So I continue to struggle, not really intending to drown the two of us, but I also don’t want to make this easy for him. Still, no matter how much I wriggle and squirm, I can’t seem to affect my rescuer at all. The arm wrapped around my chest is like an unmoving vise crafted out of iron. His other arm ignores the blows from my elbows and fists, and his legs don’t even seem to register my kicks. No, his feet continue to pump rhythmically, and his arm moves back and forth, bringing us ever closer to the speedboat.
I feel something strange poking into me from behind. For a second I think it’s his cock, but it can’t be. Has to be some weapon or something he has holstered at his waist. But who holsters their weaponthere?
All sorts of horrific thoughts pass through my head as I imagine what these two are going to do to me. We finally reach the boat and the other kidnapper helps drag me aboard. I’m relieved, because at least I don’t have those strong hands pinning me, and that…thing… pressing into me from behind.
In moments I’m sitting in the backseat, shivering and cold. So much for that wonderful idea.
The big man throws a towel to me and I wrap it around my body. He seems to have lost the black bag he’d intended to slip over my head—at least I can’t see it anywhere. I also notice he’s not shivering at all, as if that dive into the frigid ocean was actually refreshing to him or something. He hauled me out of the ocean like it was nothing. I can’t help but feel a grudging respect for him. He’s definitely strong, I’ll give him that.
My gaze involuntarily flicks to his crotch, and I realize he doesn’t have a weapon holstered there. Instead…
So itwashis cock. Great. More problems to worry about. Not only is he a kidnapper, he’s a pervert, too. Then again, I’m the one gazing at his crotch…
He thrums his wet fingers on the shelf beside him, drawing me from my thoughts.Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat.I spot the gun resting on that same shelf, next to his hand. A subtle reminder of his power over me.
“Don’t do that again,” he says.
I quickly avert my gaze before the sight of the weapon causes me to freeze up. I also bite back my tongue before I say something that gets me in trouble.
I think about his voice. It sounded gruff and overly forced, as if he was purposely speaking in a lower octave. That’s so I can’t identify him at a later date, of course. Complementing the balaclava.
I stare at the approaching shore. My prison.
Regardless of what he said, of course I’m going to try to escape again. The instant this boat touches down I’ll be trying, until the moment I’m finally free. Still, I want him to think I’ve given up. I want him to lower his guard.
So I say: “You should have let me drown.” I’m still shivering, which only makes my voice sound shakier than ever. Good.
Studiously avoiding the weapon with my gaze, I look into his eyes, and I’m surprised when I see worry there. For a moment I can almost believe he cares about me in some small way. No, not me, but the ransom money he can make selling me back to my father.
The worry fades, replaced once more by that suspicious, angry gaze.
“I’m not going to let you drown,” he intones. “You’re worth too much.”
Figures.
“Do you work for the Rizzos?” I try.
He merely blinks, saying nothing.
I turn away, trying to get a grip on my pounding heart. As we get closer to shore and I think about leaping over the side and running, my heart only pumps all the faster. It’s so loud I can hear it in my ears, thundering like the war drums in Fellowship of the Rings. Or something.
The engine shuts off and the boat drifts toward the sand. I can see the sloping seabed below. The water is shallow enough here to wade.
It’s either now or never.
I stand up—
Before I can leap over the side, those big hands wrap around my waist and haul me back down.
I struggle against him, fighting for all I’m worth, but he simply slides the gun in front of me where I can see it, and I flop against him like a rag doll.
He binds my wrists with a cable tie, and I guess he didn’t lose the black bag after all because a moment later a thick fabric slides down over my head and the world goes dark. With my hands pinned and my head bagged, I can’t stop the sudden panic that grips me, and I feel like I’m suffocating. I start hyperventilating and stars begin to speckle my vision.
“Calm down,” he orders. “You’re going to black out if you keep that up.”
His words only make me hyperventilate all the more, and I soon find myself slipping into a full blown panic attack. Without vision, I’m hyper aware of my other senses, which only makes things worse. When I exhale, I feel the warmth of my breath on my cheeks. When I inhale, I taste the bland fibers of the bag. I hear only the rapid in-and-out of my breathing. I feel the bite of the cable tie eating into my wrists, the chill of my soggy clothing. My vision becomes completely devoured by stars, and I feel faint.
The boat jerks roughly: washing ashore, judging from the scraping sound I hear above my breathing.
