Chapter Twenty-One
Noa
I thought he was being silly.
But the longer he was gone, the more my stomach knotted, the more my mind raced.
Even if, objectively, I couldn’t imagine how there could be any sort of actual threat all the way out here.
First, because the only people who knew we were here were the club, Zayn, and the three people who helped us get on board.
Still, my pulse was a fluttering that made me feel queasy as I dropped onto the edge of the bed and reached for my stupid boot.
It would slow me down.
But without it, I wasn’t sure I could walk at all.
It was probably unnecessary. Chances were, Caymen would be back in another minute or two because it was, in fact, nothing. But I’d always rather be prepared.
Which was why I did a slow turn around the room, looking for something, anything I could use as a weapon if I needed one.
But it was all that lacquered wood and built-in items, so nothing fell and knocked us out if the ship rocked too hard.
Speaking of rocking too hard.
The current was weirdly choppy.
I widened my stance, trying to pretend my heartbeat wasn’t hammering.
I watched the clock on the TV as it ticked closer to five minutes.
It wasn’t a big boat.
Even with his achy feet and a slippery deck, there was no reason a quick check of the decks and cockpit would take longer than five minutes.
I let that last minute pass.
But the second I saw it change to six minutes, I was at the door, unlocking it.
Because what if he slipped?
What if the bandages on his feet and the slick decks or steps were a bad combination?
He could have fallen and knocked his head.
He could have fallen overboard.
My stomach lurched at that last one.
Because as much as I was strong for a woman, I was not ‘pull a full-grown man twice my size up onto a boat’ strong.
But boats had those life preservers. With that, I could keep him afloat as I tried to, I don’t know, get him into a liferaft. Or call for help.
By the time I went down the steps, I was certain that was what my night was going to entail: a sea rescue, a possible head injury.
My mind sharpened, looking around for anything that I could use for either situation as another minute likely ticked away with no sign of Caymen.
But as I was moving into the kitchen, the door flung open.
All I could think was Thank God . He was alright. He wasn’t hurt or overboard. He was just being extra thorough, and now he was back. We could climb back in bed and laugh about his paranoia and my disaster scenarios.
I was so consumed with those thoughts that I didn’t realize the man moving inside was slightly too tall and not nearly wide enough.
Because Caymen and I had laughed at how he had to kind of turn slightly sideways to make it through the doors in the boat.
This guy moved through without an issue.
And all I could think was to run.
So that was the instinct I followed, hoping that maybe Caymen was on this guy’s tail, and if I could just evade him for long enough, the two of us could take him down.
I got all of five feet, standing just outside the second bedroom, still a mess of clothing and personal care items, when one hand cinched me around the waist and the other went across my chest, pinning my arms down.
“Don’t make me hurt you,” the voice snarled as I did everything I could think of to break the hold.
But my father’s words came back to me, when I’d been complaining about all the drills we did, all the preparation, all the de-escalation and evasion.
“The fact of the matter is, Noa, you’re at a disadvantage in a fight. Know you’re not gonna wanna hear that. And I don’t like saying it. But if you’re hand-to-hand with someone just as trained as you, but he’s got eight more inches and fifty more pounds of muscle, you’re going to lose.”
He was right.
I’d hated it.
I’d tried to prove it wasn’t true each time I went to a self-defense class or sparred at home with him.
But again and again, he was right.
If I was up against someone bigger but less trained, I had a good shot at getting away. But someone who knew how to restrain me and was bigger? My chances weren’t good.
“So much fight,” the voice said.
And for the first time, I noticed it.
The familiarity.
Something teased at the corners of my memory, but I was so panicked that I couldn’t focus enough on it.
“I’m not killing you.”
Then he went ahead and made me think he was lying as his hand closed over my throat.
It was another time when it was instantly clear he knew what he was doing.
He wasn’t strangling me.
He was putting very precise pressure on my carotid arteries in my neck.
The blurriness came fast.
The blacks around the sides of my eyes.
Then complete unconsciousness.
I came awake with a gasp, the adrenaline shooting through my body to counteract the unconsciousness.
Everything felt fuzzy and itchy.
But there was no time to focus on that.
Because I was facedown on a pile of clothes, hard paper bags crunching under me as I tried to sit up.
Only I couldn’t sit up. My arms were behind my back.
I felt the plastic rings around each wrist.
Then I felt them both tighten down. Hard. Hard enough to bite into my skin, but not quite enough to cut off all circulation.
I knew from the thickness and feel of them that they weren’t just ordinary zip ties. These were flex cuffs. Which were much harder to get out of.
Doable, though.
That is until I felt another set layer on and tighten. And another.
Everything about it said I know you well .
But how?
Before I could even try to figure out who it could be, though, I felt him pull off my boot then slide the fucking flex cuffs around my ankles too. One set. Then another. Which was way overkill. Clearly, he was anticipating me trying to escape and wasn’t taking any chances.
I tried to kick out, aching ankle be damned.
He was out of reach, though.
I didn’t know why until, a second later, I felt something cold on my shoulder. Cold and wet. Almost like, as absurd as it seemed in that second, an alcohol wipe.
When that sensation was followed by the unmistakable prick of a needle, though, it wasn’t so crazy after all.
It wasn’t long before I felt the effects. My heartbeat slowed, a weirdly lazy thump in my chest. My head throbbed. My mind was sluggish, foggy.
“Whatdidyou…” I slurred.
“Just a little something to make you nice and cooperative,” the man said as his hands closed around my arms, pulling me off the bed.
Again, the thought surfaced. That voice. I knew that voice.
But just as quickly, it was gone, my mind refusing to focus, to think.
“Whoops,” he said when, as soon as I was on my feet, my body swayed to the side. “Maybe that was too much. But you’re a fighter. No worries,” he said, coming around me, ducking low, then pressing his shoulder into my stomach.
The ground fell out from under me.
I couldn’t reach out, try to grab onto something. I just had to feel myself swung over someone’s shoulder like a sack of laundry.
The pressure of his shoulder made my already slow breath feel more restricted.
I dangled there for a second, his arm anchored around the backs of my thighs.
Then he was moving.
And I was bouncing.
My stomach flipped, sloshed, and bile tracked up my throat.
I had to fight.
I had to…
“I can’t…”
Speak, think, move, breathe right.
“I’ve got you,” the voice said.
I heard the door open, the soft crash of waves, then the door clicking closed behind me.
No.
No, this wasn’t right.
I needed…
“Noa!”
My heart leapt.
Because that voice I immediately recognized.
Caymen .
My body jolted, some part of me responding to the plea in his voice.
“Noa, fight!” he roared.
Was he coming closer?
Was that a rush of water?
It was all too much.
My head was too swimmy.
Thinking hurt.
“Noa! Fuck!”
I heard the slap of wet feet. And I managed to worry about his feet. His cut feet. They really shouldn’t have been in the saltwater.
But as soon as those thoughts slid away, none managed to replace them.
“Put her down,” Caymen roared.
“Of course,” the man said.
Then I was falling.
And with no way to brace for it, I crashed down hard on my side, the pressure making a pain explode, and a warm trickle slid down my arm, but I couldn’t remember why.
I heard grunts, curses, and the crunch of fists colliding with bodies. When I tried to look, though, everything was blurry, making the sick feeling rise up my throat again, so I squeezed my eyes shut instead.
I heard a crash.
Momentary silence.
Then muffled yelling and a jiggling sound.
I didn’t ever figure out where it came from, though, as hands reached for me, grabbing me, and slinging me once again over a strong shoulder.
“That should solve that problem now.”
What problem?
What…
Caymen.
He was talking about Caymen.
What’d he do to him?
Was he okay?
A whimper escaped me at the crushing sensation in my chest.
“Enjoying those drugs, hm?” the voice asked.
There was still that flash of recognition. Only this time, something came along with it. An almost unbearable feeling of anger. Not the new kind, not the kind I could link to being drugged, restrained, and kidnapped.
No, this felt frustratingly familiar. Like it was something I’d felt before about this same person.
But the thoughts were too fleeting, refusing to be grabbed hold of.
“You’re not going to like this part.”
The warning was pointless.
I was too groggy to feel much of anything.
I sensed being jostled, and this strange teetering sensation, then a sudden fall that had my belly bottoming out. Finally, there was the landing, making the man’s body jerk hard, and making me land even harder on his shoulder.
But his arm kept me anchored, kept me from falling.
I was dropped again, though not as hard.
Beneath me, there was the vibration of an engine. The sound roared in my ears. Too loud. I wanted to reach up to cover my ears, but couldn’t.
It had to be a boat, right?
We were on another, smaller, boat.
Just as that thought formed, the boat lurched forward, taking my heart with it.
Everything around me flashed, making the sick feeling return.
I squeezed my eyes shut to ease it.
But the heaviness grew.
Pretty soon, no matter how hard I tried to open them, they refused.
The sound of the engine idled, then silenced completely, the quiet making my ears buzz.
The boat wobbled.
Then hands were reaching for me, grabbing me, lifting me up.
And I sank deeper into the floating sensations. It was almost as if I let myself, they would just float away with me.
With those thoughts, I drifted away inside myself.