by Monica James
That was so unladylike, but lucky for me, I don’t care. Saint only sees me as a means to an end anyway, so why bother with manners. However, I risk a glance his way, and if I didn’t know any better, I could swear I see his lips twitch. But that’s impossible.
As I sip my coffee, my mind wanders to Drew. It’s been four days since I was kidnapped. He must be beside himself.
We didn’t even get a chance to consummate our marriage. What a cruel fucking joke. The need to escape has never been more crucial.
“When will we arrive at wherever we’re going?” I ask cautiously, unsure how he’ll respond.
His fork pauses en route to his mouth.
I know I’m overstepping a boundary, but he did say if I behaved, he’d reward me. And the fact I didn’t stab him in the jugular is me behaving. I don’t expect much, so when he replies, I almost fall from my seat.
“A week. Give or take. Then we go by car.”
“Go where?” I ask in a small voice.
He finishes his eggs, appearing to need the time to prepare his response. “It’s better if you don’t know.”
His ominous reply has tears welling in my eyes. “Will you let me go?”
“No, I can’t,” he replies, averting his eyes. It’s the first sign he’s expressed that reveals he’s human.
“Where I’m going”— I pause, steadying my quaking voice —“will it hurt?”
“Yes,” he simply yet remorsefully responds.
“Will I ever be able to go home?” I work my bottom lip, fearful, but better I know.
Silence.
The only sound is the gentle sway of the ocean. But in that silence is a riotous ruckus within me.
“…No.”
A single tear scores my cheek as Saint locks eyes with me. I’m trying to be strong, but I’ve just been told that life as I know it has changed forever.
“Will you be there?” I ask, picking at my dusty pink nail polish. “Wherever there is.”
I don’t know why it matters, but a familiar face or, rather, a familiar swirl of chartreuse might ease the pain. But this is all a false sense of security because nothing ever will.
“No…Willow, I won’t be.”
I gasp. It’s the first time he’s used my name, and it sounds almost forbidden slipping past his lips. In some ways, I know that it is.
I sniff back my tears, attempting to be strong, but the quiver to my lower lip gives me away. “So you’re just going to deliver me and then what? Get paid?”
He stands abruptly, passing a hand over his head. I presume this is an involuntary habit of his because if not for the ski mask, he’d be able to run his fingers through his hair. “I don’t get paid how you think I do.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means”—he interlaces his hands behind his nape—“that I don’t get paid with money.”
I cock my head to the side, utterly confused.
No matter which way I look at this, there is no doubt that once I arrive at my destination, the chance to escape will no longer be an option. Which means I need to escape now.
“Is Boss”—a sob gets trapped in my throat, but I pull it together—“a nice man?” I’m not stupid. From the small snippets he’s fed me and the conversations I’ve heard in passing, I will soon have to obey Boss. I don’t know who he is, or why he wants me, but he’s the reason this happened, and he’s the reason I will fight with my life to flee.
Sighing, Saint takes his time once again, grappling with how much he should disclose. But when he looks into my dogged eyes, he knows I won’t settle for anything but the truth. “No, he is not.”
I nod, biting my bottom lip as tears trickle down my cheeks. “Thank you for being ho-honest.”
Saint nods once, but he’s clearly not happy with what’s headed my way. So the question is, why is he doing it? If not for money, then what else? What else can one be paid with that they would risk their lives for?
The Russians emerge, and I quickly wipe away my tears, refusing to show weakness. “I’d like to go back downstairs, please.”
My request throws Saint for a loop, but he doesn’t ask me why. He leads the way, and I follow like the good captive that I am because even though Saint has shown me a lick of kindness, I won’t mistake him for anything other than what he is—and that’s a monster.
He’s leading a lamb to the slaughter, but the one thing he doesn’t realize…is that I’m not a lamb. And I never will be.
She won’t break. No matter what I do, she will not submit. Each time I punish her, I feel whatever small shred of humanity I have left slip away. I know this is wrong but so is delivering her to that soulless asshole.
I don’t have a choice. God save my soul.
Day 6
IT’S BEEN SIX days since life as I know it changed forever. It’s been six days since I was bound, gagged, and kidnapped. It’s been six days, and all I’ve seen are the anonymous faces of three men who mean me harm. And during those six days, I’m still no closer to figuring out what the hell is going on.
It’s been two days since I buckled and behaved like the good little girl Saint wanted me to be. I said yes, мастер, no мастер, three bags full, мастер, and in return, he only cuffed me at nighttime. During the day, I could roam “freely.” I use the word sparingly because it was always under the watchful eye of one of my captors.
I haven’t seen another soul for days, but after the last encounter I had, it’s probably a blessing in disguise.
It’s almost been one week since I last saw Drew. Each minute and each second erases a small part of him from my mind because the farther away we sail, the farther away I am from going home. There doesn’t seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel because I’m still no closer to communicating with the outside world.
Mark is still his ogling disgusting self, which is exactly what I hoped for. What I didn’t hope for, however, was Saint ensuring we’re not alone together for too long. Saint also sees the lingering glances and the need for Mark to be close to me when he can.
The only saving grace is being able to feel the sunlight on my skin because sometimes, if I close my eyes really tight, I can pretend I’m sailing the seas on my honeymoon with Drew. In my make-believe world, I’m happy, but more importantly, I’m free.
The fantasy doesn’t last long, and I’m soon transported back to reality. A bleak reality where I sit among my captors…waiting.
The afternoon is reasonably warm, and in the mystery box downstairs, it appears Saint has an array of items for me. I was thankful I was able to shower every day and change clothes, but whoever packed my kidnap kit was also thoughtful enough to include a bathing suit because apparently rocking a tan when enslaved is the new black.
If I wasn’t so damn hot, I would tell Saint to wear the royal blue one-piece himself, but here I am, sitting at the front of the yacht, looking out into complete nothingness. Saint sits across from me, doing his damn sudoku puzzles. The man is obsessed.
I draw my knees into my chest, resting my cheek against my legs. The ocean is a tranquil blue, and on any other day, under any other circumstances, I would be eager to jump into the water and bask in its beauty. But not today. Because today, all I can think about is how if I did jump, I would never want to surface ever again.
Sighing, I hate that I think this way because I’m succumbing to Saint’s wishes—I’m breaking. Yes, I may pretend to submit, but the longer I pretend, the harder it is to remember what the end goal is.
Turning my cheek subtly, I peer at the radio. Fifteen, twenty steps top, and I would be free. But how, how can I get to it without being caught? I’m running out of time.
When I hear a beep from Saint’s pocket, I close my eyes, as it’s just a reminder that he also has an escape route—some fancy phone that looks like something from the 80s, but I know it’s a satellite phone. But getting to that is impossible as it’s just as much a part of Saint as his arm.
I need a miracle.
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Saint stands, speaking in a language I don’t recognize, which has me focusing my attention back on him. He waves to Mark who nods and takes the wheel.
What’s going on?
“In about five minutes, we’re going to have company.” The sharpness to his tone has me sitting upright, wondering why he’s suddenly so capricious. “I need you to do me a favor.”
I scoff. Now I’ve heard it all.
His patience is wearing thin as he clearly wants to talk to the Russians about whoever we’re about to intercept. “If you do what I say”—he takes a deep breath, clearly not pleased with what he’s about to propose—“I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
Is this yet another test? Either way, there is no way I’m going to pass up this opportunity. “Deal.”
Saint’s rigid stance is a warning—I’m to behave; otherwise, this will be the last choice I ever get.
He nods once before quickly marching toward the Russians. They are definitely rattled, which makes me think they’ve not dealt with these people before. Could they be the key?
Needing to occupy myself before I give myself away, I reach for Saint’s tattered sudoku book and open it to a random page. I’m surprised to see that most of these puzzles are completed. I’m no sudoku expert, but what I see is pretty impressive. It appears beneath that ski mask lies quite an intelligent man.
The mystery just continues. A kidnapper who does sudoku…just who is this man?
But I can ponder that later because I see it, a white boat in the distance, the first sign of humanity in days. My heart races as the possibilities flood me. I don’t exactly know what this favor is, but in a warped way, I trust Saint. I know what that says about me, but I can question my sanity later.
“On that boat,” he says, walking toward me, one of the Russians in tow, “are the Coast Guards. Seeing as we’re off course, this was not part of the plan. I need you to pretend that you and Kazimir are just out here holidaying. That’s it.”
“That might be a hard story to believe seeing as Kazimir here”—my eyes swing his way —“thinks the essential boating attire this season is a ski mask.”
Saint exhales, annoyed by my stubbornness. But what he does next displays just how desperate he is. Before Kazimir can protest, Saint rips the ski mask from his head, unveiling just who my attacker is. Kazimir’s hands fly up to cover his face, but it’s too late. I’ve seen his dull brown eyes, his portly nose, and his bald, shiny head. I’ve also seen the birthmark. It appears Mark now has a name.
Kazimir, my admirer, is in his late 40s at a guess. He’s also the vilest looking man I’ve ever seen. Not in the looks department, but rather, he appears as though he’s seen and also done some evil in his lifetime. I instantly shudder.
Kazimir begins arguing with Saint, furious at him for revealing his identity. But Saint’s response, whatever that may be as it’s in Russian, shuts him right up.
“I will be downstairs. If they ask questions, let Kazimir talk. I just need you to nod and agree with whatever story he comes up with. If you don’t…” Saint leans forward while I slouch back, but it’s futile as the rail behind me prohibits me from moving any farther.
I’m barely breathing when he places his hands either side of my arms, gripping the rail and confining me in my own personal prison. His heated breath bathes my cheeks as we’re so close. My pulse begins to spike, and my mouth goes dry. How is it he leaves me breathless without me even seeing his face?
“This means trouble for all of us,” he continues, probing every inch of me. “Don’t get any ideas. Got it?”
Peering over his shoulder, I see the speedboat getting closer, which means my time is running out.
“Aнгел, do you understand?”
Kazimir’s rubbery lips part as he turns slowly to look at Saint. Whatever name Saint just used is clearly not one Kazimir was expecting to hear. But I have other pressing issues to deal with, like Saint gripping my arm and rubbing his thumb over the crease of my elbow.
The touch is so unexpected, and my skin instantly breaks out into goose bumps. I don’t understand, nor do I like my response to him, so I yank my arm away. His lips twitch in response.
“Yes, I understand.” When he continues staring at me, uncaring he has mere moments to get away undetected, I know what he wants. And…I surrender. “Yes, мастер.”
Kazimir steps back, interlacing his hands atop his bald head.
“Good.” Saint leaves me speechless and frozen to the spot as he reaches forward and brushes a lock of hair from my cheek. I am suddenly drowning in chartreuse. Before I can question anything, he turns and sprints down the stairs like nothing happened. The other Russian follows, slamming the hatch shut.
The touch, just like the one seconds ago on my arm, was weighed down with… warmth, but that’s ridiculous. I sound like a crazy person. But I can still feel the warmth his finger left behind. Shaking my head, I violently scrub at my cheek, horrified at myself for feeling…whatever this is.
Kazimir taking off his shirt is the reality check I need to snap the fuck out of this insanity. I recoil at the beads of sweat collecting in the thick hair on his chest. His rounded belly just adds to the monstrosity, but I gather my bearings and lean back, feigning leisure as I open the sudoku book, refusing to think about Saint’s hands.
The motor of the boat gets louder and louder until eventually, it switches off, announcing its arrival. I risk a glance at Kazimir who is behind the wheel, but he almost looks friendly as he waves at the older man who walks around the side of his boat so he can address him.
“What are you doing out here?” the man asks in a thick accent.
“Just out with my lady,” replies Kazimir, while I continue perusing the sudoku puzzles.
The silence reveals the man isn’t convinced, which has me wondering just how far off course we are.
“I’m coming on board.”
My heart begins to pound as this is my chance. This man speaks English. He’s also the Coast Guard, which means he’s probably a good guy. I know I promised Saint, but this is my out. However, when I focus on the hatch, my stomach drops. By saving myself, I am condemning Saint.
I grapple with what to do. This shouldn’t be an issue…so why is it? My cheek burns, the same one he touched moments ago.
But shaking such thoughts from my head, I sit upright, watching the man attach some ramp thing onto the yacht so he can come across. My palms sweat, and I discreetly rub them together. When he’s aboard, he makes eye contact with me.
“Hello, miss.”
I wave limply, trying my best not to draw any attention to myself because I’m still wrestling with what to do.
The man looks around, his eagle eye examining for anything out of the ordinary. This is my chance. Get the fuck up and scream for help.
But I remain rooted to the spot. I continue watching him, unsure why I haven’t made my move.
The hatch in the distance is the reason, which is ironic. It should be the reason I, in fact, plead with this man to take me off this yacht and to safety. He comes to a stop in front of me, shielding the harsh sun with his hand. “Everything okay?” he asks while I freeze akin to a deer in headlights.
Sweat collects along my brow. My voice gets trapped in my throat. I’m certain I’m moments away from having a heart attack. This entire moment depends on me and my response. It’s evident this man doesn’t believe Kazimir, and he’s waiting for me to confirm his suspicions.
“Speak English?” he gently says as he has mistaken me clamming up for me not understanding.
I nod quickly, my breathing accelerating as each second passes.
He waits patiently, his kindness giving me the confidence I need. I think about Drew and about Saint’s admission that I will never see him again. Tears sting my eyes as I refuse to accept that as truth.
This is my chance, and I have no other choice but to take it.
Standing, I clear my throat, unsure what to say. The air is
stagnated. “Miss, do you need help?”
“…Yes,” I whisper, surprised that small, terrified voice is mine.
The man jumps into action. “What’s the matter?”
My attention flickers back and forth between him and the hatch. Kazimir has backed up, realizing that I’ve turned rogue. But they’ve left me with no other option.
“I…I…” I’m suddenly filled with a mouth full of nothing, and I have no idea why. My subconscious screams at me, demanding I tell the truth, but when I see the hatch lift and the unmistakable shine to the barrel of a gun, I know that’s the reason I can’t speak.
There is no getting off this yacht. Saint will ensure that.
My gaze drops to his gold wedding band, and guilt smashes into me. I can’t jeopardize his life because I would be robbing a family of their husband, father, grandfather. How can I live with that on my conscience?
I can’t.
“Miss?” he presses.
The gun barrel catches the sunlight, and I swallow down my tears. “We’re in dire need of food. All my husband packed was tuna fish. He knows how much I hate fish,” I say, feigning annoyance. Inside, I’m dying as my lie is burning a hole straight through me.
The man arches a brow. He doesn’t believe me. “Food?” he repeats, ensuring he’s heard me correctly.
I nod with a strained smile.
“And you’re here because you want to be?”
“Of course, I am.” Holding up my hand, I flash my ring, certain I’ve just sold a piece of my soul. “We’re on our honeymoon.”
Kazimir exhales and saunters toward me now that I’m on his side. “Aren’t I lucky man?” Before I have a chance to protest, he wraps an arm around my shoulders and kisses my cheek.
Bile rises, but I go along with the charade.
The man doesn’t look convinced, but there is nothing he can do. Without me confessing, he’s got nothing. “Okay then. Have a good day.” He tips his hat my way, his intelligent eyes sizing me up.
It’s his last attempt to help me, but I just can’t. There is no point in both of us losing our lives. “Thank you.”
