Page 1 of Walk on the Wilde Side
one
Nev
"When's lover boy coming? I don't have all day, which means you don't have much longer."
The man's breath forces me to turn my head. His deep-set eyes, craggy forehead lines and long, hooked nose remind me of a Halloween witch, only he's wearing a black trucker's cap instead of a pointy hat.
The boat rises and falls with the rough swell. A tiny porthole is my only connection to the outside world, and from my vantage point, sitting atop a hard wooden chair with wobbly legs, the outside world is just miles of choppy blue ocean.
I wait for his foul breath to clear the air before opening my mouth to speak. "I told you, you've got this all wrong. He's not my lover boy, and he's not coming. He couldn't care less about me." Saying the words out loud, words I've repeated mentally many times, should feel like a hard slap, instead they're a cold shower. They wake me up to a bitter reality. He was never my lover, not in the true sense of the word. The true sense being that there was actual love involved. It was all a shallow, meaningless act on both our parts. I've never been foolish, but I'm a clown when it comes to love and relationships. I suppose I just wanted it to be something so badly, I talked myself into thinking it was real. Now reality has come back to bite me hard on the ass. The whole thing was a terrible, and quite possibly fatal, mistake. If I live, I'm never going to hear the end of it from Zander. He tried to warn me.
"You'd better hope Hoffman shows, Dolly, cuz otherwise you and that chair are going in the drink. And I don't mean a bottle of champagne." He laughs. I lean back out of the stench. His tobacco-stained teeth peer out from thin lips.
"Just take me back to shore and let me go, and we'll pretend this didn't happen. I promise." I force a smile, and the gesture restarts the trickle of blood, reminding me, painfully, that during my ordeal, my cheek collided with something unforgiving and sharp.
I look pleadingly at the two other members of his crew or team or whatever a band of criminals likes to call themselves. One of them has been fidgety and uncomfortable the entire time. It seems he isn't keen on being part of a kidnapping plot. Plump and pillowy, with skin that looks baby soft as if he performs some major skin care routine each night, he looks entirely out of his element. The other guy is more like their leader with stained teeth and leathery skin. Maybe Baby Soft can give them some pointers.
"You two and the others need to start a mutiny," I say, confidently. I've got nothing to lose anymore. "Dump this creep overboard, turn this boat around and take me back to shore. I'll walk away, and we'll never speak of this again."
"Shut your mouth, Dolly, or I'll put a cut in your other cheek." Chug sneers and curls his fist to add weight to his threat.
My sister, Kinsley, always gets mad at me for not losing my cool, even when I'm stressed. Right now, that ability to keep calm has helped, but I'm starting to fray at the edges. It seems this jerk, Chug, as the crew call him, is serious about dumping me overboard. I move my hands discreetly back and forth. The rope around my wrists and the chair is tight, but my hands are small. I can feel some progress, but I'm not entirely sure how having my hands free will help. I already put up a good fight when they snatched me from the driveway and shoved me into their van, but I'm no match for seven of them, and one of them is built like the Hulk, no exaggeration.
A buzzing sound in the distance pulls Chug's attention to the single porthole. An unexpected swell sends him sideways, and he grabs the edge of the porthole to steady himself. As the sea gets rougher, Baby Soft's pink complexion takes on an olive tone. It seems my mutiny suggestion didn't catch fire.
Chug has a sort of lopsided posture, one shoulder higher than the other. It goes nicely with the rest of the Halloween witch thing he has going on. He's pressing his face so close to the glass on the porthole his nose is pushed to the side. "Who the fuck is this?" He snorts and looks back at me. "Looks like he's gonna show after all."
I sit up straighter. "There's no way," I say, more to myself.
Chug straightens from the porthole. "He must have sent a partner cuz that's not Hoff." Chug tenses enough to make his beady eyes bulge. "Looks like he sent a bodyguard or something. He's big. Go wake Gargon. He fell asleep up on deck," he says to Baby Soft. Baby Soft looks reluctant to follow the order, but he's not rethinking his involvement in this crime. He's just afraid of Gargon. The name of the giant brute fits so perfectly I wonder if it's a nickname or the real thing. It's amazing the silly things you contemplate when you're about to be tossed into the ocean and fed to the sharks. Are there sharks out here this season? Seems like something I should know but, then again, I am tied up and facing death. I give myself a break for not knowing. It's definitely something I'll revisit when I'm trying to swim in a rough sea while tied to a chair.
The faraway buzz grows into the rumble of a motor. Whoever is on their way to the boat, the element of surprise is over. The watercraft is far too loud. I'm convinced it's just some yahoo out for a ride on the waves, and he has nothing to do with my predicament.
I move my hands more. The ropes are rubbing through skin, and my wrists are wet with blood.
Baby Soft leaves. I think his name is something mundane like Harry or John, but I prefer Baby Soft. The other guy, Taze, or something like that, moves across the small cabin. It's cluttered with greasy paper plates, empty beer cans and porn magazines. It smells like a mixture of dill pickles and stinky shoes, and the walls have more mold than wood siding. Taze reaches the window. He's starting to look green, too. It seems they weren't expecting a rough sea, and none of them have sea legs. I'm starting to feel queasy, too, but I'm ignoring it. I have much bigger problems to worry about than throwing up, although the thought of puking with my hands tied behind the chair sounds painful and awkward. My shoulders are already sore from trying to get free of my bindings.
"Looks like he was too chicken to come himself," Taze says. "What a worm. As long as we get the money. Are we really gonna let 'em both go?"
Chug scowls at Taze. "Just shut the fuck up, Taze." His lip turns up angrily at Taze's lack of discretion. Apparently, ransom paid or not, I'm going in the water. Panic causes me to move my hands faster.
Chug notices. His shaggy brows bunch up like angry insects. "What are you up to back there, Dolly?" He stomps toward me. I quickly try to push my hands back down so he doesn't see my progress, but, like Winnie the Pooh in Rabbit's hole, I'm stuck.
"Chug, he's coming aboard." Baby Soft enters the cabin, breathless and with even less color in his face. This time he turns to puke into the cluttered galley sink.
"Fuck, John, couldn't you have tossed that shit overboard," Taze whines. The whole gross scene pulls Chug's focus from my rudimentary escape plan.
"Never mind that. Where the hell is Gargon?" Nervous spittle sprays from Chug's mouth.
Baby Soft wrings his hands nervously. "I tried to wake him, but Nero says Gargon washed some pills down with four beers. He's out cold."
"Fucking great. Bunch of goddamn losers I've saddled myself with. Who the fuck showed up? Did you get a look at him?"
My ears are perked. I'm curious to know the answer. I know it's not Dane. Besides, Chug has made that clear.
"You're not going to believe this, but I think—I think it's?—"
The door to the galley is kicked open. Big wet boots appear. Chug backs up a step. "What the fuck?"
