Chapter Eighteen
~ No Food, No Rescue ~
Kit
I’ve been on this boat for three days now.
I only know that because the past two nights, I’ve stared at the small circular window and watched the sunset, the sky bleeding orange and pink over the water.
I keep wondering what everyone back at the estate is doing right now.
Are they eating dinner together? Is Lorraine making extra food out of habit?
Is Soren sitting at the head of the table in silence, or has he already moved on like none of this matters?
I really hope they’re not distraught over me. I really hope the shouting I heard the other day at Finn was just initial shock, and that they aren’t actually that emotional about this. I’m not worth it. I don’t want them tearing themselves apart because of me.
Finn has this little jet ski tied to the side of the boat.
I’ve watched him drive away on it and not return for hours, leaving me completely alone down here, locked in this small metal room.
At first, I thought being alone might be a relief, but when Finn leaves, the heavy door at the top of the stairs locks with multiple deadbolts.
My only connection to the outside world is this one small circular window.
When he does come back, he usually chucks a couple of slices of plain white bread onto the table.
The first time he did it, I looked up at him, confused and starving, and asked, “What am I supposed to do with this?”
He’d smashed my head against the table so hard my vision whited out for a second. “Eat it, you ungrateful little shit.”
So yeah… the past couple of days I’ve had maybe four slices of bread in total. My stomach has stopped growling and now just feels hollow and painful.
I hear the jet ski bounding back over the waves, the engine growing louder until it cuts off.
A few minutes later, heavy footsteps stomp down the metal stairs.
Three separate locks click and clank, then the door swings open.
Finn walks in, jacket wet from the sea spray, hair plastered to his forehead.
He throws two slices of bread onto the table as usual.
I stare at the depressing food; it’s nowhere near enough to sustain me.
My stomach growls loudly at the sight anyway.
Finn gestures at it with his chin. “Well?”
I frown, heart racing. I still don’t know how to talk to him without triggering him. He’s so unpredictable, bipolar in the worst way. Right now, he’s smiling like he’s expecting something from me.
I whisper, “Well… what?”
Finn storms over in two strides, grabs me by the throat, and slams me back against the cold metal wall so hard a breathtaking pain shoots up my spine.
He’s not like Soren, not overwhelming in size or muscle, but he’s still much stronger than me, and the height advantage is enough.
I gasp, hands flying up to clutch at his wrist.
“You say thank you when I bring you food!” he snarls.
I nod frantically, fingers digging into his wrist, hoping he’ll let go. He loosens his grip just enough.
I croak out a small, broken, “Thank you.”
Finn nods, satisfied, and steps back.
Finn slaps some photos down and spreads them out across the table. There’s nothing else down here, just the chair, the table, and the dim bare bulb swinging above me. “Recognise these?”
I shake my head. “Should I?”
He laughs, sharp and mean. “Oh, you don’t, huh?”
I frown, genuinely confused. The photos show warehouses, shipping containers, a large cargo ship, and what look like several car dealerships. Nothing rings a bell.
Finn must see the honest confusion on my face because he leans in. “So, what the fuck did you do for Mr. Sinclair?”
I raise my brows. “What?”
“How do you not know these are his fucking dealerships? His containers? His warehouses? The ship that imports cars and goods for him?”
He smacks his fist down on the table, making me flinch. “What the fuck was your role?”
I swallow hard. “Um… I… I wasn’t allowed to leave.”
Finn stares at me, eyes wide. “What?”
“I’ve never seen these before,” I say quietly. “I don’t even know what Soren does… just who he is… and that sometimes…”
I pause a beat too long.
Finn shouts, “What?!”
I flinch again but keep going. “…he’d come back covered in blood.”
Finn laughs, delighted. “You know, I originally thought you were his son. The way he was holding you so close, the size, the age difference… like he was protecting you. The whole time in that mall I trailed you… he didn’t leave your side once. It was quite fucking annoying, actually.”
I whisper, “So… if you don’t know who I am, then… why did you take me?”
Finn laughs again, louder this time. “I wanted the girl. Maybe she would’ve been more useful.”
I look back down at the photos.
Finn jabs his finger at the table. “So, you’re telling me… the man who doesn’t give a shit about anyone, who runs his businesses brutal… just homed you? For what purpose? What use were you to him?”
I shrug weakly, voice barely there. “He killed my parents.”
Finn tilts his head, curious. “So?”
“He didn’t know they had a kid.”
Finn grins, disbelieving. “You’re not trying to tell me he took pity on you.”
I lose my temper for a split second and shout, “I don’t know, for fuck’s sake! I don’t know why I’m a part of any of this!”
Finn growls, not in the low, sexual way Soren does, but sharp and ugly. He rounds the table, pulls out his knife, and presses the blade to my throat. “Excuse me?” he hisses. “Did you just fucking raise your voice at me, boy?”
I shiver with fear and swallow. The movement pushes the cold metal harder against my skin.
Finn digs the knife in shallowly. I whimper as it cuts, not deep enough to kill, but enough to sting and draw blood. A few hot tears slip free.
“Behave,” he whispers into my ear, breath hot and sour.
He pulls the knife away. I quickly tug the hem of my top up and press it against the shallow cut, trying to stop the sting and the slow trickle of blood.
Finn taps the photos again. “I’m blowing one of these up. He blew up my garage. This is repayment. Figure out which one you think is the most valuable… or I’ll be back to cut your fingers off one by one.”
My eyes go wide. Finn says it so casually, like it’s a normal conversation, before he turns and leaves, locking the three deadbolts behind him with heavy clanks.
I’m left alone again with a fresh cut on my throat, tears running down my face, some scattered photos on the table, and two sad slices of bread in front of me.
◆◆◆
I’ve been staring at these photos for hours. My eyes sting like they’ve been rubbed with sandpaper, but I can’t stop. I’ve looked at every single grain, every shadow, and every tiny detail until the images feel burned into the back of my eyelids.
I’ve traced the edges of buildings with my fingertip, squinted at reflections in windows, counted the number of visible security cameras I can spot, studied tire tracks in the dirt, noted patches of rust on metal doors, the height of fences, the positioning of lights, and the types of locks I can make out.
Anything, everything… I need to give Finn something that looks valuable without actually giving him something that will destroy Soren.
I don’t want to help him; I really don’t.
But I also don’t want him to come back down here with that knife again.
Thankfully, Finn hasn’t returned yet. He’s somewhere on the upper deck, doing God knows what.
Sleeping? Building a bomb? Painting his toenails?
With him, any of those options feel equally possible. He’s completely deranged.
I push another photo to the side, one of the larger warehouses that clearly has multiple visible security towers and what looks like armed guards in the background. Too obvious, too well-protected. Finn would love that one, and I can’t let him have it.
My stomach growls again, loud and painful. The two sad slices of bread from earlier are long gone.
I pick up the next photo: a cargo ship at the docks.
When I look really close, I can see Soren’s initials stamped on some of the containers, but there are other logos too…
different companies, different shipments.
That means it’s not just Soren’s stuff. Blowing it up would hurt other people, innocent people.
I don’t want that. I also don’t want to give Finn the satisfaction of destroying something that might actually matter to Soren’s legitimate business. So, I slide that one to the “no” pile.
I keep going, heart pounding, guilt twisting tighter with every decision.
Finally, I’m left holding one last image…
a smaller warehouse right by the docks. It looks unassuming at first glance, but when I squint and tilt the photo toward the light, I can see through one of the windows that the interior is mostly empty.
Like whatever is stored there gets moved out quickly.
That could mean it’s high turnover, something valuable that doesn’t sit around long.
There’s also half a man visible in the corner of the frame, just a shoulder and part of a head, wearing what looks like a security uniform.
I can try to convince Finn that’s a guard, that this place is important enough to need protection.
The photo was taken in daylight, so I’m hoping things are only stored here overnight and cleared out during the day.
I pray I’m right; I pray this won’t actually hurt Soren too badly. I feel so guilty.
My hands are shaking as I set the photo down…
the one I’ll have to show Finn. Tears prick at my eyes again, but I blink them back hard.
I don’t want to cry anymore; I don’t want Finn to see me cry.
I just want to go home. I just want to be anywhere but here, on this rocking boat in the middle of the ocean, trying to play chess with a madman while my stomach eats itself and my throat still stings from when he cut me.
I close my eyes for a second, breathing shallow and fast, and whisper to no one, “I’m sorry…”
Then I open them again and stare at the small warehouse photo, trying to convince myself I made the right choice.
◆◆◆
I sit on the hard chair, heart hammering against my ribs as Finn paces the small metal room like a caged animal.
He’s in a foul mood tonight… shoulders tense, jaw clenched, eyes wild with that unpredictable edge that makes my stomach twist. The dim bulb above us swings slightly with the boat’s gentle rocking, casting long, ugly shadows across his face.
I swallow hard and try to keep my voice steady, pointing at the photo of the small warehouse I’d chosen. “Th-this one,” I say, my finger trembling as I tap the image. “Look… there’s a guard. See? wearing what looks like a uniform. That means it’s important, right? Something worth protecting.”
Finn snatches the photo from my hand so roughly the corner tears. He barely glances at it before tossing it back onto the table with a sneer.
“You think I give a fuck about some half-seen guard?” he snaps, voice dripping with mockery. “This is on you, little orphan. You’re the one picking which of Sinclair’s toys I get to blow up. How does that feel? Betraying the man who gave you a home?”
His words hit exactly where they’re meant to. Guilt surges through me, hot and nauseating. Soren did give me a home… even if it was built on blood and fear. He protected me when no one else would. And here I am, pointing at one of his warehouses like I have any right to decide its fate.
But underneath the guilt, something new and sharp bubbles up, anger.
I’ve never been violent, never hit anyone in my life.
I’m the picture of innocence; except for the way Soren touches me.
I’m supposed to be a “good boy.” Quiet and obedient.
Yet right now, staring at Finn’s smug, taunting grin, I have this sudden, violent urge to punch that look right off his face. My hands twitch in my lap.
Finn leans in closer, breath hot and sour against my cheek. “We’re gonna make a nice little video for him when I get back.”
He makes an explosive sound with his mouth and gestures wildly with his hands, miming a blast. “But first… I’ve got a call to make and a warehouse to blow up.”
Then his mood shifts again, fast and terrifying. He straightens up and says, almost cheerfully, “Time to sleep, little orphan.”
I nod quickly, relief flooding me. Thank God. Maybe I can actually rest. But then I see him pull out a syringe from inside his jacket, the needle glinting under the swinging bulb.
My heart slams into overdrive. I scramble backward in the chair, but there’s nowhere to go. “No… wait, please, I’m tired, I’ll sleep on my own, I swear…”
Finn lunges. I try to fight, I really do…
I shove at his chest, twist away, kick out with my legs…
but I’m weak from days of barely eating, and he’s stronger than he looks.
He grabs my hair with one hand and yanks my head to the side, exposing my neck.
I claw at his arm, gasping, but it’s useless.
The needle bites in. The burn spreads fast, cold and chemical, dragging me down into the dark again.
Finn’s voice is the last thing I hear, low and creepy, right against my ear. “Sweet dreams Christopher. I’m gonna find out who you really are.”