Underwater

Bubbles of oxygen escaped Elena’s lungs in a frantic silver stream as the weight of her lavender dress, now a sodden anchor, pulled her toward the drain. Above her, the surface of the infinity pool was a fractured mirror of strobe lights and screaming socialites. Then, a shadow blocked the light.

Seraphina was on top of her, fueled by the terrifying adrenaline of the damned. Her good hand clamped onto Elena’s throat, pushing her deeper into the turquoise abyss. The red cloud from Seraphina’s shoulder wound blossomed between them, a murky veil that tasted of copper and salt.

Elena’s vision began to spark at the edges. Her bound ribs felt as though they were being crushed by an invisible vice, the surgical tape restricting the very expansion she needed to hold what little air remained. She clawed at Seraphina’s wrists, but the woman was a dead weight, intent on taking her rival into the dark with her.

*Fight back. You’re an accountant. Balance the debt.*

The memory of the self-defense course she’d taken after Julian’s first "accident" flickered in her darkening mind. The instructor’s voice echoed: *Don't pull away. Use the pressure.* Elena stopped clawing. She relaxed her body for a fraction of a second, letting Seraphina think she had won. As the woman leaned in to finish the job, Elena tucked her chin and drove her knee upward with every ounce of strength left in her lower body.

The blow caught Seraphina squarely in the solar plexus.

Underwater, the impact felt muffled, but the result was immediate. Seraphina’s mouth opened in a silent gasp, her final reserves of air vanishing in a burst of bubbles. Her grip on Elena’s throat shattered.

Elena didn't stop. She reached out, grabbed Seraphina’s immobilized arm—the one in the silk sling—and yanked. The pain must have been blinding, even in the shock of the water. Seraphina’s eyes went wide, then rolled back, her body going limp as her brain finally surrendered to the trauma and the lack of oxygen.

Elena kicked hard, her lungs screaming for mercy. She broke the plane of the water, a desperate, gasping sound tearing from her throat as she gulped in the humid Charleston air. She grabbed the edge of the infinity tile, her fingers slipping on the overflow.

Across the pool deck, the sirens were deafening. Liam was leaping from the truck, tactical gear clanking, while Constance stood on the dais, a silent scream frozen on her face as the FBI surged into her Grand Ballroom.

Elena hauled herself onto the tile, vomiting pool water and bile. She rolled onto her back, the rain finally starting to fall in thick, heavy drops that washed the makeup from her face. Five feet away, the water lapped against a still form.

She broke the surface, gasping. Seraphina floated, unconscious.