Broken Vow (Brutal Birthright #5) - Sophie Lark Page 0,3

to the pool.

The pool is on the roof of our building.

In the summer, they open up the atrium overhead, so you can swim under the stars. In the winter, it’s enclosed from the elements, though you can still see the sky through the glass.

I love to lay on my back and swim back and forth, looking up.

I’m usually the only person in the pool when I come this late. Sure enough, tonight the space is dim and quiet, the only noise the water lapping against the rim of the pool.

It smells of chlorine, and fabric softener from the fresh stacks of towels laid out on the lounge chairs. After turning on my swimming playlist, I set my phone down on one of the chairs.

I’m about to jump in the pool when I realize I forgot to fix my hair. I usually braid it and put it under a swim cap, so the chlorine doesn’t dry it out. Red hair is fragile.

It’s still in a chignon from work, twisted up with one of those two-pronged hairpins.

I don’t really want to go all the way back down to my apartment. This will be fine, for one single time.

I put my hands over my head and dive into the water with one, clean jump. I stroke back and forth across the pool, listening to “California Dreamin’ ” on my headphones.

California Dreamin’—The Mamas and the Papas (Spotify)

California Dreamin’—The Mamas and the Papas (Apple)

I’m wearing goggles, so I can look down into the bright blue water, illuminated with pot lights from below. I see a dark shape down in the corner of the pool, and I wonder if somebody dropped something down there—a gym bag or maybe a canvas bag of towels.

Turning over, I lay on my back and look up at the glass ceiling. It reminds me of a Victorian greenhouse—the glass bisected by a latticework of metal. Beyond the glass I see the black sky, and the pale, shimmering disc of a nearly-full moon.

As I’m looking up, something locks around my throat and drags me down under the water.

It pulls me down, down, all the way down to the bottom of the pool, heavy as an anchor.

The shock of something grabbing me from below made me let out a shriek, and now there’s almost no air in my lungs. I kick and struggle against this thing that’s caught hold of me. I claw at the thing wrapped around my throat, feeling spongy “skin” with hard flesh beneath.

My lungs are screaming for air. They feel flat and deflated, the pressure of the pool pressing against my eardrums and my chest. I twist around just a little and see black flippers kicking by my feet, and two arms in a wetsuit wrapped tightly around me.

I hear the exhale of a respirator next to my right ear. It’s a scuba diver—a man in a scuba suit is trying to drown me.

I try to kick and hit him, but he’s got me pinned with both his arms constricting me like an anaconda. The water slows the force of any blow I aim at him.

Black sparks burst in front of my eyes. I’m running out of air. My lungs scream at me to take in a breath, but I know if I do, only chlorinated water will pour into my throat.

I reach behind me and grab what I hope is his respirator. I yank it as hard as I can, pulling it out of his mouth. A stream of silvery bubbles pours up next to me. I hoped that would force him to let go, but he doesn’t even try to replace it. He knows he’s got more air in his lungs than I do. He can hold out while I drown.

I feel my chest heaving, as my body tries to take a breath with or without my consent.

In one last, desperate motion, I yank the hairpin out of my bun. I twist around and stab it into the man’s neck, right where the neck meets the shoulder.

I see his dark, furious eyes through his scuba mask.

And I feel his grip relax around me, just for a split-second, as he flinches with shock and pain.

I pull my knees up to my chest and kick at his body, as hard as I can. I shove myself away from him, rocketing upward to the surface.

My face breaks the surface and I take a huge, desperate gasp of air. I’ve never tasted anything more delicious. It’s almost painful how much air