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I haven’t seen Saint or Aleksei since they left this room. Others have brought me food and water, and uncuffed me so I could use the bathroom, but it’s clear I’m to remain handcuffed to this bed until further instruction from Aleksei.
The clock on the bedside table reads just after 7 a.m. I wonder what the day holds and how close we are to Russia. The thought of reaching my final destination turns my stomach, but it’s the lesser of two evils.
Being stuck on this yacht with Aleksei and his men is far more suffocating than being held prisoner in Russia. I may be naïve in thinking this, but being on land will present more plausible opportunities to escape than my current predicament of being trapped at sea.
If by some miracle I were to escape now, where exactly would I go? I’m surrounded by nothing but water. Truth be told, there is no need for me to be handcuffed because I’m truly a prisoner—a prisoner to the elements as well as to a maniacal psychopath.
When the door opens, I turn to see who it is. When Zoey floats in, wearing a grin from ear to ear, I instantly dread what’s headed my way. “Time for breakfast.” She’s in a black bikini top and sarong with her hair piled high on her head. She looks like she’s ready to laze about in the sun all day, circumstances be damned.
The mere mention of food turns my stomach. “I’m not hungry.”
When she bursts into laughter, I know I’ve missed the memo. “That’s a good thing for you then because until we’ve all been fed, you don’t eat.”
I raise my head off the pillow to get a better look at her. “Excuse me?”
She’s clearly enjoying herself, and when she produces the key to my cuffs, I know why. She’s in control for once, and I suddenly feel like an ant being roasted alive under a magnifying glass. “It’s time you earned your keep.”
“Unless you’ve had a lapse in memory, I’m here against my will,” I snap, tugging at the cuffs to prove my point.
But she doesn’t seem to care either way.
She reaches over me and unlocks my cuffs but doesn’t give me a moment to rub my raw wrists before she yanks me up by my arm. I try to shrug from her punishing grip, but she holds on tight. “Alek doesn’t like to be kept waiting, and this will be the first breakfast we’ve had together that I didn’t cook.”
I’m soon brought up to speed.
It seems I’m to be a slave in every sense of the word. “Cook your own damn breakfast,” I spit, prying her fingers off me.
My suggestion falls on deaf ears as she shoves me between my shoulder blades. “Move.”
Not having much choice, I open the door and wonder if this is how someone feels when they walk into a room where everyone is talking about them. All heads turn my way and the conversations pause as the men gawk at Zoey and me.
I’m guessing most are placing bets on who would win in a fight because it’ll come to blows if she doesn’t stop pushing me. “Alek likes his eggs poached.”
It takes all my willpower not to tell her to go fuck herself as I walk past the perverts to the kitchen. Saint isn’t down here, which has me wondering where he is.
“The eggs are in there.” When she points at the fridge, I realize she’s serious. The men look at me and then at Zoey, and I know she’s doing this in front of company to humiliate me. She wants them to see her as the top dog because even though I’m here to take her place, she wants to reiterate that she’s still number one.
Without a choice, I hunt through the fridge and cupboards to gather what I need. Both are well stocked. There is enough bacon to feed a small army, which I suppose I am. By the fresh produce on board, I dare say we are close to Russia because it’ll run out in two, three days tops.
Or we could always dock somewhere.
The unknown adds to my nerves, so I decide to focus on feeding these assholes so I can go back to my prison. I find a monster glass bowl in the cupboard above the stove and go about cracking the eggs into it.
However, a painedoofleaves me when my head is yanked back—hard. “What do you think you’re doing?” Zoey snarls, tugging my hair harder when I twist violently to break free.
“Making breakfast!” I cry, reaching behind me to force her fingers out of my hair. But the movement only infuriates her further.
“Are you fucking stupid? I just told you Alek likes his eggs poached.”
I want to strangle her. But I can’t move. Hair pulling is such a catty thing to do. I would respect her more if she knocked me out cold because then I wouldn’t haven’t to cook her fucking breakfast.
“I’m making scrambled eggs for the merry men,” I explain sarcastically through gritted teeth. “Let go of me.”
When she does, I spin quickly, intent on killing her, but she stops me in my tracks when she slaps my cheek so hard, I taste blood. I cup my face, eyes narrowed as I move my jaw from side to side.
Zoey isn’t bothered in the slightest. “Alek and I eat first. Then they eat. Now do it again.”
Anger spurs me forward, and I don’t care if this action ends my life. It will be so worth it because if I go down, I’ll make sure she comes with me. Sadly, all plans of killing her with my bare hands will have to be put on hold for now.
