13. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Martina
I can’t catch a break with this motherfucker.
But I keep my eyes closed and remain motionless. If I don’t acknowledge him, maybe I won’t have to deal with him. Surprisingly, he hasn’t done anything to me so far. Maybe he actually feels bad that I nearly died?
That’s fucking ridiculous. He’d probably treat a fly better than he would me.
“I shouldn’t let you out of the harnesses because you’re on suicide watch,” he says. “But you’re going to get bedsores if you stay in the same position much longer.”
WTF. He cares if I get bedsores? Is it because they’re unsightly to him? He doesn’t seem to care that I have a black eye and a busted lip.
“It’s your choice,” he continues. “You can do as I say—which means you don’t try anything without my permission—or we keep you strapped to the bed with your IVs and your catheters.”
I open half an eye. Did he just say I had a choice? Is this a trick question?
When I don’t respond, he says, “It would be a lot easier on Misty and Xander if you were strapped to the bed. They wouldn’t have to watch you as closely.”
My mind is still searching for the catch. I can’t fathom his motivation.
He smirks. “Maybe you like being tied down and pissing into a tube?” His gaze drops to the collection bag beside my hospital bed before adding, “I don’t have any hard limits. None whatsoever. So if you’re into piss or scat play, I’m game.”
“What happens if I want out of the harnesses?” I ask.
“You can move around. Get out of the bed even. Use the bathroom.”
This sounds unreal. Use an actual bathroom? That’s a luxury compared to my options in the cage.
“But the second you try anything funny, we tie you down again,” he warns. “Right after you’re severely punished. And I think you have a good idea of what that can be like. I promise you it will be unforgettable.”
I still don’t understand why he’s doing this, but I don’t want to miss out on the chance to be free to move about. “I’d like to get out of the harnesses, please.”
I expect him to come back with, “Actually, there’s no choice. I just wanted to fuck with you.”
But he only says, “We’ll take off the harnesses after we move you.”
Without another word, he leaves. I look over at Misty, a stout woman with chin-length hair pulled into a ponytail to reveal her undercut. Her gaze is emotionless, as if she sees me as an inanimate object. Does she know what happened to me down in the bottom of the yacht? Is she a hundred percent loyal to Vincent? Probably.
But just in case there’s an opportunity here, I try to start a conversation. “How long have you worked for Vincent?”
No answer.
“Was he sitting in that chair for a long time?”
No answer.
Vincent didn’t say I could talk to her. Am I going to get in trouble? I stop talking to her.
Have things changed? Possibly for the better? That seems to be too good to be true given who Vincent is.
My thoughts turn back to Brady. I hope he’s okay. I wonder if he’s tried or will try to communicate with me.
A few minutes later, the doctor returns with a nurse and someone I don’t recognize. They unhook me from the monitor and remove the IV and catheter before rolling the bed out of the room, down the hall and into the elevator. I start to get nervous. What if they’re taking me back down to the dungeon?
However, the elevator goes up. They go down a corridor I haven’t been through before and enter a large room with hardwood floors and nicely appointed with a few paintings, small sculptures, and potted plants. The king-size bed faces expansive windows overlooking the sea.
This is the room I get to move into? Am I dreaming?
Under Misty’s watchful eye, they unstrap me from the bed. I could try to make a run for it, but I know I’m not going to get very far. I don’t feel strong, and Misty looks far too athletic. Plus, I’m not chancing any sort of punishment from Vincent.
The nurse presents me a hospital gown, and I slip my arms through it. He ties it in back for me. With his help, I get out of bed and sit in the armchair nearest me. The doctor checks my pulse and listens to my heart rate.
“Would you like something to eat or drink?” he asks.
My pulse quickens. I know I didn’t want to risk Vincent’s punishment earlier by making a run for it, but with the doctor or nurse, this might be my last and only chance.
I grasp his hand and say softly, “Please. What I’d like is to get off this yacht. I’m being held hostage.”
“Yes, well, I can’t help you there,” he replies.
There is no sympathy in his eyes. I glance over at the nurse and see the same. My shoulders sag. I took a chance, and now I’m going to pay for it.
Shit.
“I’ll have some food brought up to you,” the doctor says before leaving.
The nurse follows, wheeling away the hospital bed with him. Misty, of course, remains.
She speaks to me for the first time. “Wouldn’t try that again if I were you. Unless you’re looking to piss off Vincent.”
I would have thought I couldn’t piss him off more after trying to kill him, but I’ve been wrong before.
Irene must be the person Ming was referring to, the one who couldn’t be brought back. That’s why Vincent was so triggered when the name came up. But who is Irene? In our research, Brady and I never came across a woman, aside from his mother, who might have been significant in Vincent’s life.
Deciding to test if what Vincent said was true about the ability to move around, I get up and walk to the window. Misty doesn’t move. I check out the windows to see how they open.
Reading my thoughts, Misty says, “They open by remote control, but the windows have been deactivated so they won’t open for you.”
I look around the room for potential weapons. I can throw sculptures and plants, but that’s about it.
I head to the bathroom.
“Door stays open,” she tells me. “And even if you try to close it, the lock’s been removed.”
Damn. They’ve thought of everything.
Stepping into the bathroom, my jaw drops. It’s like stepping into a small oasis with onyx countertops, brushed nickel fixtures, and palm plants. Windows wrap over half the jacuzzi bathtub. The spacious walk-in shower with rock walls has multiple showerheads and glass doors.
Just as I leave the bathroom, a woman in the crew uniform of black slacks and a crisp white shirt arrives carrying a tray, which she sets on a dining table near the windows. I’ve never seen her before. Her name tag says Helen.
“Should I get anything else?” she asks Misty without acknowledging me.
Misty shakes her head, and the woman leaves.
“Does the yacht get a new crew now that we’re in port?” I ask.
Misty doesn’t answer.
“Not normally,” Vincent says as he walks through the door.
My body is immediately on edge.
He walks up to me. “But we know you had a little helper onboard, so we replaced the whole crew.”
My breath catches. What happened to Brady?
He stares deep into my eyes. “Worried for your friend?”
I look away and pretend to inspect the food on the tray. Whatever it is smells good. But I haven’t ruled out the idea of starving myself to death.
Feigning indifference, I say, “Your staff is easy to bribe. All it took was an offer to give really good head.”
He cups my jaw. My immediate instinct is to squirm from him, but his grasp is too strong.
“You do give good head.” His gaze drops to my mouth. “Such a fuckable mouth.”
My chest heaves. I remember the horrible way he raped my mouth with that spider gag. And yet …
As if he can sense my body warming, his pupils grow molten. The air between us crackles.
Abruptly, he releases me and lifts the plate cover to reveal French toast garnished with slices of fresh plantains and pecans, eggs, sausage, and breakfast potatoes.
“Eat,” he directs.
Part of me is tempted, but I bristle at his command.
“Eat or I’ll personally stick a feeding tube in you.”
For whatever reason, he’s being relatively nice to me. I shouldn’t upset him.
No. I’m just some pig he’s trying to fatten up, and we all know what lies in store for pigs.
But that doesn’t make sense. What does he care if I’m scrawny or thick? He’ll whore me out either way.
His eyes narrow at me. “Misty, stand outside.”
“Yes, Boss,” she replies and closes the door behind her.
Oh no. I’m alone with Vincent. And I upset him.