Page 102 of Wicked King

I attempt to rub the back of my head, forgetting about the current predicament my hands are in, but the thick twine cuts into my wrists, instantly reminding me. I’m certain there’s a golf ball size knot where someone hit me with the butt of a gun. My skull is pounding, and my mouth feels like I gargled cotton balls.

How long have I been out for and where the hell am I?

Squeezing my eyes closed and drawing in a deep breath to slow my thundering pulse, I attempt to focus. A faint breeze stirs the air beyond the four dark walls, accompanied by a rhythmic whooshing. The sound is so familiar… Once I’ve steadied my breaths enough that they no longer muffle the noise, a groan builds low in my throat. I shuffle my bound feet against the floor, and the scrape of sand against the soles incites a swirl of unease in my gut.

No, it can’t be.

The rush of water is undeniable, the hiss and crash of waves along a shoreline.

Relax, coglione. Maybe I’m just in Long Island… It’s much more plausible than—another breeze whizzes by and branches swoosh against the outside of my enclosure.

That sounds suspiciously like palm trees.

I sniff the air and a briny sea breeze fills my nostrils. Fuck. I’m in Puerto Rico. There’s no doubt in my mind. Either Esmeralda or Blanca or one of their La Sombra henchman knocked me out and brought me here.

I must have been drugged.

That would explain the taste in my mouth and the jackhammer taking permanent residence in my skull. I’m going to kill whoever is behind this, even if it is a woman. I squirm in my seat, trying to wriggle free of the restraints. Fuck being a gentleman, this is a total outrage.

“Esmeralda, show your face! Or is it you, Blanca? If that’s even your real name. Come face me, cazzo!” I shout some more, even though my throat feels like sandpaper, until I notice the light creeping into my prison is growing brighter.

Worn wooden planks surround me and a thatched roof sits overhead. I’m in a hut… Some sort of tiki bar along the beach? Where’s the damned whiskey?

With the sunlight seeping in through the cracks in the wood, my guess is it must be nearing dawn. Did my captor leave me alone out here or is there a guard stationed just outside the rickety door ignoring my shouts?

I guess we’re about to find out.

Propelling my bound feet forward, I manage to scoot forward a few inches. Then again and again. Painstakingly slowly I manage to creep up to the door. At least my feet are only tied to each other and not the chair. Rookie mistake.

Drawing my knees into my chest, I kick the old door, pushing all my rage into the quick thrust. The hinges squeal and one of the boards cracks. Warm, golden light streams into the small hut, and I squint from the sudden influx. Two more good kicks and the door crumbles.

Take that, mother fucker.

I scoot the chair outside, the brilliant sun beaming down on me. Crystalline, turquoise water surrounds me, that rush of waves louder now. Swiveling my head from side to side, that pool of dread blossoms.

No. No. No.

An island? A tiny stretch of land, no bigger than my penthouse, encircles me.

That puttana left me on a mother fucking deserted island?

A growl squeezes through my clenched teeth as I shout a few curses up into the clear blue. How is this happening to me?

I’m being punished, right? I throw my head back and stare up into the sky. “I’m sorry, okay? Dio, I’m sorry for all the terrible things I’ve done in my past. If you want to punish me, fine, but please let Jia survive this. She’s been through enough, and she doesn’t deserve to be tortured.”

Jia…

The idea of never seeing her again, of never touching her… My heart quickens and my ribs contract, squeezing the air from my lungs. No. I have to survive this for her. I refuse to be the next in the long list of men who have disappointed her.

Squinting, I can barely make out land beyond the brilliant blue. Okay, so I’m stuck on an island, but there’s land somewhat nearby. I can do this… I search the sandy beach, scanning the white powder for a shell, a rock, anything I can use to get these damned ropes off. Sweat pours off my brow, my shirt already damp from the exertion of fighting my way out of that damned hut.

A sparkle, buried in the sand, catches my eye. I slowly scoot toward it, moving through the dense surface much harder than from my original prison. When I finally reach the spot, a whisper of hope kindles in my core. Sea glass.

The edges have been dulled by the crashing waves, but maybe, just maybe, it’ll be enough to cut my way free. If only I can grab it somehow. Positioning myself right in front of it, I attempt to kick it up with the tip of my shoe. I only succeed in burying the glass farther beneath the sand.

After multiple failed attempts, I want to scream.

“Okay, think, damn it, Marco.” My toes. They’ll have better traction.

---