Undressed At Sea: A Psychological Thriller (Drew Stirling Book 2)

by Jayden Hunter

  “You never have?”

  “No.”

  “That’s a shame. What about your wife?”

  “Oh. I love her. Sure. But I was never in love with her. I think she was in love with me when we got engaged. Maybe when we were first married. But now it’s pragmatic. We do care for each other. That’s love too, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. Of course. Not everything has to be head-in-the-sky and irrational to be true love.”

  “I imagine that’s true. But it’s not something I’ll ever feel.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You already know.”

  “No, I don’t. I’m just curious. I’m not trying to demean you.”

  “I’m a psychopath, Drew. I figured you figured that out.”

  “I didn’t want to judge.”

  “It’s not a judgment. It’s just what it is. Some people are heterosexual, and some people are homosexual. Some people have a photographic memory, and some people are good at math. Others can sing. They say Beethoven was born with a gift. Certainly, Leonardo Di Vinci wasn’t a normal man. I don’t believe in anything outside natural evolution, but I also know we don’t fucking understand but a small portion of it. I’m not capable of empathy. Being psychopathic—it’s not something I choose for myself—it just is.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Maybe if you tried. Maybe if you take me back, we can—”

  He backhanded her across the face and took a sip of beer. “Can I get you another drink, Drew?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Sometimes dead is better.

  ~ Stephen King

  I think people should mourn at weddings and celebrate at funerals.

  ~ Chip’s father

  ...................

  Drew contemplated her death.

  Thinking about death wasn’t pleasant. At a funeral, or when someone was dying of cancer, thoughts of mortality were hard enough to escape, but being the one threatened? It was hard to think of anything else. Thoughts and hopes about an afterlife were common, but Drew wasn’t superstitious and had no fantasies about being in a better place after she died. Death was the end, as far as she was concerned, food for worms. Or crabs, in this case, she corrected herself. She was going to be slowly consumed by deep water crustaceans. Maybe a dolphin would eat one? Circle of life.

  She convinced herself that it was better for her mental state to focus on hope, not in an afterlife or a miracle rescue, but in something she could formulate into an escape plan.

  She watched Ryan slam a beer and then take a hit off his pipe. Maybe he’d drink and smoke himself into unconsciousness? Doubtful. He was too cautious. But he had more than one side, that was for sure, so maybe there was hope. Sometimes he was likable and intelligent, and she’d enjoyed his company before she’d been shown his other side.

  She struggled with the choice between having another drink or staying as alert as possible. She knew she couldn’t stay awake all night. At least being stoned and drunk made dealing with Ryan’s sexual games easier.

  Sexual games? No, rape. He’s a fucking rapist.

  Drew’s face still ached from being struck. She tried to ignore the sting, with minimal success. The only time she wasn’t cognizant of the pain in her face was when she was noticing pains elsewhere. She hurt everywhere.

  He hadn’t verbalized his lack of empathy again; it had been demonstrated sufficiently.

  She realized he was capable of dealing with her with the same emotional concern he had clubbing a fish. Intimacy with another human being was not possible, all the conversations they’d had before, the times she’d felt he was a friend, the things he’d done, they were just him using her to meet his own needs. He had been preparing her for his own amusement and gratification from the moment they’d met. She knew then, more than ever, that there was no loving God. No higher being could justify the creation of a monstrosity like Ryan Mills. Blaming other humans didn’t negate the fact that a human shell of a being could be capable of housing a soulless predator that could mimic a man.

  Appealing to anything other than his own survival, lusts, or comforts would be an act of foolishness.

  “I need to go to the bathroom,” she said.

  “It’s called the head on a boat.”

  “Okay. I need to go to the head. May I?”

  “Sure. Just don’t fuck around. I mean that.”

  Drew stood after he moved just enough to allow her to get up from the table and she bit her tongue when he patted her on the ass. She went to the stateroom alone, entered the head, and closed the door.

  She flew into action like a lizard on hot sand. Hoping to get lucky, she searched through the small cabinet for anything resembling a weapon, but she found only towels and travel-size toiletries. Nothing useful. She sat on the head and peed. Why the fuck is this called a head? Never mind. Think harder. She chastised herself; she needed something, anything, and she needed it that instant.

  Like most men, Ryan was bigger and stronger than her. She would lose any fight that was purely physical. She needed a weapon, even if it was a make-shift one. Weren’t prison inmates always fashioning deadly weapons from toothbrushes? Probably. But they had time on their hands.

  Drew closed her eyes. If only she had studied chemistry earlier in life. She’d seen it a dozen times on television shows and Hollywood thrillers: a few cleaning solutions here and a couple of toiletries there, a quick concoction of the right ingredients and bam—a bomb, a poison mist, something to make a bright blindly flash...

  “Hey! You okay in there?” Ryan shouted.

  I’m going to die.

  “I’ll be right out.”

  Drew noticed that the cover over the light fixture, if it was breakable, could possibly be used as a stabbing weapon. She could at least try. She didn’t want to surrender without a fight.

  She touched the cover and realized it was plastic. Shit. A plastic cover wasn’t going to help. But maybe one of the light bulbs? They would be glass. A possible weapon? She unscrewed the cover. Once the cover was removed, she could reach the bulbs.

  Ryan yelled her name. He was right outside the door. “You have ten seconds before I’m coming in there.”

  The bulb was too small to be much of a stabbing or slicing weapon, and besides, she didn’t have any time left. She put the cover back. No sense in creating more hostility. She opened the door.

  “I was just washing my hands. I’m coming out. Don’t rush a girl while she’s in the bathroom. Or the head.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I didn’t want you getting any crazy ideas. Sit down; I’m putting this back on your leg.”

  Drew looked at him.

  He had the leash and rope in his hand.

  Her shoulders dropped. Should she try and fight him now? Should she wait until he’s asleep?

  “Don’t get any bright ideas.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m not talking about this anymore. Sit down right now.” He pointed to the bed. “Or I’ll make you regret it.”

  Drew sat.

  She’d come up with a plan. She’d have time later to think to herself. There was nothing she could do at this moment. He was too alert and too suspicious.

  Depression hit, like the sliding door of a prison cell after conviction. Defeat. Doom. Death.

  She crawled into the bed and wondered if she might be wrong, after all, about gods.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Before you leave here, Sir, you’re going to learn that one of the most brutal things in the world is your average nineteen-year-old American boy.

  ~ Philip Caputo

  How can you become a man without a teacher?

  ~ Chip

  ...................

  Drew woke.

  A wave of repulsive alcohol-laced bad breath zapped her mind and she gagged. Once when she was a young girl, an uncle had taken her to the county landfill during a heat wave. H
e had told her to let all the air out of her lungs after he’d turned off the air conditioning and rolled her window down. “Now,” he’d said. “Breathe deep.” The memory of utter putridness brought her into a state of alertness. She realized where she was first, next she realized what was happening to her.

  He was mounted on her like a farm hog at stud. He vigorously pumped and grunted. A thread of drool hung from his mouth.

  “Get the fuck off of me,” she said.

  She tried to push him, but he was too heavy to move. Her hands slipped on his porcine skin.

  He looked at her.

  He stopped thrusting and became flaccid.

  “Fucking bitch,” he said.

  He left the room. He returned with a bottle of water and two pills.

  Drew opened her mouth to object but before she got the second word out he struck her.

  “I’m not arguing with you. Take these.”

  He overpowered her. He sat on top of her and forced the pills into her mouth. He followed the pills with water and clamped her nose.

  Drew gagged. She had no choice but to swallow.

  He backhanded her again. He got up and told her he’d better not hear another word come out of her mouth unless it was something pleasant.

  Then his face changed. He stroked her hair and touched her face. His touch was light and gentle.

  “I’m going to chart a course and check the weather. You rest. I’ll be back later to make love to you. You’ll be in a better mood soon. You are so beautiful. So pretty. Soft. Lovable. I’m lucky to have you here. I’m sorry we argued.”

  The moment after he left, Drew bolted to the head, stuck her finger down her throat and vomited up the pills. She felt better immediately. Now what? She was wide awake. It was after dawn, early Sunday morning. The day Ryan would head home. Alone.

  This would be her last day, too, unless she figured out a way to outsmart him. She needed a plan.

  Hours had passed before Ryan came back downstairs. She feigned sleep; the alternative was to be drugged again. Drew listened, but kept her eyes shut and her body limp.

  “Hi baby,” he said. His voice was confident and familiar. It was if he’d returned thinking she’d be excited and expectant. She heard the plastic squeezing noise from the bottle of lube and felt the cold liquid enter her vagina. He slid into her with an awkward movement as if he was a teenager having sex for the first time.

  God, at least he’s fast.

  Drew endured the humiliation in exchange for remaining alert and fully conscious. She’d been fucked like this before on more than one occasion. Not rape, but shitty first dates and with drunken partners. She decided to pretend this was just a crappy first date with a drunk, inexperienced teen. Her mind traveled to the past, to remember the specifics of times where she’d been in bed with bad choices.

  His performance was over soon enough; she’d barely recalled the time she’d been in bed with twins when she was only nineteen. They’d turned eighteen, and she had been their birthday present. They’d taken turns with her, neither lasting more than a minute. At least they’d smelt good.

  The stench from Ryan’s mouth kept bringing her back to the present. She did her best to remain comatose. He never continued to touch her after climaxing, and this time was no different. The moment he was done he stood up, and went to the head. He pissed with the door open and talked loud enough for her to hear him. He addressed Drew, but because she was certain that she’d fooled him, she realized he was really talking to himself. Maybe he isn’t a mere psychopath, maybe he’s certifiably crazy, too.

  “That was wonderful. You are so pretty, delicious, and sexy. Sleep. Get lots of rest, honey. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

  Drew remained still until he had been gone for a good minute. Then she went to the head. She washed her hands and brushed her teeth. She wanted a shower, but she couldn’t risk being caught. She felt motion; they were underway again. Maybe he was going to troll for tuna before heading back. She tried to imagine a way of escape, but thinking too hard made her head hurt. Even a stupid idea was better than not trying, though. She tugged at her ankle restraint; she was like a dog tied up in a backyard and forgotten. Her options were limited and time was short.

  She made herself comfortable and flipped through the magazines that he’d left the day before. Whatever plan of attack or escape she came up with, it would need to be implemented after he undid the restraint. So that had to be her priority. Any plan she devised would necessitate getting him to release her first. Think harder.

  Several more hours had passed before he came back. He had two pills and another water bottle. She looked up at him. He smiled at her as if what he was doing was a favor to her and that she should be grateful.

  “I’m not taking those.”

  She’d decided it was time to resist him. If he was going to kill her anyway, she was going to make him work for it. She’d fight back. She still had teeth and nails. Even though she’d lose the fight, she’d inflict pain. He was stronger than her. But he wasn’t invincible.

  “It’ll be much easier if you did.” His voice was still calm.

  “I am not taking those. If you’re going to kill me, you’ll have to do it like a fucking man. I’m not taking any more drugs.”

  Ryan stopped and stared at her.

  He didn’t seem angry, rather, he seemed to be considering her words.

  She watched him and wondered what the hell was going on in his head. He was obviously insane. It seemed equally insane to attempt reasoning with him, but Drew decided she had nothing to lose.

  “Untie me. Take me back to shore. I’ll help you get treatment. You don’t have to do this.”

  “Take the pills, Drew. It’ll be so easy. You’ll sleep. It will be just like dreaming. You won’t feel any pain. I promise. I do care about you very much, in my own way. You’ve been my favorite. I’ll always cherish this weekend.” His voice changed to an angry tone. “Now take the fucking pills. I’m not in the mood to fight.”

  “Untie me and I’ll consider it.”

  “Not happening. You need to be asleep before I untie you. That’s how it works.”

  “How about we come up with a compromise? If you try to force me, I’ll bite you. I’ll hit you and scratch you. I’ll fight. But if you untie me, I’ll be your girlfriend. I’ll make love to you. You’ve been missing out; I’m best when I’m on top.”

  She watched him thinking.

  He didn’t speak.

  She could see that behind his scrunched eyes, his brain was doing equations. She spoke in a sultry voice, “I’ll fuck you like you’ve never been fucked.”

  He looked at her and smiled, in a friendly sort of way. His shoulders slumped. He sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out and touched her thigh. He left his hand there.

  Drew hoped she sounded convincing. She’d never taken acting classes. Her agent had suggested them to her numerous times. Maybe she should have listened. She lifted her leg and presented her bound ankle to him. She could see him mulling over his options.

  “You really mean that?” he asked.

  Drew smiled with bright eyes. She didn’t have to fake the delight she felt, her plan was gaining traction. She gave him a perky come-fuck-me look straight out of a porno. She moved her breasts. They bounced and jiggled, like Jell-O at the kid’s table.

  He was quiet, but he stroked her leg gently with the tips of his fingers.

  “Trust me?” Drew asked.

  Her eyes were shaped like innocence. Pureness and light. A sweet, safe, lovely doe, grazing in the meadow. Harmless. Unthreatening.

  “What do you have to lose? I cannot win a fight against you. I know you’re in control here. I know you’re in charge. You’re a strong, capable man. I don’t want to be hurt. I don’t like pain. Please untie me. Let’s make love with no restraints. Let’s really fuck, like we mean it. I promise to surprise you; I want you. After we’re spent, I’ll take your pills. I don’t want to feel any more pain. I don�
�t want to fight you. Come here.”

  She reached out to him.

  Ryan moved towards her.

  She got on her knees and kissed him. She ran her fingers through his hair. She moved her lips down his chest. She kissed him, running her mouth down his stomach. As she approached his cock, he spoke.

  “No, not that,” he said. He stopped speaking.

  “It’s okay, honey. Let’s do it whatever way you’d like. Can you get this off me, please?”

  Drew asked in a pouty little-girl voice. She looked at him with hungry, begging eyes. Please?

  He stood, left the room, and he returned with a pair of pliers.

  He cut the zip tie. He dropped the whole apparatus on the floor.

  “Drew. If you fuck with me on this, I’ll make you pay. I’ll hurt you. Bad.”

  “I understand.”

  Drew rubbed her ankle. It was red and itchy but had not sustained a serious injury. She motioned to him.

  He followed her to the middle of the bed.

  She guided him onto his back and mounted him. She rocked herself on his groin, but nothing happened. She stroked his cock with her hand, but it didn’t respond to her touch.

  “How about you roll me over?” she asked. “You like that, don’t you?”

  She got on her hands and knees and felt him trying to get his cock excited.

  He struggled.

  She sensed her plans going to hell.

  He pushed her over.

  “I’m going to have to give you those pills now.”

  He retrieved the whole bottle.

  Drew stood. She was ready to fight him. She wasn’t going to take his drugs.

  “Goddammit. You bitch. We had a deal.”

  He moved towards her.

  She swung her fist at his face. She hit him, but at the same time his right hand connected with her head, and she fell to the bed stunned.

  “I told you not to fight me.”

  He got on top of her, his knees on her arms, pinning her down. He was erect now.

  A fucking animal.