18. Katherine
KATHERINE
I’m going to puke. Oh god, what is that smell? And that noise? The pounding in my skull is relentless, just like the racket assaulting my ears.
I blink into the bright light. Oh, that’s worse.
Squinting my eyes shut, I lift my hands to cover them, but there’s a biting sensation in my wrists, and my right arm catches around something, halting my movement. I suck in a deep breath. That doesn’t ease the ache in my cheek or get the blood pumping back to my fingers.
I blink into the bright light again, forcing my eyes to remain open despite the pain. There’s a massive machine a handful of feet away. Everything’s painted white or an ugly hunter green. I stare at the plastic tie binding my wrists.
What the hell?
What the actual hell?
Nausea threatens again, and I lift my chin, swallowing.
Think, Katherine. Think.
I’d just walked out the front door of the brownstone, where Roman was waiting for me. An instant later, he was on the ground, bleeding, and I couldn’t even get a scream out. Everything after that is hazy at best.
Where am I?
The heavy rumble intensifies, like the loudest thunder I’ve ever heard. I don’t feel dizzy, which means the room is actually moving.
Of course. It’s a boat. Well, a ship of some kind, because the engine is bigger than most cars.
I wiggle my toes. Then my fingers. Okay, everything’s working. I haven’t been injured or worse.
“Breathe, Kat,” I whisper. Not that anyone could hear me over that racket anyway.
Where’s King? And Alex and Gabe?
Despite orders from my brain to keep it together, my body trembles. Anxiety is such a bitch.
Sure, it might be trying to keep me safe, but I’m not safe, am I?
Okay, that line of thinking is not helping.
Craning my neck, I glance over one shoulder, then the other. No sign of my phone. I don’t see my bag either. There’s no sign of anyone else. No phone that I could knock off the wall and try to call for help.
The heat is getting to me. Sweat drips down my back. Unease claws me, shredding any bits of calm.
The pipe I’m tethered to is as big around as my thigh, running up through the floor and making a ninety-degree bend before disappearing into a machine. There’s no way to climb it and slip my arms free.
I should have taken more self-defense classes.
I should have done a lot of things. Hindsight is making me desperate. Make that, several things are making me desperate.
Taking a deep breath, I hold it for a count of four. Then I exhale through my mouth and hold for another four before inhaling again. The trick often works if I can start it early enough and get my system under control. But it feels too late now.
The engine room isn’t the only thing vibrating. Every part of me trembles so hard, I fear I might lose the few sips of coffee I had before I left the house.
I squeeze my eyes shut again as tears prickle. What a rotten day. I want a do-over.
I want to call Gabe back and lay everything out for him. This time, I wouldn’t let him walk out the door until I said my peace.
A little voice whispers, “It’s too late,” through my mind, somewhere from the dark, dangerous recesses.
There’s a clunking sound, then metal on metal. I collapse against the pipe again, acting like I’m still out.
Footsteps echo across the floor, and my stomach tries to send up the coffee I had earlier.
“Come on, princess,” says a voice I don’t recognize. It’s deep, sort of raspy, like he’s smoked a lot of cigarettes or drank too much whiskey. “I know you’re awake. Saw you on the camera.”
Fudgecakes.
I play possum for a second longer and silently fume. How dare he call me that?
He grabs my wrists, and my stomach plummets. There’s a small snicking sound, and then I’m free.
I take a deep breath, open my eyes, and rub my tender wrists. My thumb catches on the charm bracelet Alex gave me in Paris. I immediately finger the little silver Eiffel Tower. I would give anything to be back there with him right now, safe and sound.
“Don’t make me carry you,” he clips out, and I still can’t place his accent.
He’s wearing boots, dark gray cargo pants, and a black t-shirt. I avoid looking at his face, but his body is honed, and I have no doubt he’s had plenty of training that will help him get his way.
Grabbing the pole, I get to my feet. My legs feel like gelatin. How long was I out?
Blood rushes through parts that are long asleep, stinging my ass with pins and needles before reaching my toes. I don’t give him the satisfaction of wincing or gasping at the uncomfortable sensations. At least I’m vertical and free.
Why is it so hard to keep my breathing steady? I feel like a runaway train, sucking in breath after breath, barely exhaling. It’s like I can’t get enough oxygen.
“Come on. No one’s gonna hurt you.”
I press a hand against my stomach. “Then why kidnap me?”
“That’s above my pay grade.”
Okay…
Another deep breath.
“Surely you know who you’re working for.”
“Come on.” He waves me forward, his tone biting with impatience.
I step forward, keeping my gaze on the floor, not wanting to press my luck too much. At least he’s not tying me back up, which is odd.
Don’t think about it.
My stomach sours, and I desperately grab hold of any word that pops into my head so that I don’t think of what his unusual behavior means for my future.
Succulent.
Stiletto.
Circuit board.
Survive.
Everyone knows if your kidnapper doesn’t hide their identity, you aren’t making it out alive.
My feet feel like they’re suction cupped to the floor, making every step harder.
The man directs me through the door he just came through, down a hall filled with pipes, tubes, and wires, and then up a set of steep stairs. He follows at a careful distance, almost like he expects me to fight back. Then why not tie me up again?
I don’t get it. None of this makes sense. Acid burns my throat, and I swallow, willing the discomfort away. I do my box breathing technique because now is not the time for a panic attack.
Not. The. Time.
“Left,” he says when I get to the top stair.
For half a heartbeat, I contemplate kicking him in the face and making a run for it. But I have no idea where to go or who I might run into. Nor do I know my way around this boat.
For all I know, he’s the nice kidnapper. And anyone could be behind this.
He guides me through a stainless steel galley kitchen and down an opulent hall with intricate marble tile floors. Brass sconces light our way. Definitely a yacht. Not one I’m familiar with, but it’s big, expensive, and luxurious. So it’s someone with connections. Money. Status.
Does Alex have enemies? Gabe?
Was Alex right? Is someone trying to hurt them or their business by taking me?
Or the kidnapper could straight-up ask for a ransom. It’s no secret that my parents are loaded.
My stomach turns at the thought. Between the two of them, someone could get away with millions. Tens of millions.
Not to mention Kingston, Alex, and Gabe. Each is wealthy in his own right and publicly connected to me now, even if tangentially.
Would they pay?
They did once, but?—
The boat dips again, and I lose my balance, bumping into the wall.
“This is you,” he says, pausing outside a door. Once again, my stomach does a somersault.
“I don’t understand.” I really don’t. This looks like a stateroom. Why tie me up in the engine room only to bring me upstairs?
“Like I said?—”
“Above your pay grade,” I cut in, losing my patience but too scared to fight back. “Is there a bathroom around?”
“Do I look like a tour guide?”
I lift my chin and give him my iciest stare. He’s not that much taller than me, and I’ve found it works on people of all shapes and sizes.
Gray eyes meet mine. There are stormy circles beneath. It looks like he hasn’t gotten much sleep lately, and I take a tiny bit of satisfaction in that. There’s a terrible burn scar down the right side of his neck.
“If the boot fits,” I say, holding my ground. His lips twitch, and I’m not sure if it’s from amusement or condescension.
Without another word, he opens the door and waves me inside.
I cross the threshold sideways, not trusting him in the slightest. He closes the door, and I turn, looking for a phone.
There’s not one in the sitting room. I check both sides of the bed.
Nothing. There are matching doors on either side of the room, and I’ve been on board enough yachts to guess they’re double bathrooms. Please let there be a phone next to the vanity.
I race across the plush carpet, sling open the door, and slam into a body.