Page 20 of A Princess, Stolen (A Kiss of Revenge, Blood, and Love #1)

The men could have discovered the pictures back then. Perhaps, I wore the blindfold because of my painting and drawing skills, among other things. And now Nathan knew that I knew who he was. Did he believe I could draw him from memory as he looked today?

Thoughtfully, I ran my hand over the rough part of the ring.

I could try to saw through the rope with it and then I could adjust the cloth so that I could see through it a little.

Discreetly, obviously. That way, I would finally know for certain if the leader was Nathan or not.

And maybe I would see a few other men too.

That way, I could draw them later in detail; that would be much better than a policeman creating them from pre-made templates and instructions.

I slid back to the wall, pulled the ring off, and held it between my thumb and forefinger.

I felt for the rough spot and rotated it until I could use it to scrape the bonds.

It hurt because I had to bend my fingers completely and I could only manage it for a few minutes before they cramped up, but I soon felt a notch in the line.

Of course, I would have to explain afterward how I had escaped the bonds, but if necessary, I could claim that I had found a rough spot on the bars or the wall.

I listened for a moment for footsteps, but everything was quiet, so I scraped at the tie again and the strap came off with a jerk. I sat there, frozen, unable to believe that I had actually freed myself. My stomach lurched as if Dad and I had hit an air pocket in our private jet.

I listened to the surroundings again while I opened and closed my fingers a few times to help the blood circulate better.

It was quiet. Almost too quiet. The cutter seemed deserted, like a ghost ship. Only the engine roared and the sea rushed. Waves struck the hull of the ship.

My heart pounded in my throat. Perhaps Nathan had called the men together and was announcing that I had recognized him blindfolded.

Cautiously, I pushed the scarf up a little, just far enough so that I could easily pull it down quickly in an emergency. In the first shocking moment, the bright light blinded me. It stung my eyes like lightning and I had to blink so that I only gradually took in my surroundings.

I was actually sitting in a holding cell. One wall was all bars with a door.

The key was in the lock. They hadn’t even bothered to take it out because they obviously thought they had intimidated me enough. I could just walk out… sure!

Without thinking, I stood, and for several breaths, stars flashed before my eyes. I urgently needed to eat something and soon before my strength failed me completely.

I listened intently but heard nothing. No sound, no voices, no footfalls. No Pan mocking me. No Sparta dumping his hatred on me. It was almost scary.

A cheap neon bulb burned in the corridor in front of the bars and only a bare light bulb dangled above me. There was no other furniture in the cell either as I had expected. No sleeping mat, nothing. No butt powder for the hostage , I thought, shocked at myself. Since when was I sarcastic?

I looked around again and suddenly my instincts galloped away from my reasoning—there was a porthole!

I leaped to it, not thinking about the consequences.

Holding my breath, I peered out despite my resolution to be cautious.

A dim light shone outside and I saw a narrow white railing.

Just beyond it rocked the pitch-black sea, Mom’s eternal grave.

Silvery starlight trembled in the swell like a ghost’s robe.

My heart began to race. There was something else a little further to the right.

Spotlights cut through the dark night. Out there, not far from the cutter, another boat was sailing.

I couldn’t estimate how far away it was, maybe two hundred yards.

It looked like a small trawler, a deep-sea fishing boat that I had often seen departing in the past.

Which was even better: It seemed to be following us on a parallel course.

I blinked, dazed by a spontaneous idea, but the window wouldn’t open.

But, if I could get to the railing, I might be able to make myself known.

Wave. Call. Signal an SOS. And if necessary, jump into the water if someone caught me, which was likely if I started screaming.

For a split second, I considered if I could swim to the fishing boat.

Under normal circumstances, the distance would be no problem due to Dad’s relentless drilling.

For months, he had made me swim laps in our pool until I was exhausted.

It had been the only point of contention between us.

I could swim five hundred yards in ten minutes; to the trawler, it would take me perhaps five, six, or seven if the current was strong.

But it was pitch black, the ocean as black as death.

My panic would pull me down like an octopus; besides, I would also have to take off my dress, and I would never do that here on board, only in the water.

Then, of course, I would have to get close enough to their lights so that the night watchmen would spot me.

If not, I would be alone in the Atlantic and both boats might be gone, especially if Nathan’s crew did not notice my absence in time.

If I even make it to the railing unnoticed!

I thought about it in a flash. Since the trawler was offset behind us, the lights shouldn’t be a problem, I just had to cover a straight line rapidly, and the lights from the boats would help orient me.

I pushed the thought of sharks out of my mind for the moment.

I would only do it in an emergency and perhaps their captain or officer on watch would spot me on the railing.

They would be stunned if they saw me there in my ball gown, waving my arms like crazy.

They might even be suspicious. But if I was reported missing and publicly sought, they might draw the right conclusions.

But what was even better; Nathan had said that their transponders were switched off.

Perhaps this trawler had also noticed this, seeing the cutter in the Atlantic ahead of them but not finding it on the radar.

Something like that was suspicious—at least, I thought so.

This cutter could be anything to the foreign captain, for example, part of a drug fleet.

So, they might be on their guard anyway.

And maybe they were following us and that was why it was so quiet. A cautious calm.

I stared out and wondered if I was about to do something truly stupid. Like the hero in a movie, the cool lover who, against his better judgment, climbs out of the thirtieth-floor window so he won’t get caught by the husband.

What if I have a panic attack in the water? The ocean isn’t the penthouse infinity pool! Besides, I haven’t eaten in days, I’m weak! I’ll drown like Mom!

And what about the men? What about Isaac?

In my mind, I heard his voice. You’d better do what I ask of you, Willa Nevaeh Rae. And that’s going to be a lot soon …

Remembering Isaac’s words, I turned abruptly from the window and listened, and when I heard nothing, I ran to the bars. Maybe my chance was about to be lost. They might return to me through the corridor at any moment.

But it was still quiet.

I peered into the corridor. I could finally see the area around my prison.

The tube-shaped corridor was a little longer than a normal passage with several doors on each side.

There was a narrow staircase at each end and at the end to my right hung a fire extinguisher and a horseshoe-shaped yellow life buoy.

A life preserver! Of course. Every boat had at least one!

This one even had a red LED distress light, like the ones we had on the yacht.

Dad had always said so proudly that these lights lasted eight to twelve hours and were visible for at least a mile in the dark and fog.

Once, he had thrown one into the water for fun to demonstrate.

But the life preserver hadn’t helped Mom!

Suddenly, my plan didn’t seem quite so risky anymore, on the contrary.

Maybe I should jump straight overboard. The security of the preserver would keep my panic at bay, and even if it didn’t, it would keep me safe.

Plus, it would shoot white or red flashes into the sky like crazy.

Even if I didn’t manage to reach the trawler’s lights, even if the men on the cutter spotted me in the water first, the other crew would definitely contact them and want to know if the rescue had been successful.

But what would happen to Dad then? Wouldn’t I be putting him in harm’s way by doing that?

I shook my head vigorously. No! No sniper had been lying in wait for weeks.

They had only threatened Dad to get me. And once I was on board that trawler, I would immediately call him from there on a satellite phone and warn him.

If I didn’t make it, I would have to worry more about my well-being.

I listened again. My heart was racing. Everything was still quiet. Dead quiet. For a brief moment, I actually thought they had jumped ship and left me and the cutter in the ocean.

I ran back, picked up Mom’s wedding ring, and untied my braid. With flying fingers, I tied the ring to the bracelet and wove the band back into my strands. Then, I turned the key slowly so the thing didn’t squeak so loudly, wondering at the same time if I hadn’t lost my mind after all.

If they catch you before you reach the railing… You’re alone and there are at least seven of them .

Most importantly: Where were they? Why was it so quiet?

Trembling, I slipped into the corridor. Wind whistled down the stairs through the passage, icy gusts laden with salt and moisture. I tiptoed to the narrow steps, took the life preserver from its rack, and climbed clumsily up the steps. I felt every single bone.

Before I stuck my head out the open hatch, I paused to collect myself.

It smelled of disgusting oil and fish. Still, I heard nothing, no men’s voices, only the wind.

I carefully climbed another step. In front of me was the stern of the cutter, but I wasn’t quite sure because it was a platform, a little bigger than a normal living room.

Masts and miniature cranes protruded into the darkness like warning fingers.

There were bollards, ropes, nets, and loading winches everywhere as well as a few buoys and some stuff I didn’t recognize.

I clung to the railing of the gangplank with all my strength. I couldn’t see the left side of the deck because there was a wall next to the ladder. Probably the bridge tower. It protected me from prying eyes, but I couldn’t see if anyone was in the area or even keeping watch.

Hesitantly, I climbed the last bit onto the deck and the icy wind immediately whipped around me.

It howled across the platform like a ghastly chorus of deep-sea ghosts, fluttering a loose tarpaulin in front of me and spraying a load of foam over the railing.

Instantly, I realized that the wind would swallow my every scream, just like on the coast of Staten Island.

I had to jump without calling out first!

I glanced at the railing. It wasn’t far away, I just had to go around a few bollards and jump down a few steps.

From up here, I could also see the trawler better.

Its bow, which could crush me, would pull me down if I came too close.

I swallowed. Seen from the stern, the Atlantic appeared much stormier than from the cell. Restless, unconquerable.

Have you ever watched anyone die, Willa Nevaeh Rae?

I had to get off this boat! Without a second thought, I ran, but as I left the protective wall to my left behind me, my heart skipped a beat.

I paused, my hand clenching the life-preserver rope.

I couldn’t tell how many men were sitting on crates with more standing.

Maybe there were ten or twenty, in my state of shock, it didn’t matter.

I hadn’t heard them talking because the wind had swallowed their voices.

Now, it suddenly seemed deadly quiet again.

So quiet. Much too quiet.

Especially because one of them was looking directly at me. And without remembering or making comparisons, I recognized him immediately.

The boy from Louisiana.

Nathan.