Page 1 of Emi's Hero

CHAPTER 1

“Why aren’tyou wearing the swimsuit I told you to wear?” Fallon Vance stalked out onto the deck of the yacht, his dark eyebrows dipped low on his forehead. “I wanted to see you in the red one, not this...” his nostrils flared, and his lips curled back in a sneer, “boring black, one-piece abomination. I don’t keep you for boring.”

Emi Sands lifted her chin. He shouldn’t keep her at all. “The strap broke,” she said, hiding the truth behind a poker face she’d perfected over the years. She’d deliberately ripped the strap off the bra of the suit. She wanted to tell him that she hated it, that the suit displayed more than it covered. She didn’t like wearing it, especially around her young daughter.

But she couldn’t say anything that might direct attention to her daughter. Her sweet Sara was the only thing keeping her there. The only reason she hadn’t tried to escape.

Escape.

She’d dreamed of escape for the first four years he’d held her captive. She’d tried on a number of occasions, only to be heavily sedated and kept on mind-numbing drugs until she’d gotten pregnant with Sara.

Since then, he’d used the baby growing inside her, and then the child she’d given birth to, as leverage to keep her compliant.

He hadn’t needed the drugs anymore. Sure, she might eventually find a way to leave the bastard, but leaving with a small child...

Impossible.

And she wouldn’t leave without Sara.

She remained stuck with a horrible, abusive monster who kept her like a dog on a chain, threatening her every time she dared to suggest he let her and Sara leave.

He kept her locked away on his compound with its high walls topped with concertina wire. His employees were either foreigners who barely spoke English and were probably part of the human trafficking chain, or highly paid mercenaries who would do anything he asked of them—including kill.

Fallon had insisted on her accompanying him on his yacht for a few days away from the compound, fishing and boating around the islands. Thankfully, he’d agreed to let Sara remain behind with Maria, one of the cleaning staff from Guatemala. Though she barely spoke English, she was Emi’s only friend in the compound.

Emi didn’t want to go anywhere with Fallon, especially not on his yacht. Most often, he liked to take the helm and drive like a maniac, much faster than prudent.

The poor captain would stand back with his fists clenched around a rail, holding tightly and praying his boss didn’t flip the boat and send them all to the bottom of the ocean.

Emi almost wished Fallon would flip the boat and put them all out of their misery. But then, what would happen to little Sara? Perhaps someone would find her and place her in foster care. Maybe there, she’d be happier and learn not to be afraid of all men.

“Fix the suit and put it on,” Fallon spat. He didn’t release his hold on the swimsuit.

“I don’t have a needle and thread,” Emi pointed out.

“Then tie the damned thing,” Fallon shouted and turned the wheel sharply, causing the ship to lean sharply on the port side.

Emi staggered across the deck and slammed into the shiny metal railing. Pain shot through her hip.

“Go, bitch,” Fallon called out. “You have exactly two minutes to get it right.”

The “or else” didn’t need to be stated.

Emi knew it was implied. If she didn’t show up on the deck in two minutes, he’d beat her like he’d done so many times over the past eight years.

She hurried down the steps into the stateroom below, grabbed the top of the red suit with the torn strap and tied it together with shaking fingers. As soon as it held together, she stripped out of the one-piece and fit the bra over her breasts.

One minute had passed.

Emi jammed her legs into the thong bikini and pulled it up over her thighs. Without checking her reflection, she raced back up the steps onto the deck, approaching the helm at two and a half minutes, hoping Fallon hadn’t noticed she’d taken longer than he’d given.

Fallon stood tall behind the helm, staring out at the ocean in front of him. With smooth deliberation, he raised his hand and glanced down at the Rolex watch on his wrist. “Two minutes and forty-six seconds,” he said, his tone cold and biting. “How long did I give you?”

Emi swallowed hard on the fear closing her throat and answered, “Two minutes.”

“Captain!” Fallon called out and released his hold on the wheel.

The yacht’s captain stepped forward and took the helm, averting his gaze from Emi. None of Fallon’s staff members questioned the boss. To do so could cost their jobs.

---