Page 35 of Brutal Surrender

“Yes,” I answer. Could she be someone who would be willing to help me?

She checks another pulse. “Liver also weak. For young healthy woman, should not be this weak unless you are very angry.”

“How do you know?”

“Very simple. This is Chinese medicine from thousands of years ago.”

She pats my shoulder, and I almost start to cry.

“Let go your anger, let go the grief so you can recover your health, your energy. Continue to rest.” She takes the small bowl of used needles and turns to leave.

“Wait,” I say.

But I don’t continue because Misty has walked over. If I say something to the acupuncturist, I may not get the chance to see her again, and she’s the only kind person I’ve come across here.

“Thank you,” is all I say.

She gives me a nod then leaves.

“Were you planning on saying anything else?” Misty asks.

I shake my head and close my eyes. What are the chances the acupuncturist would have a different reaction from the doctor? Everyone on this yacht is loyal to Vincent. It’s a near miracle that Brady and I even made it onto the yacht. It was all thanks to his cousin who works on payroll for the Black Dragon, and his cousin might not have helped us out if he knew our ulterior motives.

And even the acupuncturist was willing to help me out, what could she do? Go the authorities? Assuming they weren’t already in Vincent’s pocket, the most they could do is get a search warrant. And I’m sure Vincent would outmaneuver them. And if he should find out the acupuncturist had helped me, I shudder to think what he would do to her.

Helen returns, this time wheeling a cart with lunch. Feeling more of an appetite, I put my robe back on and sit at the table. She sits down a plate of what looks to be Chinese chicken salad followed by three bowls of soup.

“This one is minestrone, this is lobster bisque, and this is butternut squash,” she says.

This is a lot of food. And what I told Vincent I liked to eat. This is…nice of him? No. There’s no reason for Vincent to be nice to me. Even if he’s trying to fatten me up for some pimp to buy, he could do so without serving my favorite foods.

What’s his game? Did he decide that he’s better off getting what he wants using carrots instead of sticks? Is he trying to fuck with my mind? Whatever it is, I’m not falling for it.

But starving to death isn’t an option. Vincent already established that with his threat to stick a feeding tube into me.

Helen places more food on the table. “And for dessert, this is a lemon tart with raspberry coulis and fresh whipped cream. And also coconut sorbet, made fresh today.”

“I’m not really a dessert person,” I say.

“You don’t like any kind of dessert?” she asks.

“My nonna’s zabaglione, but that’s about it.”

She pulls out a French press. “Would you like some coffee?”

I shake my head.

After she leaves, I help myself to the minestrone served with rustic bread. The food tastes incredible compared to what I was eating in the cage. I make it halfway through the salad and feel full.

Maybe Vincent feels guilty that I almost died? But does Vincent have a conscience? Maybe he never intended to push me to the brink of death or even mean all that he said to me? I shake my head. The rage I saw in his eyes was real. It was most intense when I first told him my name was Irene, and again when I was singing the ballad from Turandot. I’ve never known Vincent could be like that. I’ve only seen and heard that he doesn’t have a temper, that he is still in his veins.

I spend most of the afternoon staring out the window. My current accommodations are a huge upgrade from the cage, but I’m still in a floating prison. I’m a pretty good swimmer, so I could make it to shore, especially if the tide is going in. The hard part is getting off this yacht. I try to think of a way to escape but I can’t come up with a really viable option. I think I just have to hope an opportunity presents itself.

Even though there’s a TV, I have no interest. I haven’t watched television in years. All the programs seems so trivial to me. At one point, Helen returns to collect the dishes from lunch.

“When you are ready for dinner, let us know about a half hour before,” she tells me.

A little later, Xander takes over for Misty. Xander dresses slightly more casual than the other bodyguard but is no less imposing. His short sleeves expose muscular arms covered in hair.

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