Page 29 of Fire Island
I rise, unsteady on my feet, and make my way to the cabin. Timothy goes to the cupboard beside the one I need and opens it. A small built-in fridge fills the space. Bottles of water and beer are stocked there. He plucks out a bottle and tosses it at me. It grazes my fingertips and falls to the floor. Dropping to the ground, I take my time assessing the detachable face of the EPIRB.
Two push buttons, one on either side, are what release it.
Good to know.
Now all I have to do is wait until they fall asleep... And hope like hell they don’t take shifts staying watch overnight. I plead with the heavens that we aren’t out of Emmett’s jurisdiction when I make my move.
Big guy is on watch.
Fuck my luck six ways to Sunday.
On the other hand, maybe my powers of seduction will work a little better on him?
Who am I kidding, the thought is as ridiculous as it sounds.
Still, I sit up on the small bunk at the rear of the boat and clear my throat. Looking around as I pad toward the cabin, I see we are literally in the middle of nowhere in the ocean.
“Bad dream, sweetheart?” he drawls in a bitter tone, raking his gaze over my body.
You have no idea.
“A little,” I whisper, looking up from under my lashes.
A crooked smirk blooms over his face. The dark hair, nothing like Timothy’s, is mussed like he’s been running his hands through it. He holds a bottle.
Beer.
Maybe my luck isn’t so bad, after all.
“May I have one?” I ask, using my most innocent tone.
He raises the bottle to his lips and chugs the last few frothy mouthfuls down. “No.”
I repress the shudder that starts at the base of my spine.
“They’re in here?” I ask, pointing at the fridge.
“I said no,” he says, his gaze dragging over my body again, this time landing on my chest.
Fear sparks deep in my core, lighting every inch of my nerves.
I need him distracted. “Do you have anything to eat?”
He studies me for a beat before rolling off the seat and heading for a backpack hanging on the wall of the cabin. I duck down, thumbing the two buttons on the EPIRB. It slides off easily, and I tuck it down the back of my pants. Dislodging the knife...
Cool metal wedges its way down my right jean leg.
Fuck.
He turns back. “Chips or crac?—”
I stand up, straight, holding my breath. My stance suspicious.
“What are you up to, girlie?” He raises an eyebrow.
“I—ah, really need to go to the bathroom.”
He runs his narrowed glare over my face.
