Page 103 of Subbing For Santa

For all I know, Griffin could have orchestrated this whole bloody thing. He probably asked them to make themselves scarce so he can fuck me in here. I grin, yet I still feel nervous about the darkness and lack of people around.

“Griffin. This isn’t funny.” I call, only to be met with silence.

Another thud snaps my head to the left. It wasn’t as loud as the one before, and it sounded like it came from below deck.

An uneasy feeling settles over me, and my palms begin to sweat.

Slowly, I creep out of the kitchen cabin and down the passage to the stairs that go below deck. It’s so dark down there, but my phone is down there, and if I can find it, I can use the torch light on it.

Deciding that’s the best option right now, I blindly step down until my foot meets the step and then repeat the process again and again as I enter the lower level. It really is dark down here, more so than on the level above. I’m not familiar enough with this boat to know my way around in the dark, which is so thick that I won’t know if I’m about to run into something until I hit it.

Fuck this.

I’m about to turn back and head up the stairs when I hear another noise.

“Griffin?” I whisper-yell, hoping if he’s pulling a prank on me, he knows he’s likely to lose his balls over this.

Silence.

It’s then that I realise the music isn’t playing up on the top deck either, and there are absolutely no sounds of the laughter I left behind.

Something’s not right.

My legs start to shake as the rush of my blood starts to overtake my hearing. I need to go back to the top deck and see what’s going on. There must be a power outage across the entire boat, so this game with Griffin will have to wait until after that’s sorted out.

The moment I turn, a crackling sound fills the space before a voice comes through the intercom speakers.

“Agatha Fiera. Where are you?”

What the hell? Whose voice is that?

“You are needed on the top deck. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

My heart pounds in my chest as I try to calm it enough to think straight.

“If you want to see your boyfriend alive, you will get your pretty little arse back to the top deck, now!”

I stop breathing.

The reason I don’t recognise the voice is because it’s not Griffin’s or one of his family. It’s someone else. I doubt one of the staff would speak that way, so it can’t be one of them either.

It was only a few days ago that someone was targeting Marx establishments and sent Griffin a picture of me that I didn’t know had been taken. Griffin killed that man. I saw it with my own eyes, but Griffin had said he had a feeling that guy wasn’t working alone. This has to be the other guy.

Panic washes over me as I try to figure out what to do.

“You have one minute. If you’re not here by then, I’ll start spraying the deck with Marx brains. I think I’ll start with the baby of the family. Ethan.”

A sob leaps out of my throat as I slap my hand over my mouth. Hot tears pool in my eyes, and I try to blink them away, not wanting them to distort my vision.

“Fifty seconds!”

I turn and stumble back up the stairs, passing Ewan’s office before I skid to a stop and push the door open. I need a gun. There has to be a gun in here. What Mafia boss wouldn’t have a fucking gun in his desk, right?

I scurry inside, moving around the desk to tug the drawers open.

“Forty seconds.” The voice chuckles, and a whimper escapes me as I tug another draw open.

Yes. A gun safe.

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