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I frown as I read through the list.…what does that mean and why has he taken a photo of it?
I have absolutely no idea what I am looking at or for here.
I keep swiping and see another photo of the girl and the boy, but this time they are with another man. I smile before I catch myself. This is this man’s family, but who is he?
Hmm. I swipe through to the emails… nothing unordinary.
I look through his emails and images for over an hour and with a little more information on Mac—or Stace—and a million more attempts to get range, I put the things back where I found them. I will check them again tomorrow if I am still here.
* * *
At twelve o’clock sharp, a knock bangs on the door. I don’t want to go to lunch with this stupid bitch, but if I can get her trust, she might help me get off the ship. A faint, annoying little voice whispers from deep within so she can have Mac again tonight.
It bothers me that him sleeping with her annoys me.
It shouldn’t annoy me. I should be elated. I blow out a dejected breath and open the door.
Three girls stand before me. “Hello,” I murmur.
“Hi.” Chelsea fakes a smile. She is bottle blonde and busty and the other two mumble some kind of fake greeting. One has long red hair and pale skin. She’s beautiful and sweet looking. The other has jet-black hair and a really hard face. She’s had a tough life, I can tell.
I hold my hand out and they walk past me into the room.
“I don’t need to be babysat. I’m okay.” I sigh.
Chelsea rolls her eyes. “Mac told me I had to watch you.”
I stare at her…she pisses me off. “Well, Mac’s not here.”
“Hmm, pity.” She smirks to the other girls as she looks around the room.
I glare at her as I feel my back prickle. “I’m glad he’s not. I’m being held here against my will you know.”
Chelsea smiles her first genuine smile. “Oh, you poor thing. Being held as Mac’s sex slave would be such a hardship.” She widens her eyes to accentuate her point.
The other two giggle.
Did she sleep with him last night or not? I fucking need to know. Why is it bothering me if she did?
“Let’s cut the bullshit,” I snap. “Can you help me get off the boat or not?”
Chelsea sits at the desk and swings on the chair. “What has Mac said?” she asks.
“He said he will let me go at the next port,” I reply.
She shrugs. “Then he will let you go.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
