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An infuriated sigh leaves him. I internally high-five myself. “You can either eat, or you can sit here gagged and cuffed. The choice is yours.”
Silly lamb. I never had a choice. He took away all my choices when he kidnapped me and put me on this fucking boat.
I remain unmoving.
“Fine then,” he states, digging into his back pocket to produce the cuffs. He doesn’t even need to tell me to put my hands behind my back. I do it automatically. I know the drill.
He pauses, surprised, but soon recovers as he snaps the cuffs around my wrists. Next, however, the surprise is on me because he does something which rips the air from my lungs. Standing in front of me, he reaches behind him and yanks off the shirt from the back of his collar. His scent is absolutely potent, and I gnaw at the inside of my cheek until I taste blood.
He’s topless before me, and I want to claw out my eyeballs because they scan upward on their own accord, completely under his spell. I saw him out in the darkness, but now, the sunshine streaming in from the windows seems to only showcase him in all his glory.
His waist is tapered, his rock-solid abs golden and firm. The well-defined V muscle which peeks out from the low waistband of his black cargos is deliciously sinful, as is the light dusting of dirty blond hair which paints his navel and licks downward along his flesh.
I notice a tattoo on his flank. It’s a cursive font. A single word.
Sinner.
Seems appropriate.
I continue my examination, focusing on the silver barbell in his left nipple. The shine to it seems to emphasize his muscled, broad chest. He has some dark hair between his pecs, but it isn’t thick enough to cover the deep scars he has scattered all over him. They look like knife wounds.
Across his upper chest, he has more ink. It seems to work in with his wing tattoo as he has a thick scroll spread across his collar with two large red roses, the only color on his design, sitting just under each collarbone. Around the scroll looks like more feathers. The design is spectacular, but what has me transfixed is what is written inside the scroll.
Only God Can Judge Me.
I don’t know why, but those words resonate with me because I can relate…I can relate to that right now.
He has a thick black armband tattoo below his elbow. The feathers painted down over his bulging biceps ripple as he tenses, sensing me studying him. When I finally meet his eyes, they are smoldering beneath that mask he wears. He is utterly hypnotic.
He has just revealed a small part of himself to me, and I need to know why.
Rounding the chair, he ties his shirt around my mouth, forcing me to inhale his fragrance as I’m swimming in it.Thisis torture.
Without a word, he leaves me gagged and cuffed, the vision of his wings the last thing I see as he walks up onto the deck. The moment he’s gone, I sag, breathing heavily around the…gag. I’m gagged, and I didn’t freak out. Not once did I think about Kenny’s hands on me because I was too busy sniffing the delectable material in my mouth.
I don’t know what comes next because I am so lost. And the only comfort is inhaling his scent, which is somehow able to soothe the tempest within.
My thoughts once again drift to Drew. I need to know the truth. I don’t want to believe Saint, but how did they know where to find me? Why did Drew choose such a remote place to honeymoon? Shaking my head, I push those thoughts from my mind because I know my husband. He would never do what Saint said he did.
My body aches. Not only from the welts on my ass, back, and legs, but my neck is starting to chafe as well. Peering upward, I close my eyes and allow the tears to fall. After everything I’ve been through, I thought I was strong, but I’m not. I’m breaking, which is exactly what Saint wants.
I’m trying to be strong, but each day chips away at my resolve, and I feel the person I once was slip away. Before long, she’ll be gone for good.
Fatigue overtakes me, and I slump forward, happy to lose myself in the darkness once more.
I wake because someone is watching me. I can feel their astute eyes dissecting every inch of my flesh. No guessing who it is.
I’m still not talking to him, so I feign sleep. But he calls bullshit.
“Thanks to the shit you pulled…again, we now have to hang low for a couple of days. We also have to change boats. It’s too risky to continue sailing this thing.”
If Saint is expecting an apology, he’ll be waiting a long time.
“We’re going to dock in about an hour and stay there until shit blows over. I also have some business to take care of.”
My head is downturned, my hair shrouding my face so I’m hidden, and I intend on staying this way since I have absolutely nothing to say to him. However, this piece of information changes things. It buys me time. A couple of days is more days than I had moments ago. And docking means dry land.
But I remain passive as I don’t want Saint privy to my thoughts.
