58. Lilah
We sped across the water, the woman at the helm of the speedboat, toward one of the gleaming yachts I’d seen from shore. I wanted to ask her questions. Who was she? Where were we going? Who was I meeting?
But the hum of the boat’s engine and the roar of the wind made talking impossible, so I watched with a mixture of fear and excitement as we approached the yacht. I didn’t know much about boats, but as we got closer, I could tell it wasn’t one of the superyachts. Those were as big as an airplane, nearly as big as some of the cruise ships I’d seen gliding past the island.
This one was large, but not as large as a cruise ship.
The woman tied the speedboat to the yacht and grabbed on to a ladder descending from the yacht’s deck into the water.
“Follow me,” she said without looking back.
It was more than a little terrifying. The speedboat bobbed in the water, making it a challenge to grab on to the ladder. The yacht shifted more slowly, its size making it less sensitive to the currents, but the whole exercise felt a little like trying to play double Dutch, two jump ropes swinging in different directions at the same time while I tried to find the right spot to jump in, the spot that wouldn’t send me flying into the water.
I climbed carefully, half expecting to be greeted by Mr. Suit and one of his thugs when I reached the top, but when I stepped off the ladder it was on to a polished deck that was completely empty except for my driver, who looked bored, like she’d been waiting forever for me to reach the deck.
“You may come,” she said, turning.
I didn’t know if she was unfriendly or if her German accent just made her sound curt, but clearly I was just another chore on her to-do list and she was more than ready to move on to the next one.
I followed her across the deck and down two steps into a luxurious seating area. Walls of glass offered a 360-degree view of the Aegean, and I felt the knot of anxiety in my stomach twist a little more when I saw how far away Folegandros was.
Without realizing it, the Bastards had become my security blanket and I felt naked and alone without them.
“You may wait,” the woman said, before turning to leave.
She passed through a kitchen and down a hall before disappearing down another staircase.
I didn’t know what I’d expected, but it hadn’t been this. The boat was eerily silent, as if my driver and I were the only ones present when that couldn’t be the case since I was clearly waiting for someone.
Or they’d been waiting for me.
I looked around, took in the view, the luxurious full-size sofas, the intricate carpets on the teak floor. The boat definitely belonged to someone with money. Was it Mr. Suit? Or someone else?
My heart rate ticked up when I noticed a man ascending the stairs from below deck and I was glad I’d taken my medication before I left the house. I wouldn’t need it for another twelve hours. I’d definitely be done here by then, even if I had to jump ship and swim back to Folegandros.
“Good morning,” the man said with a British accent.
I knew he wasn’t Mr. Suit even though this guy also wore a suit. Mr. Suit was taller, with wider shoulders. He carried himself like someone in charge, like someone with power.
This guy was slender, his authority less obvious, like a ma?tre d’ or my manager at Burger Haven. He was in charge of something, but there were people in charge of him too.
“Good morning,” I said, thrown a little by the politeness.
“We have your room prepared,” he said. “You may accompany me.”
“My… room?” I shook my head. “I think there’s been some kind of mistake. I’m not here to stay. I’m here to ask questions.”
He smirked. “Questions?”
“Yes, questions,” I said. “About the website, about some girls who have gone missing.”
Maybe it was dumb to just come out with it, but I wasn’t exactly prepared to go undercover.
“I see,” he said. “Perhaps you can ask your… questions, later this evening, once you’ve settled in.”
I wasn’t going to lie, I was pretty thrown by how casually he dropped the bomb that he expected me to stay on the boat.
“I don’t think you’re understanding me. I’m not going to ‘settle in.’ Either someone will answer my questions or you can take me back to the island.”
“I’m afraid neither of those things are possible at the moment,” he said. “Now, shall I show you to your room?”
“Yeah, no thanks. I guess this is all some kind of misunderstanding.” I turned toward the stairs leading to the deck and stopped cold.
While I’d been talking to the butler (or whoever the British guy was) another man had moved into position, standing on the bottom step leading to the yacht’s deck.
And this guy was no ma?tre d’. He was huge and menacing, his head shaved, thick neck and arms covered in tattoos, his hand on a very large gun slung around his neck.
I tried to stand taller. “Excuse me,” I said to the new guy, hoping that would be enough to move him.
“I think you’re right,” the British guy said. “There has been a misunderstanding.”
“Good,” I said. “I’ll wait for the driver on deck.”
“My offer to show you to your room wasn’t actually an offer,” he continued. “It was an order.”
“An order?” I forced a laugh, mostly because I was starting to get really fucking scared and I didn’t want to let it show. “I don’t take orders from you.”
“You do now,” the guy in the doorway said, hand still on his gun. He had an accent too, but not British, more like Eastern European.
I reached behind me and under my hoodie and withdrew my knife, then held it out in front of me. “I’m going to leave.” I spread my legs a little, getting into a fighting stance, just in case. “All you have to do is let me leave.”
The big man in the doorway looked over my shoulder. “I like this one. She’s a fighter.”
It took me a second too long to realize that he wasn’t talking to me — he was talking to a man behind me.
Strong arms came around my upper body, locking my arms at my side, lifting me off my feet while the British guy watched like all of this was perfectly normal.
I struggled to free myself, fighting panic, but there was no hope of that: the guy’s inked arms were like tree trunks made of iron.
I did, however, still have my knife.
I pointed it behind me and drove it hard, hoping it would land somewhere for maximum damage, then heard a scream of pain when it connected with the man’s flesh. His hold on me loosened long enough for me to stomp on his foot, and I turned in his ams and kneed him in the balls, then pulled my knife out of his thigh as he staggered backwards.
Except now the other guy, the one who’d been blocking the exit to the deck, was moving toward me.
My mind cleared, my panic receding. I’d been training for this since I was seventeen.
I could do this.
I lifted my knife, threw it, and watched it embed itself in the man’s shoulder, then prepared to run, throw myself overboard, and swim like hell.
He stopped his forward motion, looking down at the knife with surprise, like he couldn’t quite believe it had hit him.
I had about two seconds to feel accomplished, to believe I might actually make it off the boat alive.
Then I felt a sting in my neck from behind.
I slapped a hand over my neck, like I could stop them from drugging me even though I knew it was too late: it had already happened.
“It’s all right,” the British guy said calmly. “No reason to panic. You’ll be well cared for.”
“I’ll be… I have to…” My words didn’t sound right because my tongue already felt fuzzy in my mouth. My knees buckled and the British guy, stronger than he looked, caught me on the way down. “They’ll…”
I was thinking about the Bastards, wondering if they’d look for me or if I’d be like all the other girls who disappeared with no more fanfare than a few flyers stuck to light posts in Blackwell Falls.
My head buzzed, darkness crowding in around the edges of my vision.
“Take her downstairs,” the British guy said as everything went black. “Tell him we have her.”
Thanks so much for reading Into the Fire!