Nadine

I sit on a large rock on the beach with my back to the wreck for minutes. Maybe hours. My stomach churns with hunger, my head aches from lack of water and food. But it hurts to move. I’m still surrounded by their bodies, too weak and helpless to do anything about that. The smell of death hangs in the air. I wonder if I’ll follow them.

I have no idea where I am, no idea how to reach anyone who could rescue me, and for all I know, the man whose ass I just arrested is somewhere hiding. A man I know is capable of brutal, devastating murder and wicked, unspeakable torture if it suits him.

There is no safe place.

But as I sit, something that should have dawned on me much earlier becomes crystal clear.

The large rock I’m sitting on has been getting smaller by the minute, and as I wallowed in misery and indecision, the tide has been coming in. The change to the beach is dramatic. Panic wells inside me and I get to my feet, suddenly not caring if he does see me. What’s he going to do? Kill me? At this stage, that would almost be welcome.

When the tide rises further, I’ll be submerged with literally nowhere to go but the cold, deadly depths. I need to get back to the shore. I could swim, but my leg is hurt and I have no idea what lurks in the depths.

A low, familiar chuckle makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. He’s behind me. Oh, God. He’s behind me. I turn and look over my shoulder to see Adrian, remarkably unscathed, standing by the trees. His arms are crossed on his bare chest, but it’s so dark I can barely make out his expression.

“Quite a predicament you got yourself into there,” he says.

Asshole.

“So you survived.”

“Clearly.”

I don’t say anything else at first. I’m not sure what to say. I just arrested this man, hurt him, and allowed my hatred for him to shine through in every interaction we’ve had with one another. And now we’re alone, on a deserted island, like some type of sick survivor show.

He nods his head and looks around me. “Were you planning on sleeping out there?” He asks, the mockery undisguised in his voice. I realize now it was a stupid thing to do, but I wasn’t exactly playing with a full deck either. The trauma is affecting my brain.

His voice cuts through the thick, humid air like a whip. “I asked you a question.”

He’s no longer amused.

“Maybe,” I spit out. “So why don’t you just shut up.”

He shakes his head, as the sun dips even lower in the horizon. “Better yet, why don’t I leave you?”

He turns to go, but I feel like a kid whose mother just bluffed about leaving them in the damn store after they had a fit.

“No!” I shout. “No, please don’t go!”

He turns slowly and eyes me. I’m glad I can’t see his eyes in the shadows. His eyes scare me.

“If I rescue you, you’ll pay for it,” he says.

Cold fear clutches at my chest. “Pay for it?”

This man is sick. Twisted.

He releases a low, mirthless chuckle. “You think I’m going to rescue the woman who captured me? Humiliated me? Hit me? With no recourse?” He tips his head to the side and his voice hardens to granite. “I’m no fucking altruist.”

“Fine, then!” I grit out. The water’s risen so high now it laps at my feet, and panic sweeps across my chest.

I’ll pay. I’ll do whatever the fuck he wants right now.

He gives one quick nod, then reaches for something behind him. I can’t see anything in the darkness, but I’m beginning to lose my mind with the fear of drowning. It’s something… yellow? I squint my eyes and look. He has some sort of inflatable raft with him. It must be the rescue one aboard our flight that he managed to salvage.

What else has he gotten?

And how the hell is he going to make me pay for this? I push the thought out of my mind. I don’t need to focus on that yet.

I watch as he puts the raft in the water, pulls out a sturdy plastic paddle, and comes toward me. When he reaches me, he stops and looks up at me. “Get in.”

I shake as I step toward the tiny raft. He takes up two thirds of it. If I get in, I'll be flush up against his body. Nowhere to go.

The water hits mid-calf. I'm frozen.

“Get in the fucking raft or I'm leaving.”

“And have another death on your hands?” I snap. 

His black eyes narrow. “You're right. I wouldn't leave you. If you don't get in, I'll drag you in by your fucking hair, and once we get to shore I'll whip your ass. Your call.”

He will. He fucking will.

“Three seconds,” he says. “One.”

He’s given me no choice, but I'm no wallflower. I'll go with him but he's not gonna be the one in charge.

“Two.” I'm the girl who leapt ten feet to catch him.

He lifts the paddles. “Three.”

I fall into the tiny rescue raft. My knees hit his back and I circle my arms around his waist. My pulse is hammering, my breath ragged and uneven.

“Hold on,” he orders. I am holding on. I don't understand his command until he starts pushing the paddles, water splashing hard. It isn't until we're five feet from the shore I see ripples in the water behind us, visible only under the light of the moon. Sharks?

The front of the raft scrapes along the sand. He throws the paddles on shore. “Go!”

I scramble out of the boat, ignoring the radiating pain in my leg. He follows behind me, dragging the boat. A smack hits my back, and the next thing I know I'm sprawling on the sand facedown. He fucking pushed me. 

Before I can recover he's pushing my head down, sand scraping my left cheek. His hand holds my head in place, the calloused palm scratching along my cheek. I try to scream but sand fills my mouth.

His mouth comes to my ear. “How does it feel?” he asks. “You like being the one under me? Get used to it.” 

The familiar sound of metal on metal makes me freeze.

Shit.

He twists my arms so the tops of my hands are together just above my ass. With a cooperative prisoner we allow palms together. It's the uncooperative assholes who get cuffed like this, in a way that makes pain spike along my shoulders and neck. The cuffs click into place. 

“My, how the tables have turned,” he says with a mirthless chuckle. “On your feet.”

He yanks me to my feet by the cuffs, sand cascading down my body. I stifle a scream. I won't give him the satisfaction.

I swallow sand, gagging from the gritty taste between my teeth. 

“Don't like that taste, sweetheart? I'll give you something better to taste when you pay me back.”

The pictures of the dead woman come to mind once more. The marks from the rope. Welts. Bruises. 

He'll rape me. Whip me.

I wish I'd died along with the rest of them.