by Linda Barlow
Metin nodded as if it were to be expected. I was a female, after all, and a foreigner. "Oh, no, it is just the two of us. When the sails are extended we must both work, but tonight Nick will direct our way until it is his time to sleep. Then I will work the boat until morning."
"When will it be his turn to sleep?"
Metin pulled a cell phone out of his pants pocket and checked the time. "One hour from now."
One hour's respite. That was all I would have. I bit my lip. That was why I hadn't seen Nick all afternoon; he was taking his turn at the helm so he'd have the night free to "sleep."
I looked up to find Metin watching me, his dark eyes filled with curiosity and something that looked like compassion. "You are afraid from something?"
I felt a rush of irrational affection for the young man. He was friendlier than his captain was. "I guess I am."
Metin was shaking his head in surprise. "How can that be? All women admire Nicholas. He is very much a man."
This didn't offer much consolation.
"You must become his woman, but where is the terror in that? You are not so young," he added dispassionately. "And you are American, so you must be—" he hesitated here, clearly searching for the right term "—making sex with many men."
I wasn't sure whether to be insulted or touched. I no longer sensed any threat from him. His precious Nicholas must have made it plain that I was his woman. And Metin seemed eager to put my fears to rest.
"I don't know where you get your ideas about American women, Metin, but I don't go around making sex with many men."
He looked skeptical. "You travel alone, without a male relative's protection."
I could feel myself flushing. Damn sexism, anyway. "Men travel without a relative's protection, don't they? Why shouldn't women be free to do the same?"
Now he looked as though he were barely resisting laughing at me. He controlled himself, though, and said, "Americans are more easy about these things than Turks."
"Look. I am not your friend's woman. I am my own woman. I do not choose to share myself with him or anybody else. Can you understand that?"
He looked doubtful. "If you are not Nick's woman, he will not be able to protect you from the others."
I stiffened to attention. "What others? Where are we going?"
The young man's smile vanished and a guilty look replaced it. "You will pardon me. It is not permitted for me to tell you."
"Metin, please! Who are these others? Where are we going?"
He quickly retreated to the door. "Afiyet olsun," he added, the Turkish for bon appetit. Then he fled, locking the door behind him.
Frowning, I sat down to my supper of bread, cheese, fruit and hot, strong tea. I was hungry, so the food tasted good, but when I finished, the butterflies in my stomach started up again, giving me indigestion. One hour. I waited, begrudging each minute as it passed by. You must become his woman, but where is the terror in that?
Why did those simple words sound like a prophecy of doom?
Chapter 6
ELLIE
I stiffened at the sound of the key in the door. It was dark in the cabin. I had switched off all the lights, with the exception of the overhead lamp in the toilet, which showed under the closed bathroom door. The water in the sink was running; he would probably hear it as soon as he entered the room. For a few seconds he would assume I was in the head, and during those few seconds, I would act.
The door swung inward, hiding me where I stood flattened against the wall, holding The Complete Works of William Shakespeare high over my head. It was the only weapon available. He'd taken the knife with him and I had not been able to find his gun. The volume was heavy; my arms were aching. But he was fit and strong, and I was worried it wouldn't be heavy enough.
He entered and slammed the door. Aiming at the golden glint of his hair, I brought the book down with all my strength. Quick and alert, he pivoted. Shakespeare struck him on the shoulder and crashed to the floor.
He was cursing as he grabbed me, spun me around and jammed me, face first, against the wall. He twisted my arms behind my back, which fucking hurt. I must have yelped with pain. The boat rocked, which pressed his body into mine from behind. As we rolled over another wave, I felt him grow aroused. It was impossible to mistake the pressure of a stiffening cock against my ass.
Oh God. Big, pathetic mistake. Too bad I had never learned kickboxing or Tae Kwan Do.
"Giving me an excuse to punish you?" he asked.
"Do you need an excuse?"
"No." The painful pressure on my arms changed, but did not ease. He shifted so that one of his hands smashed both of my wrists together. With the other hand, he reached around to the front of my body. His grip closed over one of my breasts. He explored, caressed. His fingers were strong and warm, and their touch sent a current through me. My heart throbbed as my breast expanded to fill his palm.
Dammit! I wanted to scream with fury at my dumbass body's weakness.
"Stop it," I said, trying to keep my tone icy.
"You're going to have to get used to me touching you. I'll be doing it a lot."
"No." I writhed against the wall, attempting to free myself. Uselessly.
"Yes." His fingers rose to my chin and tipped my head back. He pressed his face into my hair. "My advice is to relax and accept it. Because you're going to lose this battle."
Oh, God. I had this weird instinct to surrender. Lean into him. Allow his hands to do whatever they wished. I could feel a softening inside me as my core came alive. Did I seriously have chemistry with this jerk? What was wrong with me?
It must be because of not having a damn orgasm for a while. Jet-lagged and traveling, I hadn't gotten myself off for, jeez, I didn't remember how long. This horrible man had a body that was attractive to me. I'd thought him super hot from the moment I'd first caught a glimpse of him through my telephoto lens. It was one of those odd physical things. Hormones don't have a conscience. Or a lick of good sense.
He turned me around and flipped on the overhead light. I was panting, while his chest still rose and fell at a normal rate. If his shoulder hurt, he didn't betray it. Poor Shakespeare was more damaged than he was.
"Where were you going to go? Over the side?" His hands tightened on my shoulders; he shook me slightly. "We're nowhere near land. Even a trained long-distance swimmer wouldn't have a chance."
"I was hoping to convince Metin to put me ashore."
"Forget it. He's loyal to me." His tone was scathing. "Besides, no Turk would touch the woman belonging to his kardesh—his good friend, his brother."
"I don't belong to you."
"Wrong," he said, picking me up bodily and swinging me toward the bed, "like it or not, you do."
He dumped me unceremoniously, then stood back and did some stiff circles with his left shoulder. "Fuck. What did you hit me with?"
"The Complete Works of William Shakespeare."
He snorted a laugh. "Shall we read The Taming of The Shrew together?" He picked up the volume from the floor and stuffed it back on the shelf. Then he locked the door and jammed the key into the front pocket of his jeans. "Turn off the tap. This is a boat, not a bloody hotel. There's no water to waste."
"Do it yourself."
He grabbed me again and marched me to the sink, his arms brutally strong around my struggling body. "Do it," he ordered harshly, forcing my head down until it was just above the tiny sink. Water from the open tap splashed in my face. The basin was full. He pushed down until my nose and mouth went into the water. Terrified that he was going to hold me under, I flailed around with my one free arm until I found the tap. I shut the water off, trembling, desperately afraid now of what he might do next.
He jerked my head up and dragged me away from the sink. I gasped, shaking myself like a wet pup. He shoved me at the bed. I stumbled and fell upon it. I righted myself quickly, brushing at my eyes where tears had formed. I was not going to let him see me cry.
He stood beside the bed, his legs a s
cant inch from my knees. The boat was riding the waves with more motion now, but he was obviously at home with the heaving of the sea. I noticed that he had impossibly long legs. I followed their lines up past his slim hips and flat belly. He was now wearing a loose sweatshirt with his jeans. The sweatshirt was old and ragged. It had once had long sleeves, but they'd been hacked off at the elbows, making him appear tough and uncompromisingly masculine. I glanced up at his face. His eyes were narrow slits of green, his cheeks rough with the faint gold stubble of his beard. His aura of power had never been stronger. I felt a curl of fear.
"Don't push me." Each word was clipped off, separate.
Gathering my battered courage, I said, "Or you'll waterboard me?"
He shook his head. "I'm trying to figure out if you're stupid, crazy, or just incredibly stubborn."
"I got kept after school a lot when I was a teenager for defying authority. It's a personality flaw."
"I'm not the fucking high school principal."
He sat beside me on the bed, angling his body so he was facing me. I tried to slide away from him, but there was nowhere to go.
"How old are you?"
"You saw my passport."
"Give me a fucking answer when I ask you a question."
"Twenty-three."
"You look younger."
"I'm not. I graduated from college last spring."
"Okay. There are a couple of things I need you to understand."
I waited.
"When we reach our destination, we'll be meeting with some associates. You'll be expected to behave in a certain way."
"Meaning what?"
"Let me demonstrate."
He stood again, hovering over me where I huddled on the edge of the bed. The cabin was so small that there was nowhere else for me to go, especially with him in it. He dominated the tiny space, making me want to curl up and find an unobtrusive spot in a corner somewhere. He wasn't threatening me with a gun or a knife now, but I still felt like prey.
He removed the belt from around his waist. It wasn't made of leather, but of some ropey macramé. I thought he was undressing for the expected sexual assault, and my tension skyrocketed. But he threaded one end of the belt through the buckle, made a loop, and, in a swift and unexpected move, slung it around my neck and tightened it.
I froze. What the fuck?
"Get on your knees," he said, pulling up on his end of the belt. It was not so tight that it cut off my air, but the threat was there. I had to stretch my neck, moving in the direction he moved the belt. "Kneel up. On the bed."
My hands had flown to the rope material, trying to fight his control, but the angle was wrong. I couldn't get purchase. My palms turned slick with sweat, and I felt panic come roaring up again. This couldn't be happening. Was he going to strangle me? I couldn't deal with the thought of not having enough air. It was my absolute worst nightmare.
"It isn't hard," he said, his voice wintery cool. "Tuck your legs under you and kneel up. Show me you can obey a simple command."
Was he crazy? Some kind of psychopath? I realized I could still breathe, but I felt like an animal in a choke collar. Humiliation washed over me.
Clumsily I knelt. The dipping and rising of the boat confused me and I nearly toppled sideways as I tried to rise on my knees. His hand on my shoulder steadied me. When I managed it, the pressure on my throat was much less, but I was trembling.
"Good girl," he said, and lowered his arm, releasing the tension in the rope.
My hands tried again to remove it from around my neck, but he pulled it taut again. Oh God. I couldn't deal with this. I couldn't stop shaking.
"You will obey me. Drop your hands or I'll bind them behind your back."
I did it. As long as I could breathe, I'd freaking do anything.
"That's right. Not so hard, is it?"
"Please don't choke me," I whispered. I hated myself for saying it. It felt like begging. And it showed him that I had a weakness he could exploit.
And exploit me he did. I felt his free hand move over my hair, then under it. Along my shoulders and down my spine. His touch was light. It didn't hurt. In fact, as he continued to slide his hand around, I realized it was seductive. He kept it up, and I was horrified to feel a sweetness begin in the pit of my belly as he stroked me. I closed my eyes, afraid he would read my reaction there.
What was wrong with me? I couldn't get my mind around it. Everything seemed fuzzy and unreal. No one had ever hurt me, bound me, knocked me unconscious, or tightened a cord around my neck before. I knew such things, and worse, happened to women the world over. I hadn't appreciated how fortunate I'd been never to encounter a man who wanted to hurt or control me.
I'd had fantasies about such things, though. Safe unthreatening imaginings that could be banished back into the dark place from which they emerged. I'd talked about sex with enough friends to know that other women shared my fantasies of being swept away by rough, tough, masculine guys who wanted me so badly that they would break social and ethical conventions to get me in their bed. I'd even urged Mark, my last boyfriend, to be a little more adventurous in the bedroom. He'd tried, but his heart hadn't been in it.
"I'm not going to strangle you," Nicholas said, "but I want you under my control." He loosened the belt slightly, but he did not remove it. "There isn't time to do this slowly. We are about to enter a realm where your only safety will lie in how convincingly you can demonstrate your devotion to me."
I shook my head in silent denial.
"Get used to it."
"I can't." I was horrified by the sound of my own voice, which came out as little more than a whimper.
"You will. Now sit any way you feel comfortable, but do not touch the belt."
"Why are you doing this?" I was shaking again, and I hated it. His belt hung like a leash from around my throat. "What kind of freak are you?"
"It's not about me. It's about you learning to survive. You can bend or you can break."
"You can't break me."
"Of course I can. I'm bigger, stronger, and a whole lot nastier than you."
"It doesn't matter. I'm a free human spirit, and nothing you do to me can change that." Except choke me. Or lock me up alone in a small, dark place.
He snorted. "Right. I don't know what world you've been living in, but freedom is a luxury known to few people on this planet. Political freedom, economic freedom, religious freedom—how many people living today are fully endowed with those supposedly fundamental human rights? Not as many as you'd probably like to believe. Slavery still exists—you knew that, right? Do you have any idea how many millions of people, mostly women and children, are trafficked every year?"
Was it a rhetorical question? "So...are you pro or con?"
He stared at me. His beautiful muscles were tense and a tendon spasmed in his jaw.
"Because," I looked down at the macramé belt hanging from my neck, "you're treating me like a sex slave."
His lips curled down. "Except for the sex part."
What did he mean? Hope flared in me. "You grabbed my breast."
"Yeah, I know, but I don't fuck unwilling women. If you're afraid of rape, you can relax. That isn't gonna happen."
I felt a little woozy as relief washed through me. For hours I had been trying to tell myself that maybe it wouldn't be so bad...maybe he wouldn't hurt me too much...maybe I'd be able to close my eyes and pretend I was somewhere else.
"Don't look so relieved. It doesn't mean I won't fuck you. It just means you'll enjoy it when I do."
"If you think you can convince yourself that I'm willing when I'm not—"
"Don't pretend you don't respond to my touch. I hate liars. Anyway, you haven't heard the bad news yet."
"So what's the bad news?"
"One of these men we'll be meeting likes to take things away from me; it's an old habit of his. Anything I value, he wants. Including women."
"I have no value to you."
"There's the Catch-22. You're with
me, so you must have value. This will make you irresistible to my cousin Nigel. His soul, if he has one, is blacker than hell."
"Your cousin?"
"I come from a fucked-up family. They don't trust me much, and they'll trust you even less. I can only see one way to make you seem both valuable to me and no reasonable threat to them." He tugged on the free end of the belt around my neck. "Meet my new sex slave. Discreet, obedient, loyal, and abjectly submissive."
Chapter 7
ELLIE
"I can't pretend something like that."
He tightened the belt a little. "Who said anything about pretending? You are going to learn a few new skills. We don't have much time. If you have half the smarts I'm giving you credit for, you'll follow my instructions and learn fast."
After getting captured as easily as I had, I wondered why he was giving me credit for any smarts. It felt to me as if I hadn't done anything sensible or intelligent for weeks. Except maybe for hiding my knowledge of Turkish.
"So, what? The place you're taking me is some sort of sex den?"
"My cousin Nigel is interested in human trafficking, among other unsavory activities."
"Your cousin is a trafficker?" I heard the horror in my own voice. I knew human trafficking was still a huge criminal enterprise, despite the international laws against slavery. I had thought antiquity trafficking was bad enough, but what he was talking about now was even worse.
"I believe it's a sideline of his, not his main business."
"And you? Do you traffic in human flesh, too?"
"I'm sure I could find a buyer for you, if you give me any trouble."
I was running out of sharp retorts. I've got to stay strong.
"In the past, I've never appeared in front of Nigel with a slave of my own," he continued. "He has taunted me about it for some time. He's convinced that I like to abuse and degrade women. He's sociopathic, so I must be, too. Sooner or later, he has often said, my true nature would emerge. So I am going to let it."
"That's why you didn't kill me? So you can let the Sociopath Within come out to play?"
