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That wasn’t good.
That was like the plot to some weird, random action movie. Where like the American girl ends up being the drug mule to some rich cartel leader or something.
I’d pay to watch it.
But I wasn’t exactly pleased at the idea of living it.
My hand went to my pocket, but found it empty.
“Yeah, I’m afraid I had to take your knife. And your gun.”
My gun?
I didn’t carry a gun around all the time.
Why did I have a gun?
“Where am I?” I asked, trying to push up despite the rolling in my stomach.
“On a plane somewhere over the Indian Ocean,” the man declared as he walked toward the bed, putting a bottle of water and a single-serve foil of over-the-counter migraine medicine down.
“Okay. One thing down. Why? Why am I on a plane over the Indian Ocean?” I asked, reaching for the water and medicine because they were both sealed and I wasn’t going to be able to think straight if I didn’t get rid of the headache at least.
I found my hands oddly weak as I tried to open the cap on the water, having to try four times before I managed it.
Another thing to try to figure out.
“Well, love, because how else are we going to get to the Maldives?”
Maldives?
I had no recollection of planning a trip to the Maldives.
It wasn’t even on my top five list of places I needed to visit next.
I certainly wouldn’t have let it knock Taiwan off my list.
So why was I going?
And who the hell was this guy?
“Who are you?”
“Forget me already, love? When I had my hands so attentively cupping your ass just last night.”
“Listen, asshole, if you had your hands on my ass, there was no way I could have consented since I don’t even remember last night.”
“It should come back. I didn’t give you that much.”
“Give me that much what?” I asked, tensing as the words landed in the thick soup of my brain, sinking instead of floating, making it impossible to work out the meaning behind the words.
“The drugs, sweetheart,” he said, making my stomach drop.
“You drugged me?” I hissed, scooting up higher on the bed, pulling my legs to my chest.
I was reasonably happy to see that my jeans and even my socks were still on.
I mean, sure, he could have assaulted me and put my clothes back on, but it was the least likely of scenarios. If all my clothing, including my socks, underwear, and bra were on and on right, chances were they hadn’t been taken off in the first place.
That didn’t mean I was out of the woods yet when it came to that problem, but at least it wouldn’t have already happened when I was drugged or unconscious. I was awake. I could try to fight him off if he tried anything.
“Well, how else was I going to get out to the Maldives without any sort of fit?” he asked, sitting down on the ledge near the window.
“Why do you want to take me to the Maldives at all?”
“Well, first, the Maldives are lovely. Second, I want to have a chat with you.”
“A chat with me. And the reason we couldn’t have that chat over coffee in Jersey instead of across the world is?” I asked.
“Why would we want to have a chat over coffee in Jersey when we could have a chat in a luxury cabana over the light blue waters instead?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I didn’t agree to do it,” I said, jaw getting tight.
I mean, to an extent, I’d gotten used to men like him—with their expensive suits and diamond-encrusted watches—and their feelings of entitlement toward a woman’s time and attention and even body at times. But that didn’t mean it was okay, or that it ever stopped being completely invasive when it happened.
“Why would you object to a little impromptu vacation?”
“Jesus Christ, dude, because I didn’t fucking consent to it. Are you that thick? What the fuck is the matter with you?”
Yeah, that whole ‘having control over your temper’ thing had never been a strong suit of mine.
“You know, you remind me of a coworker of mine. Two of them actually,” the man said.
“I don’t really give a shit,” I told him, lowering my eyes at him when he smiled at my words. “Who the hell are you?”
“Bellamy,” he volunteered.
“Okay, Bellamy. This is how this is going to go. We are going to land in the Maldives. And I am going to walk away from you and never see you again. Or I am going to pitch such a holy shitfit about being drugged and kidnapped that you are going to spend a nice little chunk of time in a foreign jail while they figure that shit out.”
“Don’t be silly, love. It’s a private airstrip.”
Of course it would be.
