by Cara Dee
The door clicked shut, and Gray stayed still. Between the pulsing thuds of his headache, he heard Darius move around. There was a faint signal, the sound following him.
Gray wasn’t attached to anything. His hands were free. Did he stand a chance if he fought his way out of the room? He did his best to keep his breathing even at the thought of getting away. They were on the third deck, near the bow, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there was a staircase nearby. One floor separated him from the top deck where he could jump into the water.
That’d be the end of him, but he’d die free. Unless he could drift to a nearby island…? No, too good to be true. They were probably out on the open water, miles away from land. Still, the smallest opportunity—
“I know you’re awake, knucklehead.”
Gray stiffened, then lifted his head and glanced around him, bleary-eyed. Darius was running a thin device underneath the flat screen on the wall, so he had his back to Gray.
He blinked to clear his vision and was once again greeted by the scars that graced Darius’s broad back. He was muscled as fuck in a subtle way. When standing still, there was little to no definition. Then he moved, and everything flexed under a layer of flesh.
It wasn’t often Gray looked small next to someone else, not even now when he’d lost weight. Darius had to be at least six-four, and he was built for combat. Strong and ready to fight, yet lean enough to be a fast runner. Those extra few pounds could be from his years as a restaurant owner. Did that make him a retired soldier—ah, no. Because he was a fucking liar, and Gray had no idea if there even was a restaurant.
“Congrats, you fucked me over.” Gray cleared his throat and winced as he sat up.
Darius didn’t miss a beat. “Note that I haven’t cuffed you. If you wanna try to take me down, now’s your chance. But before you go there, remember everything I’ve said.”
It was a little hard to do that when everything hurt. Thankfully, not his ass this time.
Darius set the device down and turned to face the bed, arms folded across his chest. He was only a few feet away from the door and would block it easily. “I didn’t fuck you over, Gray. I improved our cover and probably spared your friends one night of rape and physical torture.”
Gray’s feet landed on the floor with a muted slap. The dark wood was so polished you could eat off of it. “I don’t believe a goddamn word you say.”
“That’s your emotions speaking,” Darius stated. “If you used your head, you’d come to another conclusion. You’d remember what I said about your mother, about my sister—”
“So what?” Gray snapped. He glared at the motherfucker. “Maybe you’re from Camassia. Maybe that restaurant in the marina is really yours. Maybe you talked to my mom, but so what? It doesn’t prove you’re here to take me home.”
“You’re right.” He dipped his chin. “I’ve been casing you since you were born. I infiltrated a town and brought my entire family into it—”
“Asshole,” Gray growled. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m aware.” Darius sighed and walked over to sit down next to Gray on the edge of the bed. “Listen. I didn’t wanna take this job, but when shit falls into my lap, I can’t ignore it for too long.”
“I’m the shit?”
“You’re the shit,” he confirmed. “And if you want, this can be over and done with tonight. I return home, you return to your family.”
Gray furrowed his brow at him, only to shake his head and look down again. “You’re getting your lies mixed up. Yesterday, you said we had to wait three days.”
“It’s safer for your friends if we wait,” Darius replied. “These are men who lash out at the wrong people when they get cornered or threatened. If they wake up tomorrow and you and I are gone, the boys will be the recipients of the owners’ initial fear of getting caught—and anger.”
Gray groaned inwardly and scrubbed at his face. He felt weak in every sense of the word and didn’t know what to believe anymore. His head swam with hope and cynicism, constantly tugging him in different directions.
The worst hadn’t been when his world had caved in. It was now, when he stood there in the rubble and didn’t know if there was any way out of ground zero. One wrong move could cause everything to collapse further.
“I wanna believe you so fucking much,” he whispered, staring unseeingly at his hands that’d fallen to his lap. He used to think of himself as strong.
“I know, kid. You’ve been dealt one fucked-up hand.” Sympathy made an appearance in Darius’s voice.
Gray side-eyed him, so confused it hurt, and tried to make sense of things. Where Darius was concerned, anyway. The man had been right. The dickbag slave traders on this boat were the only ones who could give the guys freedom, and Gray had no space for arrogance or pride. He recognized how easily Darius could play him again, yet Gray would probably keep coming back to the safe space of believing. Because what else could he do?
For several hours yesterday, he’d been granted hope and anxious relief. He wanted that again.
“What were you before you owned a restaurant?” he asked quietly, observing Darius with all the concentration he could punch through the exhaustion.
Darius didn’t reply, and then he was saved by a knock on the door.
Breakfast had arrived, and the scar-faced Benny waited right outside the stateroom while a younger man set the trays of food on the desk by the window.
Gray stared at Benny, who smirked and leaned casually against the doorframe, a toothpick dangling from the corner of his mouth.
Hatred simmered below the surface, and Gray slowly white-knuckled the edge of the bed.
“Captivity suits you, sweethea—”
“Come here and I’ll fuck you right up, sunshine,” Gray cut in. “I’ve already done it once.” He jerked his chin at the motherfucker. “Nice nose job.”
Benny’s features darkened and tightened.
Darius took that moment to let the other man out, and he squeezed Benny’s neck. To Gray, it looked like they were pals.
“You don’t speak to my property.” Darius spoke without an ounce of malice or threat, but there was something. “Remember, Benjamin, everyone has a price, and that includes you.”
Benny straightened and cleared his throat, sparing Darius a quick glance that said he knew—and hated—he was beneath Darius on this boat, then walked away with the server.
Darius closed the door and walked over to the desk. “So you’re the reason his nose looks like a purple golf ball.” He started plating eggs, bacon, and toast. “No wonder Valerie said you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”
Gray said nothing but sat a little straighter.
“Come here and eat,” Darius told him. “It’s time to build up your strength. I’m gonna need you if we’re bringing the other boys with us.”
That had Gray’s attention. He instantly grew wary, fearing it was another trick, but he couldn’t help going through the exact steps Darius had boasted about at dinner last night. At his weakest, Gray would believe anything. Here he was again.
“What changed your mind?” He shuffled around the bed and sat down in the chair Darius pulled out for him. There was another chair in the corner.
“Profiling,” Darius muttered. “I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and say your backyard is full of dead animals you tried to rescue as a kid. Birds, rodents, the occasional rabbit.”
A mouthful of scrambled eggs slid down Gray’s throat with a portion of childish guilt. “No,” he replied stubbornly. “Mom made me bury them in the woods.”
Darius’s mouth twitched, and he unwrapped his utensils. “Same shit. You’ve got a bleeding heart.”
Profiling… Gray stared and stared as Darius tucked into his breakfast, and no conclusions came to him. All he saw was Darius’s no doubt violent past, and he only saw it because of the scars on the man’s body. Had he been a cop? Military? He didn’t strike Gray as rigid and structured. A classmate’s mom was in the army
, and she carried herself a certain way.
Whatever Darius had been, he had the ability to profile Gray.
Darius noticed the staring and reached for his coffee with a sigh. “I was a PMC.”
“PM, what?”
“Private military contractor.”
Oh. Gray had heard of that and had even seen some recruitment videos online. They were the type of organizations that always lured in people with lines like, “We’ll go where no one else will” and “When everything else fails, we’re there.”
“Isn’t that for people with a death wish?” he asked hesitantly.
Darius chuckled under his breath and snatched up a piece of bacon. “I guess it can be. Just like the regular military, a lot of it gets amped up for publicity.”
Oh really, because unless Gray was seeing things, Darius was here. Right now. Not the safest mission, even though this wasn’t one in that sense.
“Why the private sector?” Gray asked next. “Don’t say money. I don’t buy it.”
He wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t buy it, only that it hadn’t rung true whatsoever when Darius had made the comment about Aiden paying well to get Gray home.
“So now he’s clearheaded.” Darius spoke to himself. Gray scowled, having forgotten himself, and just like that, the doubts returned. What did he know about anything? “The private sector is easier. Less protocol to follow, which is why the military doesn’t often like us. You get an order, and you follow through—often by any means necessary.”
Less paperwork too, Gray guessed. He wasn’t one of those who believed the government always followed the law, and contracting people like Darius probably made it easier to cover things up.
“So…are you a merc?”
Darius looked both amused and confused. “Don’t use terms you don’t understand.”
“I know what a mercenary is. I saw a documentary about Blackwater.”
“I’m sure it was very entertaining.”
“People died.”
“I remember.” The tic in Darius’s jaw as he refocused on his food made Gray think twice about pushing it. “It’s not who I am anymore, so it doesn’t matter. What matters is getting you and the others home.” He nodded at Gray’s plate. “Eat. You’ll be pushed past your limits for this, and I can’t afford to cut you any slack.”
Hunger was something Gray had known since he started playing hockey. He had the appetite of a football team, yet today it was nowhere to be found. His energy levels were at an all-time low. Had yesterday been a fluke? His stomach had snarled for food, and it’d been delicious. Fuck, was his body growing accustomed to the malnourishment and shutting down? When was the last time he went to the bathroom?
It hit him what he was asking of Darius. Gray and the others had no fucking clue about much of anything, and they were physically and emotionally weakened. How the hell would they get out alive? He couldn’t imagine the burden on Darius’s shoulders.
“Are you really here to save me?” he asked once more.
“Yes, Gray.”
Gray swallowed and forced himself to shovel more eggs into his mouth. In order to find the determination to be everything Darius needed for them to get out of here, he would have to believe and trust—again. Maybe he already did. At this point, everything looked bleak, and clinging to hope was dangerously easy.
“What made you change your mind about including the others?”
Darius took out a notepad from the desk drawer. “You. Short of being knocked unconscious, you won’t leave the others behind.”
That was true, and Gray couldn’t feel bad about it. “Would you? You saw them at the auctions—and yesterday at dinner. Would you have been able to leave them?”
No answer.
The things Darius must’ve witnessed with his own eyes… It turned Gray’s stomach.
“How many were raped?” Gray hated asking, and his voice almost cracked. “After they were bought, I mean.”
“Three of them.” Darius wouldn’t look up from the notes he was making. Without appearing physically tense, it was still there in the air. He was on edge. “No, I won’t tell you their names.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t want to know.” He reminded Gray to eat again with another pointed look. “Which of the kids would you say aren’t as equipped to deal with the torture as the rest of you?”
Worst topic to have over breakfast. Nausea crept up Gray’s throat, and the smell of bacon nearly did him in. Swallowing past the bile, he jammed two pieces into his mouth and chewed slowly.
“Milo, Jackie—”
“Jackie’s owner is lonely and craves affection. He’s not a sadist. He’s a pedophile who deserves a bullet in the head, but right now, Jackie’s not the one suffering the most. Not mentally or physically.”
Okay, but…he’d asked who could withstand the least number of beatings, and Gray had answered. He watched Darius jot down Milo’s name, which meant the disgusting son of a bitch who’d stolen his freedom was worse.
“Charlie,” Gray said quietly. “They put a tracker in him—a chip or something.”
Darius nodded slowly, writing it down. “What can you tell me about Oscar and Lee? They have the same buyer.”
Gray didn’t know much about them. They’d been quiet for the most part. “They weren’t in the truck very long. I think they got on the week before Cole. Lee has nightmares—like, he talks in his sleep. Or cries—”
“Which one is it?” Darius looked him in the eye. “Cry or talk.”
Gray frowned. Did it fucking matter? “Um, he cries out. It wakes him up. I think he’s been away from home the longest—or he’s from the South, maybe.” Though, he didn’t have an accent. “I heard him talk to Cole once about being chained to a post outside in three-digit heat, so I’m thinking he was taken before summer.”
It wouldn’t surprise him anyway. Lee used to play football, and now he was almost as scrawny as Milo. The latter was the one who didn’t fit into the whole athletic-build criteria, but Gray guessed the kid’s age trumped everything. What’d he gone for, two million dollars? It was insane.
“All right.” Darius scribbled something else, then reached for his cigarettes and opened the window. “Who would you say are the strongest?” He’d lowered his voice, and Gray flicked a glance at the window. The ocean was below. No one could hear them, right?
“Probably Cole and me.” Gray carefully touched a sore spot under his eye. He didn’t want to look in the mirror today. “If I can get close to him, we can get his help. I trust him. He’s more level-headed than me too.”
Darius was shaking his head while studying his notes. “This stays between you and me for as long as possible. I spent weeks learning about you. I don’t know enough about the other kids to rely on them.”
That sparked some curiosity. “What, you were just sitting at home studying me until that little pager went off?”
“No, I’ve spent the past two months on the road.” Darius inhaled from his cigarette and circled a name or a word on the notepad. Which one, Gray couldn’t see. “I had to find the location of the auction, and the real buyer wasn’t talkative enough. The pager only tells me when.”
“So how did you find me?”
“That’s a story for another day.”
For fuck’s sake. Gray scowled and chewed on a piece of pineapple. “Can you at least tell me if you had help? Or are we alone in this clusterfuck?”
Darius watched him briefly, maybe deciding whether or not to answer. “We’re alone at the moment, but yes, I have help.” Have. Present tense. “The buyers get searched before boarding, so the trick was to already have what I needed on the boat when I got on. My brother helped with that.”
It raised countless questions, but for now, Gray asked only one. “Does my mom know you’ve found me?”
Darius’s expression sobered. His eyes lost some of their sharpness. “She knows.”
Gray nodded and looked down as the pain seared its way
through his chest. He had to get back to her. It was so difficult to picture his old life now, but not her. Mom was always vivid in his mind.
“Can I ask—”
“Gray.” Darius sat forward and gave Gray’s shoulder a squeeze. Looking up, Gray saw the understanding in Darius’s eyes. “Once we get out of here, I’ll answer any question you might have. Okay? Right now, you gotta focus. We have work to do.”
We have work to do.
Gray released a breath and slumped back in his seat. For one moment, he was left raw and open. All it took was a memory of home, or of his mother and brothers. How far along was his stepsister now? Jack must be over the moon to become a dad. Was Aiden writing a new book? Gray’s stepdad was a bit of a hero, and Gray’d had to put a lid on his inner fanboy when learning his mom’s boyfriend was one of his favorite authors. If only they knew how passionate Gray had once been about Aiden Roe’s works.
None of that mattered now, Gray reminded himself. Yesterday, Darius had told him there would be no going back to normal.
Hopefully, he was wrong.
Six
“I’m gonna have to fuck you today.”
Gray reeled from Darius’s comment at breakfast. Gray was gonna be pushed past his limits for this. It was sinking in now as they entered the dungeon on the second floor. It had to be right below their stateroom, or close to it.
He walked a little behind Darius, who’d only put on a wifebeater to go with his dress pants. Bare feet, belt unbuckled. Gray couldn’t remember what actual clothes felt like. He’d worn nothing other than underwear since his fucked-up physical.
They’d spent the morning talking about everything that had to do with their situation, from what they knew of the boys and the buyers, to the mapping out of the yacht. Darius had a mad amount of info already, causing Gray to backtrack in his head. They hadn’t discussed everything about their situation. Someone in particular was keeping secrets.
“I’m gonna have to fuck you today.”
It was early in the day; lunch hadn’t been served yet, and only two other people were in the dungeon. The sleek, lavish interior of the rest of the yacht was a distant memory down here, replaced by walls padded in black leather, a couple coffee tables that were also steel cages, contraptions Gray had only seen when his best friend took him to that kink club in Seattle… Except, this fucking-machine had a rifle attached at the grip instead of a dildo, the St. Andrew’s cross on the wall was circled in barbed wire, and—fuck. Gray swallowed hard at the sight of a black-painted mechanical bull. Cruelest sense of humor. When someone fell off of it, they’d land on a spike mat.