THE RIVER ROUTE

​POV: Malia

​The crack was like the sound of thunder splitting a mountain in half.

​Above the rock ledge where Jarrah held me, long spiderweb fissures snapped open across the high vault of the cavern ceiling. Huge stalactites broke loose, plunging hundreds of feet into the black, churning river below with violent, echoing splashes.

​"No time," Jarrah grunted, his voice sharp and focused.

​He didn't release his hold on me; instead, he shifted his weight, pulling me up as he scrambled to his feet on the slick, algae-covered stone. Down at the base of the ledge, moored to an old rusted iron ring driven into the rock, was a heavy-duty, black rubber emergency inflatable craft, an old escape boat left by the manor's architects decades ago.

​"Can you swim?" Jarrah asked, his dark eyes locking onto mine with fierce intensity.

​"Not in iron cuffs!" I rasped, lifting my hands slightly. The heavy chain clanked between my bleeding wrists.

​Without a word, Jarrah drew his sidearm, pressed the barrel against the center link of the chain connecting the cuffs, turned his head away, and pulled the trigger.

​SPANG.

​The bullet shattered the middle link, freeing my hands from each other, though the heavy iron bands remained locked around my wrists. The sharp relief was instant. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, looking up at him.

​"Get in!" he ordered, gripping my waist and lowering me down the steep six-foot ledge into the swaying rubber boat below.

​I landed hard on the wet aluminum floorboards of the craft, immediately turning to reach back up for him. Jarrah slid down the rock face, his boots landing with a heavy thud, instantly causing the boat to rock wildly in the turbulent current.

​He lunged forward, using his tactical knife to slice through the heavy mooring rope in a single, brutal slash.

​The moment the rope snapped, the dark, icy river grabbed the boat.

​The craft shot forward like an arrow, snatched by the overwhelming force of the underground rapids. The darkness was absolute, broken only by the thin, white beam of the tactical flashlight Jarrah had snapped onto his vest mount. The tunnel walls blurred past us in a dangerous streak of black slate and jagged water.

​"Hold on to the perimeter ropes!" Jarrah shouted over the deafening roar of the rushing water.

​The boat slammed sideways into a rock wall, spraying ice-cold water over us. I gasped as the freezing spray soaked through my ruined clothes, but before I could slide across the wet floorboards, Jarrah’s arm was around my waist again. He hauled me back toward the center of the craft, pinning my back firmly against his broad, solid chest.

​He wrapped his left arm around me like an iron beam, locking me to him, while his right hand gripped the emergency tiller of the small outboard motor mounted at the stern.

​"I've got you!" he roared against the wind and water. "Look straight ahead!"

​The subterranean river was a death trap. Massive rock formations jutted out of the dark water like broken teeth. Above us, the subterranean ceiling was continuing to cave in under the weight of the exploding mansion above. Massive boulders rained down into the river behind us, creating massive swells that lifted our small rubber boat and slammed it back down into the churning froth.

​Every time the boat violently pitched, Jarrah’s body tightened around mine, absorbing the violent shocks, keeping me anchored and safe within his grip.

​My heart was hammering so fast I thought it would burst. The cold water was numbing my legs, the roaring darkness was terrifying, but held tight in his arms, I felt an unbelievable, intoxicating sense of safety. I leaned back into his warmth, my bloody fingers wrapping around his forearm, clinging to him as if he were the only solid thing in a collapsing universe.

​He pressed his face into the side of my neck, his hot breath cutting through the freezing mist of the river.

​"Stay with me, Malia," he gritted out, his voice vibrating deep through his chest into mine. "We're almost through."

​"I'm not going anywhere," I cried out into the dark, turning my face slightly so my lips brushed against the tough skin of his cheek.

​He stiffened for a fraction of a second, his grip tightening until it was almost painful, a low, guttural sound catching in his throat. The raw, unspoken passion between us burned brighter than the cold, terrifying darkness around us. We had nearly died; we had bled; but in this rushing void, we were completely, undeniably tied to one another.

​Up ahead, the dark slate ceiling of the tunnel began to slope downward dangerously low, forcing us to crouch flat into the bottom of the boat.

​And then, far in the distance, a pale, milky light began to bleed through the black water.

​The exit.

​The boat shot through a narrow, jagged rock opening like a bullet from a gun, bursting out of the dark belly of the earth and launching into the open air.