Chapter Twenty-Six
Isla
The boat swayed, my stomach rolled, and tepid stew sloshed onto my bare leg.
Already sitting on the floor, my back against one cabinet, my knees bent, my feet braced against the cupboard opposite me, I spread my legs a little further apart to counter the rocking.
Knowing I would be more sick if I didn’t eat, I let the spoon drop into the darkness, then I brought the bowl to my mouth and tipped it.
Fragrant herbs mixed with the tomato and wine hit my palate, and I swallowed.
Nausea reared up, but then the savory broth settled and warmed my stomach.
I took another sip.
The boat rocked to the left.
I held the bowl steady.
The boat pitched back to the right.
I swallowed down another sip, and the whole process repeated.
What felt like an eternity later but was probably only a couple minutes, I’d drunk the broth, fished out a few chunks of fish, and eaten the bread. Reaching up behind me, I felt for the sink, then dumped the bowl into it.
Shocked that the rest of the bread hadn’t been tossed onto the floor from the pitching waves, I held on to the counter and stood. Once I was upright, my eyes adjusted to the minimal ambient light coming from a nearby window where a few rogue stars illuminated the raging storm clouds.
From land, I would’ve loved to watch the spectacle of an angry sky.
From a boat in the middle of the ocean with no lights on, I just wanted to wake from this nightmare.
I’d been taught every way to survive in the wilderness and live off the land.
I’d been introduced to the ocean in near-freezing temperatures.
I’d swum my way out of fifteen-foot waves and drifted to safety from currents I’d learned not to fight.
But I’d never experienced a storm at sea while on a boat, and I’d lied to a SEAL.
I was claustrophobic.
Except only when I was actually in the ocean, at night, in a storm. I had been hoping that my claustrophobia, that my fear, wouldn’t translate to this setting, but no such luck.
Working my way across the kitchen, concentrating on my breathing and balance as every wave hit the hull, I told myself I could manage this.
That the massive yacht was safe, and the three men who all seemed like they knew what the hell they were doing shouldn’t make me panic.
And I was getting a free ride to… wherever we were going.
A new adventure.
Another opportunity for a page in my journal to be filled.
And a night I wasn’t going to spend alone.
This wasn’t so bad. No storm lasted forever.
I could keep feeling my way along these walls until I made it to my cabin or any cabin.
This boat wasn’t that big. I wouldn’t be stuck in this Fifth Circle of Hell forever.
Not that we were on the River Styx, and this wasn’t a play-by-play from some ancient piece of literature, but still.
Hand-walk my way out here.
Or crawl.
Whatever it took.
I was strong—
The yacht pitched up, then slammed back down. My feet left the ground, and I couldn’t stop it.
I screamed.