Page 28 of Ship Happens
I band my arm around her waist, then lift her into the air and slam her onto the bed. The wind evacuates her lungs, and I regret the force I used, but she did this. This is her fault.
Taking her right arm, I drag her body toward the head of the bed and then loop the remaining cuff through the decorative gapin the headboard. Before she can regain her composure, I yank her arm once more and slap the cuff over her right wrist.
Now she can’t get away.
Neither can I, but where there are cuffs, there are keys. Once she finally sees sense, I’ll set both of us free.
I lie back on the bed and catch my breath as Frankie does the same, though I toss Frankie’s light blanket over my crotch to hide the arousal that isn’t directed at her. It’s merely a product of the pain and the struggle. The risk. But she doesn’t know this, and if she fears I’ll lose myself and take advantage of her, there’s no chance in hell she’ll ever trust me.
It’s not that I want her to trust me for my own selfish reasons alone. Fuck, I’m trying to protect her too! Jim wants her kept alive, and I want to keep her alive. She’s just making this more complicated than it has to be.
Frankie grabs a pillow, shoves it over her face, and screams.
“Are you ready to listen to me now?” I ask.
She raises the pillow. “You’re so fucking stupid,” she wheezes. She lowers the fluffy fabric over her face and screams again. If she says words, I can’t make them out.
“You clearly aren’t ready totalk,” I mumble.
Frankie throws the pillow against the wall and blows the hair out of her face. “Where is the key, Maverick?”
“Uh, in your bag, I guess?”
“And where is my bag right now?”
I peer over the side of the bed. “On my side. Near the footboard.”
“And how will we reach it?”
I look at the handcuffs. I analyze the short chain connecting our wrists. My brain calculates the length of my arms versus the length of the bed. All of these things happen in the split second it takes my plan to come crashing down around me.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“No, you don’t know. And neither do I.” She sits up and tries to cram her hand through the headboard gap, but it’s no use. Her hand won’t fit unless she can dislocate some bones. “Well, I can scratch ‘live through a Stephen King plot’ from my fucking bingo card.”
“You read?”
She scoffs. “Yes, I fucking read. Well, I listen to the audiobooks, but it’s the same thing.”
“Listening to an audiobook is definitely still reading. A few months back, I was in a heated Facebook debate about the veracity of audiobooks versus consuming books the traditional way.”
“Veracity? Consuming books the traditional way?” Her head slowly turns toward me, and her brows push together. “Facebook? Isn’t that more for people my age?”
I shift uncomfortably. “I’m an old soul. Fucking sue me.”
“On the contrary. I find it refreshing to meet a twenty-something who isn’t talking about crypto or Taylor Swift’s newest album.”
I won’t mention that Eve and I attended the Eras Tour. We all have our guilty pleasures.
“Don’t get your hopes up, though,” she adds. “Even if we find common ground, I have a mission to complete. The only way to stop me from disclosing everything I discover is to kill me.”
“That’s not what we want.”
“We? Who’s in on this? And what exactlydoyou want from me?”
“Jim and I know who you are.” My cuffed wrist begins to ache, so I sit up to take the pressure off. “No one else does.”
“You didn’t answer the third question.”
