Chapter 1 #2
Her brother huffed a smile, too, and sauntered to the bench on heavy legs. “Enzo, it’s fries,” she quipped, popping one into her brother’s mouth. He laughed, happily munching on it. She grabbed the leftover sandwich from the bag, split the measly amount, and gave half to her brother.
I was lingering without a purpose, salivating after the scraps of food the kids were eating, and sating myself with the smell. When my stomach howled, they both glanced at me.
“Do you want some?” The little girl held up her half of the sandwich for me, making me want to cry that a spark of light existed in this dark reality. It was quickly extinguished when her brother gently lowered her hand.
“I’ll split with you,” he offered to my surprise. He held up his tiny portion so his sister could eat her entire share.
Their faces were placid as they waited, giving away what little food they had, even though they had no idea when they’d eat next.
I couldn’t do that to them, either. They looked like they hadn’t eaten in days. Half a sandwich and some measly fries might be enough to hold them over for a couple more nights, but not if they split it with me. I couldn’t take away what little they had.
I plastered on a smile and shook my head, “You know what? I’m not that hungry.”
Neither of them believed me, but the boy gave me a curt nod, almost in gratitude for letting them have this one meal. It was probably their first stroke of luck in a long while.
Without another word, I turned around and took off. I couldn’t keep torturing myself by watching them eat. This world was too cruel. I had no idea what my purpose in it was or even who I was, but it couldn’t be this—scraping for food.
Not ready to give up, I scanned the pier and found another floating dock stretching deeper into the water.
The bigger boats were docked farther away and were impossible to break into.
You couldn’t easily jump onto a vessel the size of a cruise ship, but something was calling my name.
The pier seemed familiar, and I exhausted my limited energy walking to a white boat towering over the rest. The boat—or more accurately, the mega yacht—had multiple levels and endless decks.
Large glass windows allowed a glimpse inside the lavish interior.
The name was carved on the side in a beautiful font.
“Olympus,” I read out loud, inspecting the luxury yacht with wide eyes.
My stomach growled when I saw a group of men unloading seafood trays and fruit crates from a dinghy and carrying them onto the yacht. Even the platform to hop on board was extravagant, with a large slanted wooden ramp and a red carpet.
None of the guards were manning the entryway as they were preoccupied with the delivery. By now, I knew better than to ask men for help. The few times I tried, it made me wonder whether I was on the run from all the men on earth.
No.
Asking for help hadn’t gotten me anywhere.
I needed to eat, regain my strength, and regroup to escape my predicament.
The loading and unloading of items had everyone engrossed.
I had a small window to sneak in. I could run inside and grab a few things, then slip away.
It was risky business, but the reward was too damn tempting.
With my head bowed, I crossed the ramp before I could chicken out. Waves crashed against the side of the boat, gently rocking me from side to side as I entered. I barely took in the opulent luxury setting, following the various aromas like a bloodhound.
My mouth watered when I stepped through the sliding doors and into an empty dining hall. Two tables were stacked against the wall to create an L-shape with a chef’s nook to serve guests in the buffet line. Trays stacked with delicious food were lined beside the table.
Fruits.
Meats.
Fish.
Pastries.
Bread.
Someone was transferring the trays to the L-shaped tables to set up the buffet. Perhaps they were interrupted, or they went to the kitchen to grab serving spoons. Whatever the case, they’d return soon to complete the setup. Time was of the essence.
I ran to the stands and snatched a muffin from one of the trays. I sank my teeth into it and moaned.
Oh God, that tastes good.
“Hey, you! Stop right there,” a man yelled from behind me.
A burly hand wrapped around my wrist before I could take another bite. I shrieked, knowing I’d be kicked out. At least I had swiped a muffin. It would last me a day, more if I only ate a little at a time.
With a grim expression, the bearded, stocky man squeezed my wrist with his much larger hand. “You thieving bitch. Let go,” he shouted.
“No!” I cried when he managed to dislodge the muffin. It fell on the table with a soft thud. “No, please, please let me have it.” Desperation flared as my last shred of hope slipped through my fingers. Fat tears leaked from my eyes, and I lunged for it.
The man yanked me back with a jerk. “Get the fuck out of here.”
He shoved me, and I fell face-first, hitting my forehead against the hard ground.
I twisted my ankle when I fell, the pain ignited like lightning.
With my eyes on the floor, I could no longer see him but was mentally prepared for his next onslaught.
What I heard instead was a resounding blow, and I twisted my neck to follow the commotion.
The stocky man had been thrown against the wall.
“Dr. M-Maxwell?” he stuttered, grabbing onto his chubby belly where he had presumably been kicked. I followed his gaze.
A newcomer had entered the room, though I couldn’t make out his face with his back to me.
Instead, my eyes leveled with his expensive black shoes, slowly trailing up to a pair of slacks fitted to his muscular thighs and settling on the light blue shirt covering his broad shoulders.
He was incredibly tall with dirty-blond hair.
He—Dr. Maxwell—was built like a giant. His shoulders rose and fell from the exertion of hitting someone. Or was it anger? The tense muscles around his neck contracted, his attention lasered on the fumbling fool before him.
“I-I found this stowaway trying to steal food—” the stocky man attempted to explain, but was promptly interrupted when he was hefted higher against the wall. Dr. Maxwell’s next punch was so impactful that the decorative art pieces on the wall fell to the ground.
Oh God.
Perhaps it was best if I left during their brawl. I tried to stand, but putting weight on my twisted ankle hurt too much. I crawled under the table instead and took refuge inside the chef’s nook. Rising to my knees, I watched the two men over the table.
The doctor spoke in a deep voice, reaching inside me to stir up a tinge of familiarity. Because I was busy trying to put my finger on it, his words took a few seconds to register. “I’m going to break the hand you used to touch her. Do we understand each other?”
It was his only warning before he grabbed the man’s hand and twisted it with a ruthlessness I had yet to witness in this world. Two people screamed simultaneously. The man, whose hand was now broken, and the second cry came from me.
My petrified shriek distracted Dr. Maxwell, and his victim scampered away. From under the table, I saw his strong legs marching toward me, and my parched voice gave out in fear.
The doctor squatted on the ground, tilting his head to peek under the table.
Before our gazes could clash, I jolted when I caught a whiff of his scent.
I recognized the hint of amber infused with something intoxicating.
It held a remarkable resemblance to warmth and the outdoors, like cashmere wrapped in wood.
Images of large hands roaming my body played on repeat, waking something inside me that had been lying dormant.
His essence dwarfed the little alcove, and I huddled in the farthest corner.
It didn’t stop him from locating me. “Found you, you little runaway.”