I wake and feel something warm and hard under my head. I doze for a few minutes, feeling contented. Hmm, this is nice.
Hang on a minute. I jump, what the heck is going on here? I am wrapped around Mac and he has his arm under my head. Our legs are entwined and my body is splayed half over his.
He’s hard.
I jump back from him in a panic and look up to his face to see he is still sleeping.
Thank God. I get up and go to the bathroom and then grab a blanket and wrap myself in it to sit at the desk. I sit in the semi-dark as I watch him. His curled, sun-kissed hair is scattered across his pillow and his skin is golden brown. A three-day darkened growth shadows his square jaw, hiding his large dimples… just. He’s a big man, standing over 6″4, with a broad build. His body is rippled with muscles and he has the distinct V that runs from his lower stomach down to his groin. My eyes drop lower and I feel the dull ache deep within my body. My memory takes me back to how hard he was last night and how good he felt underneath me on that barstool… how hot he had me for his kiss.
That kiss.
If that’s what it’s like when we are acting, imagine when we we’re alone in the room. I close my eyes in regret.
Stop it.
His back is covered in tattoos and he has a few strewn down his arms. A large, thick, purple scar wraps around his ribs on his left side. I wonder what it’s from? It isn’t that old by the looks of it. Has he been stabbed or in a fight? I stare straight ahead as I think. I’ve got bigger problems on my mind than Mac. It’s day six. There could be a full scale search for me back home in action by now. My car could have been found. My bank accounts or phone haven’t been touched. I know Melissa and Todd would have fessed up to police about their sleazy affair. They wouldn’t want to be implicated in any of this. The police probably think I have committed suicide somewhere.
Nobody would ever know if they did kill me out here. I have literally disappeared without a trace. I wonder if there was any CCTV from the back of the alleyway at the nightclub, and who was the guy that they killed?
Who actually pulled the trigger?
Did he die? Did they know him and why did they kill him?
I wish I could remember that night, but it was all such a blur. Today, I’m going to get to the control tower if it’s the last thing I do. I need to find a way off this ship. Actually, I haven’t checked for land in a while. I stand and go over and peer out of the porthole. Water as far as I can see. Damn it. As soon as I see land I’m going to run and jump over the side. I’m taking my chances with the sharks. Anything is safer than this.
My eyes roam over the naked man in bed, fast asleep and on his back. His prominent stomach muscles show through his skin and his broad chest rises and falls as he breathes. One hand is on his dick and the other hand is behind his head. Uneasiness fills me, not because I’m afraid of what he will do to me. More because I’m afraid I will like it. He is unlike any man I have ever known. Hardened, rough, sexual. He makes other men I have been with seem like little boys.
For a moment, I let myself imagine what sex would be like with him and I get a visual of him throwing me around and giving it to me hard. God, it would be so fucking hot. He’s so strong and hung. I picture myself on my knees going down on him, him looking down at me with his hand tenderly on the back of my head.
I snap my eyes away in disgust. Will you listen to yourself, Roshelle, you fucking idiot? You are trying to stay alive here, not star in a Pirate of Penzance Porno. I know now why they call it cabin fever. I’m getting delusional.
He stirs and I sit still. He grabs his dick and strokes a few times as he wakes up. Eventually, his sleepy eyes open and find me across the room.
“What are you looking at?” He yawns with a stretch.
“Nothing,” I reply.
He casually gets up and strolls to the bathroom, butt naked. I stare at the floor so I can’t look and I hear him go to the toilet and then wash his hands. I wrap the blanket around myself protectively. I just wish he wasn’t so comfortable being naked around me.
He comes back out and puts a pair of boxer shorts on. “Chelsea is going to come and get you and watch out for you at lunch today,” he tells me casually as he flicks the kettle on. “I’m working and won’t have time.”
“She said she would be here about twelve.”
I frown in question.
“I called around and saw her on my way back here last night.” He makes the two cups of coffee.
I stare at him. He went to her room. He had sex with her last night, that’s why he didn’t touch me.
I stand, unsure what to think. This should be a relief, but somehow it feels… I don’t even know. I go into the bathroom and close the door behind me. I get into the hot shower and let the water run down over my head for ten minutes as I think. My heart is hammering and I don’t know why. I try to think rationally, but I just can’t. She saved me from having to do it? This is a good thing. If he’s fucking them, he’s not fucking me. That’s all that matters. How regularly does he fuck them… her?
The door opens and he comes in, fussing around before he grabs his deodorant. His eyes drop down my body and I glare at him and raise a brow.
“Go away.”
His eyes drop down my body.
“Get out,” I snap.
With a smirk, he walks back out into the bedroom.
I finish my shower and walk back into the bedroom, just as I see him lifting a chair back to the desk. Huh? He had the chair in front of the wardrobe. What was he looking for in the wardrobe? I pretend I don’t notice and go to get something to wear from his drawers, but he picks up a bag and throws it at me. “I got you some clothes.”
I really want to say, why, so you can imagine I’m a fucking prostitute? I hold my tongue. I don’t give a fuck about him. I want to go home. I snatch the bag up, annoyed at my stupid feelings, and go back into the bathroom and pull out the clothes he has given me. I go through the bag and pull out the skimpy clothing. Screw this. He’s kidding. I stick my head around the door jamb. “I hate these clothes. They scream that I would fuck anything.”
A trace of a smile crosses his face. “Would you?”
I frown. “Would I what?”
“Fuck anything.”
I narrow my eyes. “No, I would not.” I go back to dressing in the bathroom.
I pull on a short, floral, peach-coloured dress.
I eventually walk back into the room and I find him dressed for work. “I got to go.”
I nod once.
“See you tonight.”
“Whatever,” I reply, monotone. “I don’t think I’m coming to dinner tonight.”
“Suit yourself.” With that he leaves the room, but today he doesn’t lock the door.
I Frown. What? I stand and open the door and it is open. He turns to face me.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
I shrug. “You didn’t lock the door?”
“No.” He turns back to me. “I have staked my claim. You should be okay now.”
“Oh.” I frown in confusion. “Staked your claim?” I ask.
“I will kill anyone who touches you and they know that.”
“But if they have already killed me, what is the point?”
“They won’t.”
I frown. “Are you sure?”
He nods once with a shrug.
I turn and go back into the room and close the door. I drop to the bed and think on that for a moment. Does that mean the word is out that I am off limits? Will I be safe to walk around now? He seems to think I will, but then maybe he just doesn’t care if they get me. Hmm, interesting. My eyes look up to the wardrobe. What was he doing up there? I open the double doors and peer up. It’s high… whatever he was looking at is high. I lock the front door and pull the chair over to the cupboard and stand on it to peer in. Sweaters and folded clothes are in neat rows. Wow, pretty neat for a guy. I carefully take out the sweaters and clothes. No, nothing here. He must have been looking for a sweater. I get down and frown. He didn’t wear any warm clothes and his work clothes aren’t kept in this cupboard. I get back up onto the chair and feel around again. What was he damn well doing up here? I bang on the back wall and it makes a weird sound. I frown. Huh? I knock and it echoes. My eyes widen.
Shit, this is a fake wall. With renewed purpose, I start to feel around in desperation. Maybe he has a weapon up here and I can use it to make them call for help. I feel around the sides and it also makes a weird noise. I am perspiring as I stretch to reach up. I push up on the ceiling and somehow it lifts up. Oh shit. I slide it to the side a little and put my hand up and feel around in the timber panelling.
I glance at the door. If he gets back now he will kill me for sure. I feel a shelf and I can’t see what in the hell I’m doing, but I fumble around and find something.
Shit.
I pull down a small, black zip-lock bag and quickly hide it under my pillow. I then climb back up and feel around again and find an iPhone.
Jackpot.
I jump down and hide it under my pillow and then I put everything back in its place and move the chair back to its usual place. I close the wardrobe and then take my stash into the bathroom and close the door. I swipe the phone on and it lights up.
I smile broadly.
Yes.
I go to call and the message comes up no service.
Fuck.
I try again and still nothing. Bloody hell. I move to the zip-lock bag and I open it.
Passports. Two passports.
Hmm. I open the first one. Joel McIntyre. His strong face stares back at me from the photo. It’s his passport. I open the second one and the same face stares back at me but with the name Stace Williams.
I frown. That’s weird. Why does he have two passports in different names?
Fuck, who is this guy? I look at the dates they were made. The Stace passport is seven years old, but the Mac one is only twelve months old.
Mac is a fake name.
I think on this for a moment. Mac is an alias. You would have the real passport first. I look at the birth date, September 12th 1989.
That would make him 27, which seems about right. I would have guessed that was his age.
I pick up the phone and swipe through it. Nothing irregular. I go to his images and see a picture of an attractive girl and a little boy.
My heart drops. Oh God. He has someone at home and a son. I feel sick for this poor girl. My mind goes to scuz bucket Chelsea and what she did to him last night.
I hate her. …I hate him even more.
Rattled that this photo annoyed me, I keep swiping though the images. Images of a piece of paper. Why is he taking images of a piece of paper?
I click on it to enlarge and I frown. It’s a report of some kind.
1267 CCPick up 10thCoffee
* * *
1208HPick up after deliveryTea
* * *
1190IPick up 14thStatue
* * *
1211H Pick up 11thNA
* * *
1130CCnon disclosedBook
* * *
1140 DMDPick up after deliveryStatue
* * *
1289WPPADFlooring
I frown as I read through the list.…what does that mean and why has he taken a photo of it?