Page 42 of Ship Outta Luck

“It will be more comfortable inside the cabin. There’s no need to be polite.”

“I’m not beingpolite. I’m telling you no.” She crosses her arms over her chest.

“If you sleep down there, I’ll be the first line of defense.”

“If they get close enough to the boat to where you have to protect me, you’ll be the last line of defense, not the first. Besides, I can protect myself. I don’t need protection.”

“Uh, yeah, you do.” I roll my eyes, exasperation and exhaustion making my tone sharp.

She takes four steps, and hinges squeak as she lifts up one of the boat’s banquette seats. The sound of plastic wrinkling is barely audible over the noise of the waves, followed by the unmistakable click of a magazine being loaded in a gun.

“Not this again.” I can’t help but laugh at her sheer audacity. “Listen, I’ve already been shot once today. That’s my quota.”

“I’m not sleeping down there,” she says, taking a step toward me.

“You don’t have to point a gun at me to get me to agree.”

“Sure seems like it.”

“Fine. You can sleep up here. With me,” my lips say, with no regard for my brain or self-preservation.

“I’m not sleeping with you! You… you donkey.” She gapes at me, but lowers the gun.

I bite my cheeks to keep from laughing. “That’s not what I meant.”

Though my heart races inside my chest at the sudden image of us together, her hair tickling my neck, my mouth trailing kisses across her jawline.

“We both sleep on deck. You can keep your gun. On one condition.” And there go my lips, saying whatever the fuck they want again.

“What?” She tilts her head, the dim moonlight caressing her features.

“You tell me why you won’t sleep down there.”

A choked noise erupts from her mouth.

Shit. I made her cry after all.

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

JUNE

“I’m claustrophobic.”

I never explain why, and I’m not about to start now. It’s been years, but I still sleep with the blinds open and the window cracked.

I still can’t stand to shower.

Or walk too far into the closet. I took the door off the hinges as soon as I moved in.

My breathing shallows, chest rising and falling too fast. Silence stretches, heavy with the need to explain. The memories surface, bubbling up, waiting to explode off my tongue.

The heat of the closet. The shadow of the fan making the light flicker until I thought I’d go crazy. The ropes digging into my wrists.

The burns lasting for weeks, though the fear’s lasted much longer.

The worst part was not knowing. Wondering if this would be the day they finally killed me. If I would ever be rescued. If anyone even cared I was gone.

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