Chapter Eighteen
~ No Food, No Rescue ~
Kit
I’ve been on this boat for three days now. I only know that because the past two nights, I’ve stared at the small circular window and watched the sunset, the sky bleeding orange and pink over the water. I keep wondering what everyone back at the estate is doing right now. Are they eating dinner together? Is Lorraine making extra food out of habit? Is Soren sitting at the head of the table in silence, or has he already moved on like none of this matters?
I really hope they’re not distraught over me. I really hope the shouting I heard the other day at Finn was just initial shock, and that they aren’t actually that emotional about this. I’m not worth it. I don’t want them tearing themselves apart because of me.
Finn has this little jet ski tied to the side of the boat. I’ve watched him drive away on it and not return for hours, leaving me completely alone down here, locked in this small metal room. At first, I thought being alone might be a relief, but when Finn leaves, the heavy door atthe top of the stairs locks with multiple deadbolts. My only connection to the outside world is this one small circular window. When he does come back, he usually chucks a couple of slices of plain white bread onto the table.
The first time he did it, I looked up at him, confused and starving, and asked, “What am I supposed to do with this?”
He’d smashed my head against the table so hard my vision whited out for a second. “Eat it, you ungrateful little shit.”
So yeah… the past couple of days I’ve had maybe four slices of bread in total. My stomach has stopped growling and now just feels hollow and painful.
I hear the jet ski bounding back over the waves, the engine growing louder until it cuts off. A few minutes later, heavy footsteps stomp down the metal stairs. Three separate locks click and clank, then the door swings open. Finn walks in, jacket wet from the sea spray, hair plastered to his forehead. He throws two slices of bread onto the table as usual. I stare at the depressing food; it’s nowhere near enough to sustain me. My stomach growls loudly at the sight anyway.
Finn gestures at it with his chin. “Well?”
I frown, heart racing. I still don’t know how to talk to him without triggering him. He’s so unpredictable, bipolar in the worst way. Right now, he’s smiling like he’s expecting something from me.
I whisper, “Well… what?”
Finn storms over in two strides, grabs me by the throat, and slams me back against the cold metal wall so hard a breathtaking pain shoots up my spine. He’s not like Soren, not overwhelming in size or muscle, but he’s still much stronger than me, and the height advantage is enough. I gasp, hands flying up to clutch at his wrist.
“You saythank youwhen I bring you food!” he snarls.
I nod frantically, fingers digging into his wrist, hoping he’ll let go. He loosens his grip just enough.
I croak out a small, broken, “Thank you.”
Finn nods, satisfied, and steps back.
Finn slaps some photos down and spreads them out across the table. There’s nothing else down here, just the chair, the table, and the dim bare bulb swinging above me. “Recognise these?”
I shake my head. “Should I?”
He laughs, sharp and mean. “Oh, you don’t, huh?”
I frown, genuinely confused. The photos show warehouses, shipping containers, a large cargo ship, and what look like several car dealerships. Nothing rings a bell.
Finn must see the honest confusion on my face because he leans in. “So, what the fuckdidyou do for Mr. Sinclair?”
I raise my brows. “What?”
“How do younotknow these arehisfucking dealerships?Hiscontainers?Hiswarehouses? The ship that imports cars and goods forhim?”
He smacks his fist down on the table, making me flinch. “What the fuck was yourrole?”
I swallow hard. “Um… I… I wasn’t allowed to leave.”
Finn stares at me, eyes wide. “What?”
“I’ve never seen these before,” I say quietly. “I don’t even know what Soren does… just who he is… and that sometimes…”
I pause a beat too long.
