busy bleeding."

"Don't be cute."

He wasn't being cute. I reached across his chest in the dark. His left shoulder wasn't just soaked from lake water. It was slick. Thick, sticky heat running down his sleeve.