AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness because I am far crueler than those two upstairs,” he growls, cupping my throat once again. Swallowing hard, I bow backward in an attempt to escape, but I have nowhere to go. “I have a lot more to lose than they do, so don’t force me to hurt you.”
He releases me, and I sag forward, sobbing. I have never felt more defeated in my life.
When he reaches for a roll of duct tape, I whimper. “Pl-please do-don’t gag m-me. I can’t st-stand it. Pl-please.”
My pleas go unheard as he stretches out a length and is about to fasten it to my lips. It’s my last chance. “Please, Saint, d-don’t…” I don’t even care what he does to me for using his name. I’m dead anyway.
I brace for the suffocation, squeezing my eyes shut, but I don’t get it. I get nothing.
“Fuck!” he roars before I hear something smash. He’s going to kill me; I’m sure of it. But when I hear his heavy boots pound along the floor and up the stairs, slamming the hatch closed, it appears I’m not sure of anything at all.
My heavy eyelids open, and I take in my surroundings. He’s gone. I’m still tied to a pole, but he’s gone. The smash I heard was the duct tape being hurled against the wall, shattering a glass in the process.
I have no idea why he didn’t gag me. The fact I used his name was enough of a reason to. But he didn’t, and I need to know why.
But for now, I surrender to the exhaustion, anticipating what day two holds.
She isn’t what I was expecting. She is strong-willed and stubborn. I have no other choice but to break her. It’s for her own good.
Day 2
I’VE BEEN AWAKEsince well before dawn.
The night wasn’t kind to me. I had hoped to pass out from fatigue and the splitting pain in my head and not stir for hours, but that wasn’t the case. I slipped in and out of reality, but I eventually stayed awake, counting the stars I could see through the small window to my left. It was my only glimpse of the outside world.
When the sun peaked across the horizon and the moon surrendered to her light, I waited for my punishment. My attempted escape made Saint so angry last night, I’m certain my retribution was coming. But I waited and waited to no avail.
I can hear them up on the deck. The boat has either stopped or is going at a very slow pace, but they are merely torturing me. In some ways, I wish they’d just get it over with because the waiting…that’s half the torture.
I don’t know where we are, why they kidnapped me, or how they knew where to find me. Our location was off the grid. I didn’t see a soul for miles. If they want a ransom, knowing Drew is wealthy, then why are they taking me to Turkey?
None of this makes any sense.
The hatch opens, letting in the vibrant sunshine, but I feel anything but lively. When one of the Russians comes bouncing down the stairs, I don’t know if I should be relieved or scared. Of course, the ski mask covers his face, so I will only be able to tell who he is when he speaks.
Holding my breath, I watch as he hunts through the shelves of canned food, grabbing two. “Eat?” he asks in very broken English. Russian number two. He is the one who speaks little English. He is also the bastard who pistol-whipped me.
“No, thank you,” I spit. I’d rather starve than break bread with them. My throat is dry, and I’m thirsty as all get-out, but it’ll be a cold day in hell when I tell him that. He shrugs, probably thankful there is more for him. He heads back up on the deck, slamming the hatch behind him.
Every part of my body aches, and I desperately need a shower. I am covered in blood, sweat, and tears. The thought of standing under a hot spray to wash away this filth has me slipping into a happy place…until the devil ruins it.
“You need to eat.”
Inhaling, I turn my cheek, refusing to look at him. He responds with laughter.
He seems to have more pep in his step than when he left last night, and I begin to wonder why that is. The closer he gets to me, the more the memories of him foiling my escape incite my anger. “Eat,” he repeats.
“No,” I push out between clenched teeth, my face still facing away. I don’t want to look at him. I won’t be held responsible for my actions if I do.
“I made it myself,” he quips, shoving a plate of baked beans under my nose. My stomach gurgles, and the urge to vomit overpowers me.
“Fuck you,” I scowl, uncaring what the repercussions are.
Silence.
I’m testing his patience, but I won’t roll over and die. I did that once, and I won’t ever do it again. If he wanted a docile little hostage, then he kidnapped the wrong girl.
My insolence hasn’t affected him in the slightest because I hear the wooden chair being dragged across the floor and then a loud thump onto the table. “So if you won’t eat…what do you want?”
