Chapter 12
Chelsea’s turned fucking catatonic. Eyes open but unseeing.
Knowing her sister will suffer the same fate as her most likely pushed her past the point of no return.
I’ve witnessed my fair share of women reacting to this situation, but Chelsea’s response is unsettling.
“Did you hit her too hard or something? What the fuck is wrong with her?” I ask Brad as he extends his hand to the woman on the floor.
She doesn’t even register it until Brad snaps his fingers in her face.
Slowly she raises her hand, slipping it into his.
“Maybe,” is all he says, and my stomach drops.
“What the fuck?” I snap. He shrugs his indifference.
“We’re going to be fucked if she isn’t back to normal by drop off.
” Brad’s lack of concern over this bothers me.
I’m not one to place blame since we’re a team, but whatever he put her through is completely on him.
I won’t go down with that ship when I worked hard for my reputation and good standing with the head of this organization.
The little swing I possess may work to my advantage if I can’t dig Rose out from beneath my fucking skin.
Even now, I have to fight the irresistible urge to put my hands on her.
My eyes long to gaze upon her, eat up the sight of her tied to my bed, chest rising and falling with quiet breaths.
But I know something as innocuous as a look will be clocked by Brad, and wielded like a weapon against me.
Rose is a weakness I can’t allow him to see.
Completely ignoring my concern, Brad leads Chelsea to the bathroom as I follow. With his back turned, I risk one last look at the unconscious redhead on the mattress. My stomach flips, nausea rearing its ugly head.
“Sit,” Brad demands, pointing at the toilet, and Chelsea obeys without a fight, flipping the lid down. “Face the wall.” She straddles the toilet, sitting down and folding her arms across the tank, resting her chin atop her forearms.
Brad spreads out a plastic sheet, covering the bathroom sink and counter.
He makes quick work of mixing the hair dyes, shaking the bottles without so much as acknowledging my existence.
I don’t know why the fuck he suddenly thinks he can boss me around and treat me like the gunk beneath his shoe, but that shit isn’t going to fly.
He tosses another plastic sheet to me. “Go take care of the other one.” Brad extends two boxes of black hair dye, and I grab them, along with the plastic, and leave the bathroom.
Brad clicks the door shut behind me, and I half expect to hear Chelsea’s cries start up again. But it’s deathly silent.
Rose is a fairytale princess, lying cold and abandoned, awaiting true love’s kiss to wake her.
I don’t know what sort of magic she weaves, but the uncomfortable feeling she’s lodged beneath my ribs can only be lessened by something I know will never happen.
I can’t save her, so there’s no point in pressing my lips to hers in hopes of waking her.
I won’t be whisking her away into the sunset, I’ll be delivering Rosie to her demise with the backdrop of a beautiful tropical sunrise.
Rounding to the other side of the bed, I collect her discarded dress.
Retrieving her panties from my shorts pocket, I raise the garments to my face, pressing my nose into the fabric and breathing deep.
Her already familiar scent constricts my chest, the realization I won’t smell it again taking my sullen mood and pushing it off the cliff into a chasm of moroseness.
I place her things on the side table, knowing they’ll be tossed from the ship, eliminating any evidence she was here.
I can’t even steal a piece of her away for myself, any trace found by investigators puts my head on the fucking chopping block.
I know jurisdictions and investigations are hard on a cruise liner, it’s what makes them such opportune places for abductions.
But the crew and security on board will undoubtedly conduct a preliminary search.
When they find no trace of her, the trip will continue.
The family will then have to decide whether to leave the ship and contact authorities, or stay on board and continue to look for her.
Her family fucking sold her, so I don’t expect anything but the bare minimum where search efforts are concerned.
Anger flares deep in my chest at the family. Who could have done this to her? From what she told me previously, my money is on Michelle. The step-monster. But I’m not privy to details not concerning me.
Every quiet rhythmic breath she takes is like an atom bomb, blowing me apart at the seams. I can’t just sit here staring at her, I have a job to do. But even the thought of marring her appearance is abhorrent.
Shuffling comes from behind the bathroom door, lurching me into action. The last thing Rosie needs is Brad babbling that I have a thing for her. The Boss will use her wellbeing against me, subject her to the most heinous shit to keep me in line. I can’t do that to her.
Removing the cuffs from her skin, I lay her arms down at her sides. Rubbing gently to get the blood flowing properly. She’s too cold. Too exposed. Brad shouldn’t have barged into my fucking space, her body was mine to enjoy, not his.
She stirs in the most minuscule way, a tiny whimper passing her lips.
My fingers itch to retrieve the blanket from the closet, she deserves the comfort and the coverage.
Instead, I unfold the plastic sheeting, pulling Rose up into a sitting position as I lay it out beneath her.
I prep the dye, like I have many times before.
Shaking the bottles to combine the chemicals.
With gentle fingers, I remove the earrings from the three holes in each ear. Before I start, I scan her for more jewelry, but I know she has none. It’s what makes her so damn alluring. She doesn’t need any added icing to draw me in, she’s sweet as can be just the way she is.
Fanning her hair out atop the plastic, I get to work. Running the nozzle along her hair line, and down the roots, then massaging the dark colour into every strand. As I work from top to bottom my mind wanders, wondering how I ever ended up a twenty-seven year old kidnapper.
My troubled past led me here, too intricately entwined with the wrong fucking people.
After I was taken off the street, I was forced into the same hell that awaits my pretty girl.
After years of abuse, I begged for an escape.
Offering everything under the sun, but they were only interested in me.
So, I sold myself to them, to be this monster, instead of another slave for their underground brothel.
Somedays I regret my choice, but what’s the alternative?
More sex work? I’m too good at what I do now.
I bring in more money delivering the goods than I did whoring out my own body.
The midnight dye saturates her hair, extinguishing any remaining trace of that bright red colour. Now all that’s left to do is wait.