Breep, breep, breep...
“What the fuck?” he shouted, still behind me, using me as a brace against the careening of the boat-versus-ocean.
The previous gentle lapping of waves grew more aggressive. It was no longer a quaint soothing sound people have on their white noise machines to lull them to sleep. This was an angry sound. A scary sound. The ship itself seemed to be crying out, the alarm getting louder, more intense, as it demanded someone's attention.
A red light flashed on the control panel. Being that my face was still jammed against the window, I could see it blinking on and off, next to the diagram of the yacht itself. An electronic, crimson anchor. The shit head had dropped it, yes, but it never hit the ocean floor.
We were too far out at sea, and had been drifting, unawares, as I ate salmon naked and my captor gleefully watched.
“You are so fucking dumb,” I said.
A wave slammed against the side of the Insatiable. I knew what she was called, now, as her name was etched in gold above the control board. Right next to the blinking anchor, actually.
Maddox was thrown off his feet because he was a lummox. I had myself on my side, however, because I was an agile little thing. Screwed up knee or not, I was still an athlete. So even with the ship bouncing against the waves, its bow rising like a plane from a runway then slamming back down again, I could stay upright.
And I could do even better than that. For the first time since my failed plan of premeditated murder, homicide, manslaughter, what have you, I was free. I had the upper hand. No shackles to bound me. No footing for Maddox to stand on. The ocean was angry and it was angrier at Maddox than it was at me.
I grabbed hold of the door to the pilot house and flung it open just as another wave crested and took the bow up, up, up. Maddox's reflection shone in the glass – he tried to stand, got as far as his knees, but not further than that. Maddox was huge and gravity was not at all on his size. In fact, it got the better of him and knocked him backward hard. He tumbled toward the stern like a sack of asshole potatoes.
Adrenaline fired through me, washing away every trace of the Rohypnol that might have been left. When the keel plummeted again, waves from the impact wooshed up on both sides of the ship. Out there, I would no doubt be swept away faster than a leaf in a storm. In here, I was safe. Well, safe-ish. Safer than Maddox, though – that much was for sure.
Quick as I could manage, I locked the door behind me. I was in, he was out, and I wasn’t going to make stupidity extend him the upper-hand again. I looked back out to see a less intimidating Maddox clutching the rail, way too close to the swim step for comfort. ear
That’s not to say that I was comfortable as a pig in shit. The alarm was louder in here, screaming its breep, breep, breep, and I had absolutely no idea what any of these other dials, bells, and whistles did.
There was a button next to the flashing anchor, though, so I pushed it. The light went from red to green, but the alarm was still shrieking, assaulting the hell out of my eardrums. I pressed my palms over my ears, trying to think, trying to see if there was anything I remembered from a book or a movie or a documentary that would tell me what to do next. Except, I couldn’t think of anything productive. My head filled with panic, the fact that we were in trouble clouding everything logical that might have wanted to stick out to me.
Yes, we were in trouble, I reasoned. But was I in any more trouble now than I was while Maddox had me tied up. Not really. If anything, that was a fucking win.
“Sofia!” Maddox screamed from outside. We'd leveled out for just a moment, giving him enough time to stumble up toward the pilot house and begin pounding on the door. “Let me the fuck in!”
I started laughing. Was he fucking serious? God, what an asshole. What a delusional asshole!
This was it. My plan, coming together through forces of mother nature, and a fucked up, pretentious rich asshole who thought a boat ride with a kidnapped sex slave would be a dandy idea.
But the waves were gentler, now. I don't know what the hell we drifted through, if it was just some rogue sea storm, but it would give captain Petersen and his nonexistent sea legs more than enough time to break down the door.
Never look a gift weather event in the mouth, though. I didn't know a whole lot about sailing, or boats – Rebecca and I both got our Water badges back in our Girl Scout days – but what I did know was where the throttle was.
I don't think the term is 'flooring it', necessarily, but that's precisely what I did.
The Insatiable was a grand, expensive, and powerful craft. When I pushed the throttle all the way upward, she took off as if launched from a cannon.
At nearly two thousand horsepower, this girl had the kahunas other ships could only dream of, and after a quick calculation of knots to miles per hour, the result was sixty. Sixty magnificent miles per hour, and the sudden propulsion sent Maddox back on his ass, and tumbling toward the stern.
Violent ocean spray hit him like a fire hose, his feet slipped out from underneath him, and in a desperate act of self-preservation, he hooked his arm around the railing. He held his fist with his other hand, trying like hell to keep himself stable.
I held
