7. Ana
7
ANA
I woke up groggy and nauseous, every muscle in my body aching as I rolled onto my stomach, desperate not to puke in the expensive-feeling sheets. The world around me rocked, and I groaned. How hard had I partied last night?
I dragged myself out of bed, then fell to the floor, my knees too weak to hold my weight. Wait. Had I been drugged?
Terror, dark and insidious, crept up my spine. Where the fuck was I? I huddled against the wall and looked around the room. I’d fallen out of a queen-sized bed that was bolted to the ground. My eyes flew around the room, but my vision was blurry, and my head hurt too much for me to take in the details.
The room rocked again, and water sprayed against the window.
Oh my fucking god, I’m on a boat.
Using the wall as my anchor, I dragged myself to my feet and took stock of the situation as memory from last night returned to me. My shoulders screamed with pain from where my captors had wrenched them behind me, and my wrists had red marks where they’d tied them together. And my feet—fuck. One at a time, I raised them to inspect them, only to find them covered in filth and blood from my nighttime flight.
Fuckers. I made my way to the front of the room and tried the door. It was locked but felt flimsy when I pushed against it. I didn’t have a credit card to pick what appeared to be a very simple lock, but maybe there was another way. I raised my foot and kicked, gratified when the door popped open.
The boat continued to rock, and I made my way up, noting the luxurious carpet beneath my feet and the expensive light fixtures as I rubbed at my eyes and shook my head, trying to clear out the cobwebs. This was a big yacht, which considerably narrowed the pool of potential kidnappers.
Painful step by painful step, I staggered down the hallway, then gripped the railings of the stairs and pulled myself up. Fuck, I hurt. When I finally reached the top, I was shocked to discover myself looking out from the top of the stairwell into an expensive lounge area, with a handful of men and women drinking in the corner.
“Oh, our guest has woken up!” a man said. I narrowed my eyes, struggling to identify the familiar French accent. “Ana, welcome.”
He walked closer, a crystal glass of caramel-colored liquid in his hand, and I rubbed my eyes. “Grégoire?”
My fiancé smiled down at me, then wrapped his arm around my waist and dragged me into him. Overbalanced, I fell forward, catching myself on his chest.
“What am I doing here?” I asked, too confused and too drugged to pretend to have my shit together.
“Can’t a man spend time with the woman he’s about to marry?”
The pieces clicked into place. The will. The kidnapping. The only way he could secure the Costa logistics chain. The Tchérnovs wouldn’t let me slip through their fingers just because my father was dead.
“Let me go,” I whispered.
Instead, he dragged his fingers down my side and cupped my ass, yanking me into his body until his cock pressed against my pelvis. Fucking gross.
“We’re going to sail to Russia, where we’ll be married,” he murmured. “And until then, you’re going to prove what an excellent wife you’re going to be.”
He squeezed my ass again, kneading the skin, before slipping his fingers lower and dragging my skirt up, revealing my legs to the entire room.
“Stop,” I said. “You don’t have to do this.”
Grégoire laughed. “Of course I don’t. But I’ve been desperate to know how that tight American cunt feels, and now that your father’s gone, there’s no reason for me to wait.”
“No,” I gasped.
He snapped his fingers, and another man approached with a vial of clear liquid in his hand. When Grégoire rolled his eyes, the man opened it and lifted it to my mouth.
“Open,” Grégoire commanded.
When I clacked my teeth shut, he laughed and snatched the vial out of the other man’s hands. The other man grabbed me around the waist and yanked my arms behind my back. I screamed, terrified of what might happen if I let him drug me further. Grégoire grabbed my jaw with one hand and pinched my nose shut with the other. He poured the liquid down my throat and shoved my jaw shut.
Wild with fear, I struggled and fought, but I was weakened by my ordeal and the drugs he’d given me before. When I finally swallowed, he smiled in triumph.
“Now come over here and have a drink with me.” I snarled at him and looked around wildly. “There’s nowhere to go, Ana,” he murmured softly, pity in his eyes.
I stumbled back, only to find myself falling into another person. The boat spun around me, and I couldn’t find my balance. Hands caught my elbows and steadied me, leading me to the crowd of partiers in the corner.
No, something was wrong, but I couldn’t form the words, couldn’t bridge the connection between my brain and my mouth. Grégoire maneuvered me until I straddled his lap, and my skirt was shoved up around my thighs.
His cock rubbed up against my pussy, and he laughed when I flinched away from him. He cupped my face and kissed my neck like we were lovers, and I couldn’t force myself to move.
Tears streamed down my cheeks, and he licked them up, delighting in my misery. The party continued around us, and I turned my head, watching a pretty brunette do lines of coke off the table then giggle as one of the men palmed her ass.
Couples paired off, sometimes in groups, sometimes just two, and the sounds of fucking filled the air. I ignored the cock that teased at my entrance, ignored the pain as Grégoire filled me, ignored the painful scrape of his cock against my dry insides, watching the pretty brunette peel off her dress and get on her knees. My vision wavered as the drugs worked their way through my system, blurring the scene before me.
The man in front of her opened his pants, and she grabbed his cock before slobbering over it. Soon she was giving him enthusiastic head, both of them making disgusting noises as she pleasured him.
In and out. In and out. In and out. Like Grégoire. My brain turned to static, blocking out everything but the brunette. No pain. No thoughts. No emotions. Just blank numbness.
The brunette took her partner deeper and deeper. Gently, he gathered her brown hair in his hand to hold it out of her way. Someone catcalled, and he laughed, looking down at her with affection. I couldn’t see her face, but she only sucked him more enthusiastically after that.
He groaned. “Baby, I’m coming.”
Grégoire grunted, his fingers digging into my hips as he raised me up and down in his lap.
Someone helpfully moved my arms and placed them around his neck. I didn’t react, keeping my eyes on the brunette. She sucked hard, and her partner plunged down her throat. In and out. In and out. In and out. When he was done, he pulled out, and she stared up at him.
“Swallow,” he commanded her, and she did.
Grégoire exploded inside me, painting my insides with the heat of his cum.
I felt nothing.