Didn't I Warn You

by Amber Bardan

  “Send Emilio up here.” I never wanted it to go like this. “Tell him to bring his equipment.”

  SEVENTEEN

  “WAKE UP, ANGEL.” The whispered command filtered into my dreams, and oh god—what a dream. I opened my eyes. The sun was orange behind him, and everything about him was warm and gold and beautiful.

  I touched his cheek.

  His bristles spiked my fingertips and all I wanted in the world was to have that face against my chest. Was to have that mouth on my mouth. I took him by the hair and tugged him closer.

  “Wake up,” he said.

  Movement crossed the fading sun behind us, and drenched us in shadow. I sat up, the fuzz clearing from my imagination.

  One of the guards—one I remembered in a nightmarish flash of needle-stabbing-terror—stood behind him. An itch pricked the hair at my temples and the base of my skull.

  Why’s he here?

  I scooted back. “What’s wrong?”

  “Come with me.” He took my forearm.

  I jerked my arm free and glanced between them. “Why?”

  “We need to talk inside.” He took my arm again, and all the remnants of longing I’d had for his touch retracted back into my body like a snail’s antennae.

  He pulled me up and my body moved of its own accord. Our three sets of footsteps pounded over the deck and I heard each set distinctly.

  My heart kept step, pounding in perfect military synchronization.

  Why were we going inside? He’d touched me intimately out on deck. He’d said no one would see us on deck. Why’d we need to go inside now?

  What’s more private than my vagina?

  The guard followed us through the doors and all the way to where Haithem released me. I stumbled against the bed, then caught myself and faced him.

  “Who do you work for?”

  The guard stood behind him. Not speaking. Not part of this conversation. A suitcase dangled from his left hand.

  Why did Haithem need backup?

  “Why is he here?”

  “This is Emilio.” Haithem didn’t look back or gesture to the other man. He just stared at me. Stared at me in a way that had the back of my knees bumping into the mattress.

  “I’d like Emilio to leave.” He stepped in, and then the bed was a push against the back of my knees. There was nowhere to go. Not an inch of room with which to breathe or to flee.

  “You want Emilio to leave.”

  I glanced over his shoulder at the guard. “Right then, sounds like you can go now.”

  “He doesn’t speak English. I told you that.”

  Only Haithem could instruct Emilio to leave. He wanted me to know that. Why’d I need to know that? My hand flew out and gripped Haithem’s arm. As if he were a safe thing to hold on to.

  I squeezed the cotton under his elbow. “What are you doing?”

  He glanced down at my grip. “I need to know who you work for.”

  I held on to his shirt so hard the fabric burned my fingers. Was this about the article? Had they found out I’d interviewed for Poise? Blood rushed through my body, even to the white of my fingertips squeezed tight. What would happen if I told?

  My gaze darted to Emilio. He watched me but even though I stared him in the face our gazes never met.

  No freaking way was I telling. They couldn’t prove anything. Exactly zero good would come from this truth. I sensed that in the same way you sense lightning’s arrival—that electric current in the air warning you to get your ass under cover.

  I looked back at Haithem. His eyes were already trained on me. It took every bead of my concentration to meet them. “I don’t work for anyone.”

  “You’re hurting me. I’m letting you know that.” His features tightened. He’d caught my lie before I’d told it. “But it’s not going to make any difference that it hurts me to do this.”

  My heart shuddered against my ribs.

  His head jerked toward the guard. Emilio set the suitcase on the bed. I didn’t wait to find out what was inside it—I threw myself into Haithem’s chest and shoved past him.

  He seized me midlunge. One arm crossed my collarbone and hauled me against his chest.

  “No,” I shouted, straining the lower half of my body from side to side. “What’s he doing?”

  “Angelina, if there’s anything on this boat that can be tracked, I need to know now.”

  It was weird he said my name like that, and often. Like he knew me. Like he knew me intimately. Like he knew me in the way of a man who’d licked me from clit to asshole and he still did this.

  “No. I don’t know.” I struggled harder.

  He held me tighter, his forearm my prison. “If you tell me now I’ll forgive you.”

  I heard him as though through a wall of water, muddy and distorted. A sound like a piston—jerking breaths—shrieked through my eardrums.

  “I swear to god, I don’t know.”

  The suitcase popped open, and I felt the reverberation in the marrow of my bones.

  “Is there anything on or in your person that can be tracked?”

  “No, there’s not. I swear there’s not.”

  He held me tighter yet also softer, his other arm draping over my middle in a kind of absurd cuddle. “Sorry, Angel, I’m afraid I don’t believe you.”

  Emilio pulled the device out of the suitcase. A plastic paddle with a light and a switch. My head swam. The entire room moved in a wave. They were going to electrocute me.

  “Lift up your arms.”

  I couldn’t do it. There wasn’t the capacity in my limbs to keep me upright. Emilio approached and raised the paddle. Haithem caught my wrists and raised my arms up. My eyes clenched tight.

  No!

  The thing never touched me. A robot-alien noise filled the room. I opened my eyes. Emilio ran the scanner over my body, down my arms, across my armpits.

  The torture I’d imagined turned out to be in the form of humiliation.

  I floated in a place of suspended reality where everything seemed distant. They scanned the backs of knees, my feet, ass and between my shoulders. Haithem turned me around and lifted my hair. They scanned the back of my neck and my scalp.

  I buried my face in Haithem’s shoulder and even though they inspected every inch of me as they would an animal, as though I were a stray cat, or a pig, or a sheep, this seemed like the safest place to rest my head.

  I’d gone properly mental.

  They finished, and I stayed right where I was in Haithem’s arms. The intercom beeped. Emilio answered it, then spoke to Haithem in Spanish.

  “The yacht has been swept. There’s nothing here,” Haithem whispered. He stroked my back as though we were friends again. As though we could go back to our question games. He took me by the chin and lifted my face. “It’s time, Angel. You see there’s nothing you can keep from me.”

  Fuck you.

  “Say you understand.”

  I understood. He wasn’t someone to be trusted. Not for all the orgasms and pastries in the world.

  “I understand.”

  He leaned closer. “What do you understand?”

  My lungs stung, bruised from holding my breath, but I’d play his stupid games. Maybe I’d win one.

  “There’s nothing I can keep from you.” That move required no lie—all I concealed, everything fortified in my heart and mind, eventually he’d have it all.

  But not yet.

  Not without a fight.

  He kissed me—hard and consuming but without tongue or the majesty of his full passion. I held on to his biceps. He pulled back, leaving me midsway, then left the room with Emilio.

  My ass fell back onto the bed.

  I needed to find a way off this goddamn fucking yach
t.

  * * *

  I WOKE BUT didn’t rise. What I’d just gone through couldn’t really be called sleep. More like an aggressive fluctuation in and out of consciousness. The idea that I would actually get to go home in two weeks seemed like a unicorn dream.

  Unless I convinced Haithem we were friends.

  That I was on his side.

  That I would play by his rules. I’d do whatever it took to get home. To convince him I’d keep my mouth shut.

  I’d bargain with whatever I could. Except there was literally only one thing I had that he wanted.

  He wanted me.

  I rolled out of bed, went to the bathroom and took the quickest shower of my life, then slipped on a dress. I glanced at the clock as I put on shoes.

  Midday.

  He hadn’t brought me breakfast the way he always did. I went to the deck. The ocean lay flat and smooth, dark water wobbling like blueberry jelly. Pale clouds blotted out most of the sky, but the breeze warmed my skin.

  I took the stairs to the lower deck, missing the last one. My foot slammed into the ground, jolting my knee. I winced and waved my hand to one of the guards, who turned toward me. He nodded, and I walked past him to Haithem’s room.

  The door was open, the bed made.

  I glanced down the hallway. This deck was three times the size of the top deck, yet I’d seen none of it. I wandered down the hall.

  More cabins.

  Lots of closed doors.

  The hallway ended at a room of mammoth proportions and exquisite style.

  Parquetry. High-shine wood finishes. Emerald, gold and burgundy textiles. Rich leathery scents. Like a parlor from the Titanic or something.

  A man cave.

  And at the end of the cave, the man I sought lounged on a chesterfield sofa. I walked toward him. His fingers tapped the rounded arm of the sofa. Karim sat opposite him on another matching couch.

  Haithem’s voice wafted through the room.

  Not the regular voice he used to speak to me. His foreign one. His native tongue, the one he would’ve used to speak to his mother and father.

  The parents he’d lost—his parents who’d been killed.

  I reached the sitting area, pausing at the edge. Karim glanced at me, but Haithem continued speaking.

  The muscles in my forehead tightened. This could’ve been a movie set, it seemed so surreal. This was another world, with me standing on the outside.

  Even on his yacht, Haithem was dressed in suit pants, starched shirt, his feet pressed to the floor, his shoes polished to an inky gloss.

  Karim flicked another look my way.

  Haithem ran a hand over the side of his head. His hair didn’t move; he’d groomed it so it lay perfectly, shining black.

  I waited for the flash. The cameras, the film crew, the giant microphone.

  The subtitles.

  They didn’t come.

  Somehow, this was real life, and here I was, out of place and possibly out of time.

  Haithem finally turned to me. I smiled, shaking off the strange vibe.

  “Yes, Angelina?”

  I halted my smile midway. Yes, Angelina? What kind of a greeting was that? Hardly “I had chocolate croissants baked for you this morning.” Could he still seriously suspect me as some kind of spy? Hadn’t last night’s incident proved I’d done nothing wrong? He should be hard at work writing my freaking apology letter right now.

  Not that I’d be forgiving, but groveling would be nice to watch.

  “I missed breakfast.”

  Haithem turned back to Karim. “Perhaps you could show Angelina the way to the kitchen?”

  Karim nodded and rocked himself out of his seat.

  I stared at Haithem, and nothing on earth could’ve stopped my frown.

  Not that he saw it.

  “This way,” Karim said.

  I followed him into the hallway, looking back over my shoulder. Haithem hadn’t moved. Just continued to stare straight ahead at the empty sofa across from him.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  Karim’s gaze flicked to me. “Of course.”

  Of course.

  Or, more accurately, of course I can’t expect answers from Karim.

  We turned a corner and went down a set of internal stairs to a floor where the air-conditioning was turned up way too high. I rubbed my arms and followed Karim down a white hallway at odds with the luxury of the rest of the yacht.

  We came to large doors with portholes and entered an industrial-sized kitchen. A man in a pristine chef’s jacket wiped down a stainless-steel bench.

  “Bonjour...” Karim spoke to the chef in French.

  French.

  Freaking French. Just how many languages did these people speak? Ridiculous. I’d bet Karim was just as fluent in Spanish as Haithem was, and I’d bet even more that Haithem could out-French Karim. He wouldn’t have the chef on his yacht, otherwise. Wouldn’t have one soul he couldn’t trust...

  I shivered and glanced between Karim and the chef.

  I might not be able to pull languages out my backside, but I had a master’s degree in French as it applied to requesting pastries.

  “Bonjour, puis-je avoir un croissant, s’il vous plaît?”

  Karim’s gaze flicked to me. He said nothing, but adjusted his tie.

  I grinned.

  He needn’t know that therein lay the entirety of the grade-six French vocabulary I’d retained. The chef beamed, threw his hands up in the air and spoke one long string of meaningless words.

  I caught cheese in there somewhere and went with it. “Fromage, s’il vous plaît.”

  The chef made me a plain croissant with cheese.

  I raised my brow at Karim, who continued to watch me. I’m sure my smugness could only have been exceeded if I’d known how to say tomato in French. Then I’d have me a cheese and tomato croissant and the added joy of keeping Karim guessing.

  I accepted the plate from the chef. “Merci.”

  Karim opened his mouth, but I brushed past him.

  “I’ll just take this upstairs.” I winked at him and pushed open the doors with my back.

  * * *

  I PICKED FLAKES off my croissant. Haithem might just be busy. Something was probably going wrong with his business. He’d come up and talk to me, eventually. My heart seemed to sit high in my chest. He wasn’t avoiding me.

  Wasn’t sitting down there plotting ways to break the stowaway spy...

  I pushed the plate away and circled the room.

  Made the bed.

  Tidied up.

  Wiped invisible dust.

  I walked the perimeter of the room then stopped in front of the locked door. I reached out and twisted the handle. It turned halfway and jammed.

  As if he’d actually forget to lock something.

  I sighed and walked to his bedside table and opened it. I’d already inspected the contents well enough to know it didn’t hold anything exciting. I opened the second drawer and paused.

  A notepad.

  I pulled it out then reached back inside the drawer for a blue ballpoint pen. I flipped through the empty ruled pages. How long had it been since I’d written something creative?

  Years...

  Not for university or work but just for the joy. I wandered out onto the deck and sat at the table. I used to write every day. Little plays and sketches. I’d written while I waited. There was always so much waiting—in hospitals, waiting rooms, at home on my own.

  I ran my finger around the edge of a blank page.

  Josh loved them, especially the funny ones.

  We’d acted them out together.

  I blinked, blinked back the name ringing through my head
, and picked up the pen. My wrist moved, pressed the tip of the pen against the page and flowed a line of lettering from one end of the paper to the other.

  * * *

  MY STOMACH GAVE an empty gurgle. I glanced up. The sun hung low and orange on the horizon. The notepad was mostly filled, and blue smudged down the side of my left hand. I closed the notepad and put it away in the cabin then ventured downstairs.

  I waved at the guard and walked directly to the room Haithem had been in earlier. The lights were off and the sofas empty. I walked around the room, ran my hand over the back of a leather chair, fiddled with the handle of an antique cabinet, then looked out the windows onto the lower deck. Only the dark forms of the guards paced outside. I went back down the hall and took the stairs belowdecks. I passed the kitchen and glanced inside. The chef hunched over the counter. I kept going, slinking down the stark hallway. Low, rhythmic thumping wafted toward me. I followed the sound to an unfurnished room.

  Haithem stood at the far end, wearing only a pair of black shorts, the entire bronze length of his body glossed with sweat. His shoulders rippled with sharp movements that sent jolting thumps echoing off the empty walls. I stepped inside. Karim stood opposite Haithem, still in a suit—the guy probably slept in a suit—with his jacket off and sleeves rolled up, and holding a pair of boxing mitts. Haithem’s fist connected smoothly with a mitt, and Karim let out a small grunt, pushing into the movement.

  Karim barked a word, and Haithem leaped back. Karim tossed the pads to the side and Haithem spun on his heel, raising his leg in an arc. I leaned against the wall, pulse rising at the explosive movements. Karim blocked the move, rotated to the side and sent a kick flying toward Haithem.

  He ducked, dropped down and swiped Karim’s legs out from under him. Karim hit the carpet with a grunt. My heart did a backflip. A man that size shouldn’t be so nimble—yet he was.

  Big and fast, and so undeniably lethal.

  I’d known that, yet somehow imagined him wielding a handgun as his guards did. He looked like the kind of man who’d know his way around a firearm. Now I knew that if he did carry one, he didn’t need one.

  Haithem helped Karim to his feet. Karim made a gesture with his chin in my direction. Haithem’s movements slowed, and he glanced over his shoulder. Karim picked up the mitts and left the room, nodding to me on his way out. Haithem collected a towel and a water bottle from the floor near the wall and wiped his face, then laid the towel around his shoulders.