Page 23 of Bastard

He pauses.

“A bottle of water. Aspirin. And a piña colada.”

“Of course.”

“Also, if you can place one of those little umbrellas inside my drink.”

“Umbrellas?”

I catch his frown and almost laugh at his assumption. Thinks I’m loca, does he? Just wait. “You said fully stocked.”

“Right. I’ll see what we can do. Is that all you require?”

“One more thing,” I say, with more bite than sass. “Tell that bastard I need a word with him.Ensequida.”

The man gives me a horrified look that reads, “Sí, she’s brave, though still loca.” I sigh as he hurries from the room.

I walk to the window to watch the bustling port off in the distance. We’re still anchored, making escape possible.

My stomach rumbles and the dinner plate beckons. The lobster and rice dish is as good as it smells, though I’m too hungry to appreciate each bite. Another knock on the door followed by the reopening of locks and my reluctant waiter reappears, bottle of aspirin and piña colada with umbrella in hand.

“When can I expect the Bastard?”

He jumps and my drink spills, the tiny umbrella making a tailspin to the floor. “Damn it,” he mutters, setting my half-filled drink and aspirin on the small table before grabbing a napkin to clean up the mess.

“You didn't tell him, did you?”

The man snatches hold of the mini umbrella before standing. “Look, lady. Because of whatever you’ve done, for whatever reason you’ve been brought here, you should tread lightly. Keep quiet. Do as you’re asked. Wait until he summons you. And in the meantime, don’t cause problems for me or anyone else.”

I place my fork on the plate, roll to my feet, and stand in front of my reluctant butler. “That’s a difficult request to fulfill.”

He glares at me like it’s my fault I’m in this position.

“The Bastard must not have told you? What he calls me—Trouble?” I snap the last part, the loathsome nickname he gave me the night we first met. I step forward and pluck the umbrella from his fingers before he recovers and is racing for the door.

“Can I expect dessert?” I holler after him.

The door slams shut behind him.

With great patience, I bide my time. My anger rising as darkness falls. What did I expect, that he’d seek me out as soon as I came aboard? That after all this time, he’d care enough to visit me?

Years ago, Hayden did just that, arriving unexpectedly at my dance competition. That day changed everything. The prize for winning the competition was a full scholarship. It offered the perfect reason for remaining in Loreto as my brother was dead set on sending me away to college. Dancing had been the center of my universe. My way of managing life’s hurts: my parents’ murders and the bloodshed and death caused by competing cartels. But my dance partner—on his Uncle Ignacio’s order—sabotaged our performance. The result was humiliating and debilitating. I’d been wounded on so many levels.

And who’d been there to comfort me? Who took me into his embrace and reassured me not all was broken? Who did I naively place in the center of my universe afterward?

I squeeze my eyes shut. He cared. I know he did.

And then, he didn’t.

I have to get out of here.

Daypack in hand, I approach the door. With a snap of my fingers, I decapitate the umbrella from the toothpick and send it flying. Then, I turn my attention to using it on the door’s locks. The first two are easy to pop open. The third is designed to keep someone inside.

I haven’t picked a lock in years, though the skill is like rolling out tortillas. It takes a bit of effort but, eventually, I succeed.

Carefully, I slip out into the empty corridor and head toward the port side of the yacht. But the sound of men up ahead stops me. I steal a quick peek around the corner and find two guards, deep in conversation.

Dead end.