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“I want to fuck,” he says into my ear, sucking the side of my neck. My mouth gapes open as I silently dry retch, but I just hum in response.
When I’m close enough, I know what I have to do. Bending forward, I grab the railing and position my ass high in the air. The radio is within reach, but I can’t make a reach for it until this asshole is knocked out cold.
“Fuck me,” I purr, but the tremble to my tone gives away my nerves.
Kazimir either doesn’t notice or care. His pants hit the deck before I hear him spit in what I’m guessing is his hand. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop my screams. When a distinctive friction noise is heard, it’s evident he’s working himself up and down, intent on fulfilling my request.
He cups my ass, grunting, his hand still moving frantically. I desperately search for a weapon, and when I see it, I don’t hesitate. Kazimir violently forces my bottoms aside, exposing me to him. “Your pink pussy is heaven.” He runs his rough finger along my entrance, hissing low.
I am horrified, but I use that to dive for the fire extinguisher, and in one smooth motion, I spin around and strike out, connecting with Kazimir’s temple.
My heart is in my throat as I watch Kazimir’s eyes widen in utter shock before he slumps to the deck with his disgusting dick still in hand. I hold the fire extinguisher high, as I’m expecting him to come back to life like some bad horror movie, but he doesn’t move.
His cock soon deflates and flops lifelessly against his leg.
Gulping in mouthfuls of air, I drop the extinguisher and cry in relief, brushing back my hair. But I’m not done. Jumping over Kazimir’s unmoving body, I sink to my knees and unhook the fist mic, fiddling frantically with the dials. “Hello? Hello? Can anybody hear me?” I hysterically say into the mic.
All I get is static in response.
I continue turning the dials, hoping for some kind of a response. “Come on!” I cry, squeezing the button on the mic, refusing to give up.
“Hello? Help me, please. I’ve been kidnapped.” The radio frequency continues cackling at my expense. This is hopeless.
Peering into the heavens, I pray for a miracle. I beg that for once, the universe cuts me some slack. A tear scores my cheek because if this doesn’t work, I have just signed my own death warrant.
Ripping open the white chest, I see that I was right as inside is a life vest and some flares. If this doesn’t work, then this will have to be my Plan B. Just as I’m about to slip the vest over my head, I hear it…a sign from above.
“Hello?”
I sob in response as I dive for the fist mic. “Hello? Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” the male voice says through the static. The connection isn’t great, but all that matters is that I’ve made contact. “What are your coordinates?”
“I don’t know,” I say in a rushed breath. “I’ve been kidnapped. My name is Willow Shaw. I’m an American. Please help me.”
I slump to the floor, tears streaming down my cheeks. I did it. I’m saved. Now that that realization hits, I begin to tremble uncontrollably. The past six days crash into me, and I struggle to breathe.
“What is the name of your vessel?”
“I-I d-don’t kn-know,” I stutter, measuring my breathing so I can answer his questions. “All I know is that we’re headed for Russia. Aleksei—” The line suddenly goes dead.
Fear overthrows me, and I desperately spring into action, turning the dials, but it’s useless. “No!” I sob, searching the radio for signs of why it just died. “Hello?” The fist mic button echoes uselessly.
Just as I’m about to try again, a darkness shadows me, revealing the reason my communication to the outside world has just been severed.
I hastily shrink backward, hiding behind the helm because before me stands Saint, and he’s holding the cables he tore from the radio in his hand. He is fucking furious. “You have no…noidea what you’ve just done.”
There is a fraction of calm, but it’s the calm before the storm.
He lunges forward, reaching for my legs, but I kick out hysterically, screaming at the top of my lungs as I attempt to curl myself into a small ball. “No!”
But it’s useless as he drops to a squat and grips my ankle. I lash out, violently fighting, hoping the small space I’m hidden in will protect me, but nothing will protect me from the wrath of Saint. I kick my legs, writhing and attempting to escape, but Saint yanks me forward, uncaring he’ll probably decapitate me in the process.
I search for anything to grab onto, but the wheel is out of my reach, and I fall onto my back, my head slamming onto the hard, wooden decking. He drags me out as I scramble to anchor myself, my fingernails bending backward as they claw uselessly at the floor. He simply shoves Kazimir aside with his boot and continues hauling me like a sack of potatoes.
“I’m sorry!” I sob, but it’s too late. He doesn’t want my apologies. He’s out for blood.
I squirm madly, kicking and thrashing about, but Saint only tightens his hold around my ankle. I frantically search for a weapon, but the world is upside down—a perfect analogy for my life right now.
