by Xavier Neal
Her gaze shifts upward to him, yet a scolding never leaves her crimson painted lips. She simply smirks. Steals a small bite of her bottom one. Hums and returns her stare to me. “So? Pay the ransom.”
“There is no ransom to be paid.”
“Then get a new one.”
“She isn’t a fucking doll to be replaced. She is my wife.” The ire in my tone fights to stay hidden. “My future wife…I love her more than I love my fucking self, and if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be ready to start a fucking war in your backyard.”
She uncrosses and recrosses her legs. “I don’t like war, Benicio.”
“And, I don’t want war, Shay.”
“Then, I’ll repeat myself. Get a new-”
“No.”
Her eyebrows lift in shock.
“Replacing Mia Bella is not an option.”
“It’s an option, it’s just one you don’t wanna take.” The corner of her lip curls upwards. “Your tenacity, your term of endearment choice, and your attitude, all have aroused my curiosity…” She toys with the new addition around her neck. “Continue.”
“Whoever took this Duke’s future Duchess has hidden her where it seems he cannot find her.” I fold my hands firmly together in hopes it helps me maintain my fickle composure. “And, the only clue the Duke has…is that whoever took her, has power.”
Shay’s attention remains steady.
“You cannot do the things that were done to take her without it. You cannot…tie up all of your loose ends without notable reach. And, those that have that type of reach with possible motive are those high in the Duke’s duchy, leaving the Duke unsure of who can be trusted at this time.”
“The exception being a single henchman.”
“Yes. The Duke knows the henchman would rather die a thousand deaths than betray him.”
“I don’t know about a thousand…” Miko playfully inserts making Shay once more smirk.
“The Duke’s uncertainty on who he can trust makes finding his future Duchess even more difficult than it already was.”
She slowly nods. “You don’t wanna tip off the wrong person or piss off the wrong party until you’ve gotten what it is you want safe and sound and sucking your cock in the comfort of your home.”
I chomp on my tongue to prevent biting at her crass comment.
“You want my help to have your…Mia Bella…?”
“Sì.”
“Found and returned to you.”
“Sì.”
“And, what would the Queen be receiving in exchange for her efforts?”
“The majority stake in my company.” When there’s no excitement or eagerness out of her, I add, “The majority stake would give you control over Bennett Enterprises. I would maintain a small share to remain on the board and then allow you to decide whether or not you would want me to continue running it. Its net worth is-”
“I know what your company is worth, Benicio,” she sighs in what can only be concluded as disappointment. “What I don’t know is why you would think the offer of more responsibility is something that would ever be of interest to me.”
“You know its worth, which means you know the amount of wealth it would add to yours.”
“That I have,” Shay declares at the same time she childishly spins around in her desk chair, “with or without your measly company.”
We’re far from measly.
Especially in comparison to the vast majority of those we stand beside.
However, in comparison to what she probably pulls in, legally and illegally, it’s not hard to believe it’s no more than the garnish on her appetizer for dinner.
“What is it you want?”
Her body abruptly stops its twirling, so we’re face to face again.
The sight of her mischievous smirk conjures unfathomable apprehension.
Never open the door for the devil.
Especially after only a knock.
“Miko.”
“Che cosa?”
“I…want…,” her brown gaze dances with more devilishness as she meets his gaze, “Miko.”
“You can’t buy my cousin,” I hastily argue, forcing her attention back to me. “He’s not for sale.”
“Everyone has a price…” she pulls her light brown hair that’s littered with highlights to the side of her slender face. “You know that.”
It pains me that I do.
It pains me more that hers is one I can’t afford.
“You want me how?” my second unexpectedly speaks up.
“Miko,” I immediately chastise.
He ignores my interjection and makes his way around the chair.
Around the desk.
Plants himself right in front of her like his balls are made of steel and his brain of rotting grapes.
The reprimanding rushes to take hold once more, “Mi-”
“How do you want me, Shay?”
His question causes her to slowly turn his direction.
“On my back? On my knees?” Miko steals a swipe of his lips. “Across this desk? That couch?” Levity somehow leaks into his expression instead of fear. “Or, would that be where you want me instead of how?”
“Miko!”
“You’re assuming I wanna fuck you, little mouse…”
He gives her a sarcastic, challenging stare. “Tell me you don’t.”
“Oh, I absolutely fucking do,” Shay shamelessly counters, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I wanna tie you to one of my beds and ride you until your nuts are just as numb as the limbs I’ve secured.”
There’s no denying the faint groan that escapes him.
“See, I do wanna fuck you, but that’s not what I mean by ‘having you’.”
“What the fuck do you mean then?”
“Miko! È abbastanza!”
The two continue on like I’m no longer in the room.
As though I’m not sitting here doing everything fucking possible not to lose another fight, on another battlefield.
“Your servitude.” Her grin transposes to one too vile to stomach. “You would do what I say. You would do what I want. You would be where I want you, when I want you, how I want you. You would often serve me in similar ways you serve Benicio.”
“I don’t fuck him.”
“Yeah, well, at some point, you would be fucking me.”
Miko either can’t or doesn’t see the point in hiding his approval over the idea.
He should.
Never show Shay your desires.
She was literally raised to prey on them.
Her legs spread a little to give him a shot of what she knows will undoubtedly sway him to say yes in spite of my insistence otherwise.
“Mi-”
“How…,” his eyes steal a glimpse of the territory, “long?”
“No!”
My shouting seems to startle neither person.
“Thirty years.”
“Fucking thirty years?!” He barks his bafflement. “Fuck off. È uno scherzo?”
“Not a joke,” she swiftly states, calmness intact. “And, speaking Italian to me will be done whenever I require it during your sentence.”
“There’s no Italian being spoken because there’s no sentencing being done,” I forcefully insert myself into their conversation.
Her head swivels my direction.
“There has to be something else you want that I can provide. Perhaps more jewelry?” Anxiously, I scoot to the edge of my seat. “A priceless piece of art? Another-”
“Three years,” Miko counters, recollecting her attention.
“Goddamn it, Miko! Enough!”
Unsettling elation expands through her eyes at the same time she returns to negotiating, “Twenty.”
“Five.”
“Okay.”
His happiness is premature, and I don’t even have the opportunity to warn him.
“Five years for every leg of the favor this entails, little mouse.” She lifts her index finger to aid in the counting, “Finding t
he lost love known as Mia Bella.” A second joins the initial. “Under the assumption that she’s still alive, my assisting in the extraction process – you clearly don’t and can’t trust your own team.” The third appendage appears, and I’m pushed back into my seat, growing more helpless by the second. “Facilitating in the locating of a viable lead in regards to her disappearance.” When the fourth finger is lifted, my fingers fly up to fidget with my tie. “Abetting in the process of restoring order to the anarchy Benicio is already facing.” Her thumb joins to the collection. “And allowing you – little mouse – to remain at his side until he has successfully served up viable vengeance on a platinum platter.” She uses the lifted hand to blow him a kiss. “That’s twenty-five.”
His face cycles through resentment and regret. “So, twenty years was-”
“Was me in a moment of generosity.”
Hope stupidly springs onto his face.
“Moment. Passed.”
“Sì, l'ho capito.”
Yeah, I figured that.
“Twenty…five…years…” the number sounds painful even during the mere idea of processing it, “and I’m…free after that?”
There’s an unmistakable nefarious gleam in her eye as she slyly states, “We’ll call it sentence served.”
I can’t even consider interrupting again due to the speed at which they proceed.
“I want it in fucking writing,” Miko forcefully commands. “Legal style shit.”
She lets her hand that was used to count toy with the gem of the necklace. “I’ll sign it in blood.”
For the first time since the bargaining began, he looks over at me.
But he isn’t searching for guidance.
Or, fucking permission to abandon me.
No.
His gaze is cloaked in the type of devotion I’ve only seen one other person show me.
Miko drags his blue glare back to her. “Am I allowed to occasionally leave and go see my family?”
“Yes.”
“Are they allowed here to come visit me?”
Her foot crosses the space between him to let the tip of her toe drag itself along his inner thigh. “When you’ve been a good boy…”
It’s clear he doesn’t know whether to groan or grumble from the combination of the statement and salacious stroke.
Shay swings her stare back to mine, evil smile still cemented in place. “Can you do it, Benicio?”
My lips press together to stop myself from thoughtlessly replying.
“Can you trade one love for another?”
The existence shaking suggestion has me shutting my eyes in contemplation.
Can I?
Can I really give up my second, my best friend, my fucking family to save the love of my life and future child?
Is this really the only choice I have?
Is this really my price?
Chapter 3
I’ve been in this room…on this fucking yacht for five days.
I’ve had handcuffs around my wrist for five days.
I’ve actually adapted quite well, which is good since they don’t ever come off.
Idris Idiot – the dark-skinned male on the ship whose inflection and English accent remind me of the actor – labeled me as armed and dangerous prior to warning everyone to never let your guard down around me.
I’d be flattered if I wasn’t being held fucking hostage.
He’s not wrong, though.
Given an opening, I don’t hesitate to take it.
The first night Double 0 Dumb – he had a Scottish accent like Connery did in those old spy movies – took pity on me. It could’ve been because I was crying uncontrollably. It could’ve been because I was dry heaving nonstop. Or, it could’ve been because this was his first kidnapping, and he didn’t know how to process his sympathy. Regardless, I took full advantage of the opportunity he presented when removing the restraints so that I could be more comfortable in my unideal situation. I cold-cocked him, took his weapon, and was prepared to shoot everyone I came across until I was the only person left standing, leaving me with no choice but to have to learn how to drive a fucking yacht if I couldn’t radio some sort of coast guard. Idris Idiot, unfortunately, caught me before I could make any sort of considerable difference and declared to the rest of the crew the aforementioned proclamation.
Since that little incident on the first night, visits to me in this secluded room have been limited.
Other than holding a gun on me while I changed clothes without the hindrance of handcuffs, I’ve had no other company besides my own haunting thoughts.
Thoughts that I can’t write down.
Ceaseless conclusions I keep coming to yet can’t properly process without the assistance of a pen and paper.
A luxury yacht like this is, most likely, owned by someone, leading me to guess that whoever took me or wanted me taken owns it or is loaning it out as a favor, and from what I know and what I understand, those types of favors don’t come at a small cost. Whoever wanted me out of the picture or for themselves or maybe even both, has money.
Like, a shit ton of money.
And, whoever wanted me kidnapped didn’t want me harmed for some fucking reason. That little floating dread on what they plan to possibly do to me once they have me has my fight factor kicking into overdrive.
I have to fight with everything in my power to get me and my possibly unborn child away from wherever it is we end up and back home.
While fighting puts a possible pregnancy at risk, not fighting isn’t an option.
Not fighting is never an option.
It may seem selfish, but I would rather gamble with losing this child to get back to safety where I can possibly make another one, than simply allow whatever it is that’s about to happen to me to happen and be forced to raise my son or daughter somewhere he or she doesn’t belong.
With someone who is a looming threat on their existence and mine.
I have to constantly compare my survival probabilities.
Every situation that arises is a new one, with new numbers to process, and risks to weigh.
It’s never ending.
God, I need it to end…
My eyes momentarily shut out of exhaustion.
There are no long stretches of sleep in this luxury prison cell, just the occasional nap.
Not having any form of entertainment leaves me with adequate amounts of time to plan.
Plot.
To solve puzzles with too many blank pieces and not enough details to decipher where it is I’m going or who is having me taken there.
The room itself has been emptied of anything that could knowingly provide that information. There are no indications whatsoever about who owns the yacht or which direction we’ve been traveling for days. Somewhere between day one and two, I believe, I frantically checked in closets and cabinets. Moved furniture around in hopes of discovering a cigar butt or fake fingernail. Throughout it, I could hear Miko in my mind, mocking my actions, playfully reminding I’m not actually in an episode of a TV show we love. His voice was so clear and so lifelike that I immediately spiraled out of control. Started sobbing and couldn’t stop. It was at that moment the reality that I may never hear him laugh or see him set in. That I may never hear him argue with the love of my life again. That I may never be with the father of my possible child another day. I bawled until I passed out. Woke up and went right back to searching in a defiant refusal to be helpless even in a hopeless scenario.
I no longer look for clues.
I now listen for them.
Repeat and replay anything I think can be used when the time comes.
I don’t know if that’ll be the time for me to make some cross-country ocean swimming escape or simply recall to the men who love me – in different ways – what I remember about my time on this godforsaken, tackily decorated boat.
Seriously.
Feel like this is where they used to film porn in the 70s.
Most of the chatte
r isn’t done close enough to my room for me to pick up much, but it hasn’t stopped me from keeping my ear pressed to the door. Periodically, their voices carry or Mathew McConaugnay – the man that seems to be the one in charge of everything – will take his private calls in the room next door. Listening to them requires me to contort into some odd positions in the adjoining bathroom; however, I can’t risk not eavesdropping.
One little detail could be the single most important key detail to this whole thing.
“Wake up,” Food Delivery Man commands.
They rotate who is to check on me to ensure I haven’t somehow escaped or decided to take my own life – a task that would be difficult considering the lack of material to make weapons out of and the fact I’m also not even given utensils to eat with – yet have kept the same individual delivering me scraps of food sporadically throughout the day like I’m a stolen pet rather than a person.
“Wake up,” he grumbles from his location in the doorway.
Nope.
I need him to come closer.
I need him to come to me.
“Hey!” Food Delivery Man barks louder. “Get up, bitch! It’s time to go.”
Good.
That means Beni may have an easier time pinpointing the call.
I don’t know if being close to land makes it easier or harder when it comes to a satellite phone.
“Are…,” his voice drops slightly in concern, “are you alive?” When there’s still no response out of me, panic kicks in, like I hoped, causing him to rush over to me. “Oh, shit,” he grumbles as he places a hand on my shoulder to shake me, “are you-”
My clasped hands nail him right in the nuts. His body folds forward, and I swiftly swing my folded fingers upward with all the force I’ve got. He flails backwards in pain, exposing his holstered weapon for the taking. I snatch it, fire two shots into his vestless chest, and wait for it to hit the ground. The instant he’s down, I dart to his body to search it for the phone.
I know my time is limited.
Gunshots aren’t exactly quiet, and they’re intending to take me off this ship right now, which means even if they didn’t hear the shots, any sort of delay in what should be a quick trip to retrieve me will result in them coming to see what the holdup is.
