head backward, relishing in washing the grime from my hair. Saint bobs beside me, surprising me as he turns his cheek to give me some privacy.
Everything about him is an oxymoron.
“You look ridiculous with your ski mask on,” I state, passing the soap over my upper body.
“Lucky for me, I don’t care what you think,” he replies, head still turned away.
I take this opportunity to examine him for any clues that might give away his identity. He’s still dressed in his usual attire, but now that we’re surrounded by daylight, instead of cloaked in darkness, I can just make out wisps of dirty blond hair curling at his nape.
Thanks to the gentle sway of the ocean, his long-sleeved shirt has shifted slightly, allowing me to see a hint of ink just over the crease of his upper shoulder. I have no idea what it is, but I suppose it just adds to the mystery.
Even though I’m cuffed to a psychopath, feeling the water against my skin is wonderful. This is hardly what I thought when I agreed to a shower, but I suppose it’s better than nothing. Peering around, I wonder if, by some miracle, an escape route will present itself. But it doesn’t. I’m surrounded by absolutely nothing.
“Okay, time’s up.”
“What’s in Turkey?” I respond to his suggestion.
He turns slowly, clearly not interested in having a heart to heart. “Let’s go.” He swims us toward the boat, but I pull back with all my might.
His eyes widen, clearly surprised by my rebellion.
“You don’t scare me,” I reveal, leaving out the word much.
He wades in the water, watching me closely. The air begins to grow thick, and I brace myself for my punishment. “Are you always this disobedient?”
I gulp as I was not expecting such a response, especially with a hint of wickedness wrapped around his words. Desperate to escape, I attempt to swim away, but Saint swings his arm inward so I’m forced to face him as he turns his body.
We’re paddling together, eyes locked, wrists bound. “I asked you a question.”
“So did I,” I counter, thankful my legs are submerged so he can’t see them trembling.
He snickers, shaking his head at my insolence. “We’re not going to Turkey,” he reveals while I cock a brow.
“But I heard—”
He abruptly talks over me. “Turkey is merely a means to an end…like you.”
My lower lip quivers because that was just plain mean. Being out here in the open, with the sun shining and not a cloud in the blue sky, I have let my guard down because Saint has shown me a sliver of kindness. But as his words come back to haunt me, I won’t make the same mistake again.
Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness…
“I’m ready to go back,” I say blankly as I refuse to allow him to see what his words have done.
He nods once without any argument; he’s probably happy to shut me up. We swim toward the boat, and when I see a ladder hanging off the side, I allow him to ascend first. He is sopping wet as he climbs the steps, dragging me behind him.
There are a million things I want to say, but I decide the less I speak to him, the better. I need to save my energy to strategize how the fuck to get off this yacht.
I don’t give him the respect of looking at him, but instead, I turn over my shoulder, refusing to make eye contact. When I feel the cuff snap open, I instantly rub my raw wrist. As he pushes me lightly, hinting I move, I shrug from his touch as I want no part of him near me.
If I were thinking straight, I would be covering myself as I am parading around in very transparent white underwear, but what do I care about modesty? It’s clear he sees me as nothing but chattel.
We walk past the Russians who are sitting near the wooden wheel, watching us curiously. They are ogling me, and just as I’m about to cover my breasts, I see it—my escape. Sitting under the helm is a CB radio. If I can get to this, I can alert someone, anyone that I’m in trouble.
One of the Russians sits on a white chest, eyeing me. But he can gawk all he wants because I bet flares and a life vest are in there. I want to take a closer look, but Saint hurls me away, sensing his partner in crime appreciates my transparency a little