A legit cage.
He froze in the middle of the large crate, what looked to be a shipping container with bars on one side, watching me with weary eyes. “Easy. I won’t hurt you.”
It was dark. Only a small bit of light seeped through the bars but enough for me to make out the prominent features of his face like his firm jaw and deep-set eyes. He smiled at me as if that might bring down my defenses and I realized he was actually weirdly cute.
And definitely not the man who approached me in the parking garage. He wasn’t even dressed like a kidnapper although his dark-colored jeans had oily spots on them. I refused to consider what liquid caused them. He wore a light-blue polo shirt with dirt on the sleeves, but his hair was immaculate, flipped over to one side and tussled. It looked like he’d dressed that morning in dirty clothes, but took the time to do his mane.
“Where—” I tried to speak, but my dry and scratchy throat sounded like I hadn’t used it in a year.
I rubbed at it as he looked at me with sympathy. “They dragged you in about…” He took a moment to check his watch, a big bulky silver thing that took up most of his wrist. “Ten hours ago. You looked cold crumpled in a heap on the floor, and I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”
It sounded nice, but the man could’ve been anyone. Maybe he brought me into the container and now wanted to win me over to his side. This was his attempt at trying to make me like him before he did whatever he kidnapped a nurse for. Some weird foreplay. If you abducted someone out of a hospital, you weren’t above trying to pretend to be another captive.
I settled against the far wall, the metal cold against my back, and shivered. My eyes slowly acclimated to the darkness, and I looked around, but there was nothing to see. Past our bars, a bunch of other shipping crates sat lined up in a row, but only the sides were visible in dark greens and oranges. Our floor swayed back and forth.
“Where are we?” I asked, my voice crackly and dry but now working.
The man shrugged and rubbed a spot right above his eyebrow. “A ship, I think.”
I swallowed and my scratchy throat hurt. “How did you get here?”
Was he kidnapped from a hospital as well? Do they want a nurse and maybe a doctor? Were we being sold not for sex but a makeshift doctor’s office?
He laughed, the sound choked off at the end by a cough. “Shopping. I took a day trip to the mall in Portland for a little adventure. They jumped me in the parking lot.”
Portland? I had to assume Maine, not Oregon, if we really were on a ship. If he wasn’t a doctor, why was he selected?
“Why kidnap you?”
He smiled as if he was laughing again, but this time, no sound came out. “Well, considering they kept calling me Corbin, I assume they think I’m my brother. Which means this will eventually end very badly.”
He didn’t elaborate on Corbin, or why these men would want him. “Why do they think you’re Corbin?” The more I spoke, the easier it became.
He smirked that time for real, making me realize he forced the others. It was obvious because when he did it for real, it lit up his face, making him gorgeous even as we sat in a dirty container with decaying fish. “Twins.”
Ah. It was a simple answer but explained everything. “What’s your name then?”
“Cyrus Kensington, and you? Where did they pick you up from? I’ve been on the boat for at least two days, so I have to assume we’re out of Maine and maybe even New York.”
“Imogen… Not Jen or Jenny,” I threw in just to make sure we got off on the right foot. I didn’t want to be kidnappedandannoyed if he insisted on giving me a nickname.
He rubbed the spot above his eyebrow again and smiled. “Got it, not Jen. So what are you in for?”
The way he said it made it resemble a prison sentence, like we were hanging out together in the common areas. “I don’t know.”
It had something to do with me being a nurse. That was the only thing that made sense, but what? I gave him the quick recap of what I remembered from the parking lot. Cyrus grew quiet until I mentioned the North Carolina part and then he tensed.
“That far south?” he asked, more to himself than me, so I ignored it.
More of my story fell out at my feet around me as I talked to him. I didn’t understand why, but he calmed me even while chaos surrounded us. I didn’t know if I’d survive what came next, and part of me wanted to crawl back into his arms. He’d been my warm and safe spot for a little while.
“Who did this to me?” I asked because if he’d figured out we were on a boat and now had an idea where the boat was floating, he’d be better able to figure out our final destination and why.
Or he was more involved than I realized, which then anything I said didn’t matter anyway.
None of the situation made sense. I didn’t owe anyone money. No secret life. I didn’t get involved in crime. I considered myself a good person.
Mostly.
