Chapter 66

CHAPTER 66

Skye

M y heart beats like a jackhammer. Sheldon's gun stays on Jim as he stumbles to his feet. His hands trembling, he unbuckles his belt, sliding it through the loops of his slacks as he staggers toward us, his lips pulled tight in a thin grim line. Sheldon's gun doesn't move an inch as my ex-boss kneels down and coils the belt around my ankles, sparing no mercy for my injured foot. A garbled groan fills my throat as another voice drifts into the room.

"Sheesh. What shipwreck have I just walked into?"

Kayla! Teetering in her stilettos as she heads our way. Hope fills me. Could she be my saving grace?

"Where have you been?" asks Sheldon through gritted teeth.

"Chill, darling," she slurs, taking in the scene while I observe her. Her eyes are glazed and a fine layer of white powder coats her glossed lips. My heart sinks to my stomach. In my career as a news reporter, I've seen this too many times before. She's totally coked out.

"What is this? Some kind of kinky bondage thing?" Her glassy eyes travel from my bound feet to my bound hands. My eyes silently beg for help, but in her drugged-out state, she is completely oblivious.

Sheldon grins. "Yeah. Do you want to play with us?"

Kayla rakes a hand through her hair. "Checkers would be more exiting. I'm out of here. I need my beauty rest." Pausing, she glowers at me, then laughs a haughty laugh. "Just throw the slut overboard when you're done with her."

And with that, she spins around, disappearing out of sight. The sharp staccato of her stilettos fading. Any hope for salvation has just evaporated. Unless Jim comes through.

"Let's just get it over with," he mutters to my utter dismay.

"Take her feet," orders Sheldon as he grabs my wrists.

Jim does as he's asked, circling his long fingers around my ankles, and together they lift me. Thrashing like a helpless fish out of water, I try to wriggle myself free. But the excruciating pain in my ankle and their combined strength force me to succumb. I'm at their mercy—a limp puppet. A marionette tethered by the strings of their fingers. With the end in sight, tears sting my eyes. I long to vanquish fear. My real enemy. I remember my valiant mother telling me: The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. And Sister Marie saying that God hears our prayers.

Bravely, silently, I pray for someone to help me. To save me from this fate. For my precious daughter's sake. For my beloved husband's sake. For all our sake.

Sheldon's labored breaths cut into my prayers. We're now at the entrance to the stateroom. He jabs a button on the nearby intercom with his elbow.

A deep male voice instantly responds. Half statement, half question. "Yes, sir."

I recognize the voice. The yacht's captain.

"What can I do for you?"

"Take Marilyn out to sea."

A brief pause. Then... "But sir, visibility is almost nil. And a major storm is about to hit. The waves are already at fifty feet and the wind is about forty miles per hour. It's not safe."

Sheldon's voice hardens. "I don't pay you to challenge me. Just do as I say if you want to keep your job."

I hear: "Aye, aye, sir." In a few rapid heartbeats, the boat stirs. Fifteen terrifying minutes later, I'm outside. Standing on the deck. Still bound. The rain pounding, pricking my skin like needles. The gusting wind, whipping my hair across my face. The boat rocking violently as it battles the ruthless storm.

With Jim out of sight, Sheldon yanks out my gag.

"Where are we going?" I choke out, not sure if I want to know the answer.

The monster aims the gun at me and snickers. "It's not where we're going. It's where you're going."