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“No, but aren’t I allowed to be curious about what my future holds for me?”
He falls silent, and then his eyes narrow. “Something seems different about you, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
I remain silent and sullen. If my arms weren’t cuffed behind my back, I’d have folded them across my chest. Iamdifferent. I’m not that naïve girl anymore. I wonder what Don would make of Rafferty, Wilder, Asher, and Brody, if he were to come face to face with them. How could he not be intimidated by four such men? But then I remember he’s most likely armed and force the thought out of my head in case I somehow manifest the scenario.
“What were you doing on that island, anyway?” he asks.
“Working,” I mutter.
“What kind of work?”
“Cleaning rooms.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You were a maid?” His gaze flicks up and down my body. “Seems like a waste, though I imagine you look good in the outfit.”
I scowl. “Fuck you.”
He seems to think of something and frowns. “What about the current getup, then?” He gestures to the Lara Croft outfit. “Not exactly something you’d clean in.”
“It’s practical.”
I can’t let Don know what kind of thing happens at the resort or on the island. If he even gets a clue that there’s more going on than it just being an exclusive retreat for the very wealthy, he will do everything in his power to bring the business down. I imagine the ways he might do this—accusations of tax fraud, perhaps. Or will he hide drugs on the premises so he can bust them? I won’t put anything past him. He’s capable of manipulating every situation to suit what he wants.
A part of me—some crazy, wild, reckless part—wants to tell Don exactly what I’ve been up to. I want to see his face as I describe what I’ve been letting four men do to me over this past week. I want to tell him how they’ve used my body in ways that he could only ever dream of, and that I’ve loved it. I’ve loved having their cocks in my ass and mouth and pussy, sometimes all at the same time. I’ve loved being covered in their cum and still wanting more. I’ve loved having their tongues and fingers inside me. What I won’t tell him is how much I’ve grown to care for them all—even Brody—as well. I won’t tell him how the bond we’ve created has somehow become something more than physical.
My heart aches.
Will I ever see them again?
I’m sure they’ll have come out searching for me when they realized I’m missing. How long will it take them to come to the understanding that I’m not on the island at all? What if they think I’ve run? If Brody tells them what happened between us, they might come to the conclusion that I couldn’t handle it anymore and I finally tapped out.
But no, they understand how much I want—and need—that money. I would never leave without at least taking the two hundred grand that’s owed to me. I’m pretty sure Rafferty will be certain of that. Then there’s the practical side of things. How would I have even got off the island on my own? Once they check all their boats and discover none are missing, they’re going to realize I wouldn’t have tried to swim for it.
Unless they think I’d have done something stupid. No, they know I’m not suicidal. I would never have thrown myself off the side of a cliff into the ocean or anything like that.
But what if they decide it’s an accident? That maybe I fell, and they’re expecting my body to wash up onshore.
Tears fill my eyes once more, and I do my best to blink them away, not wanting Don to see any weakness about me. I want to have faith that this will somehow all work out, but my future looks as dark as the ocean beneath me.
