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“It was fine,” he assures us. “I gave them each their five hundred euros and instructions for what to do with Abby’s things. They accepted the money with much happiness and smiles. As soon as we reached the dock, they were gone. I did get their names though, in case we need to… get in touch someday.”
He holds up their French ID cards, which he must have lifted when Fedor and I were having our way with them. That’s going to fuck them up a bit, but they can deal with it. They’ll just assume they lost them partying.
“Good man,” Fedor says, patting him on the shoulder.
“How long will you keep this woman, this Abby?” Karol asks.
It’s a good question. Hopefully, no longer than necessary.
Bogdan slaps him on the back. He grew up with Karol and knows his every quirk. “Do not worry, Karol, we will make sure you get to see her in her bikini at least once.”
Karol’s crinkly face beams. “She is lovely, no? Simple, but lovely. Not like Russian girls, with all that makeup.” He gestures toward his face, as if he were running a paintbrush over it.
“Hey, is someone going ashore?” Fedor suddenly asks, frowning and cocking his ear toward the starboard side of the boat.
We’re quiet for a second, until we identify the tender’s engine grinding and turning over. But whoever’s messing around with it sounds like they have no freaking idea how to start a small boat. They’re going to kill the starter.
What the fuck?
“Karol, didn’t you already go ashore for provisions?” I ask.
He nods slowly.
“Holy shit. Do you think…” Bogdan starts to say.
But he needn’t finish. We’re all thinking the same. Annoyance rises in my chest, followed by anger, only made worse when Fedor starts laughing so hard he can barely breathe. He thinks everything is fucking funny.
“She’s in the tender,” he gasps, doubling over. “She thinks she can get away—”
Bogdan and I run down the stairs and out the starboard door. Just as I expected, there’s Abby, frantically turning the key in the tender’s ignition, unable to get it started.
I have to admit, as pissed as I am, it is kind of funny to see. Poor girl. Even if she did get the thing started and figured out how to operate the throttle, which is highly unlikely, she hadn’t untied it from the yacht.
Small but important details.
“Don’t come near me!” she screams, pointing at Bogi and me.
We stop and watch, waiting for her next move. Might as well have a little fun. I cross my arms and tap my foot just to be a dick. Bogi looks up at the sky like he’s planning how to spend the rest of his day.
“Abby, that’s not going to work. Please get back on the yacht,” I say calmly.
Eyes wide with fear, she looks around frantically, perhaps for a weapon, but comes up empty. “You… you have to take me back to shore. I will not be kidnapped.” She glances back at the island, much too far away to swim to.
No more leaving the key in the tender. I’ll have to make sure the crew is clear on that.
But she’s not as green as she seems. Watching Bogi and me, she throws the line off the cleat, releasing the tender from the yacht. It floats a few feet away, bobbing gently in the calm waters.
Hardly the dramatic escape she’s hoping for.
Whatever. She’s free now. If ‘free’ is floating around on a boat you can’t operate.
Bogdan sighs and looks at me. “Do you mind?” he asks. “Or should we call the crew to go get her?”
I shake off my polo shirt and drop it on the deck. “No. I was going in for a swim, anyway.”
He nods his thanks and I dive into the water.
I find this part of the Mediterranean to be chilly, which is odd for someone coming from Russia. I swam in cold water my entire life, but anymore all I really like are the warm waters of the Caribbean. But it is refreshing, especially after my late night with the insatiable French girl.
