Page 43 of Omega
Yuri moved to sit beside me, reaching down to his waist and producing a long, wicked-looking knife. I tensed, but he moved slowly, watching me.
“I cut you free,” he said in his guttural voice. “Do not move.”
I leaned forward and stretched my arms out behind me, tried to open my wrists as far as the zip-ties would allow. There was a momentary tightening of pressure as he pressed in with the knife, and then the plastic parted and my wrists were free. I kept still, knowing my best plan was to cooperate and wait for an opportunity. Mostly naked on a boat in the middle of the Caribbean, hours before dawn, surrounded by men with machine guns? Not the best time to be stubborn lunatic Layla.
That time would come, but it wasn’t now.
Yuri gestured with the knife, stabbing the tip at the rope ladder. “Climb up. No bullshit, or you die.”
I put my arms through the openings of the vest and then slid across the bench to the rope ladder, grabbed a rung, and hauled myself up. Can I just take a moment and point out that this maneuver is not as easy as they make it seem on TV? The fishing boat was riding up and down on the waves, and so was the little black rubber boat I was on, and neither were going up or down at the same time. Plus, I was shaky with fear, and had guns pointed at me. Also, I’ve never climbed a rope ladder before, and they’re not easy to use either.
And I had to pee.
So yeah, it was a difficult operation, getting a good grip on the rope ladder, getting a foot on the ladder and not losing my balance. If I fell, I’d probably end up in the water under the boat, which sounded like even less fun than I was having already. But I managed it, and climbed up, up, up, swung a leg over onto the deck, and straightened to face a group of men so hardened, rough-looking, and heavily armed that I almost peed myself. Seriously, each one had a machine gun on his shoulder and most had a pistol too. Several had lit cigarettes hanging from the corners of their mouths.
They all just stared at me like I was a fish that had sprouted arms and legs and decided to forgo the net and just climb aboard for the slaughter.
One of the men snarled something I couldn’t understand, and Yuri—climbing up behind me—answered with a shrug and few quiet words. The first speaker gestured at me, and Yuri waved out at the water, pointed at me. Explaining what happened with the other guy, I guessed.
The first speaker, a tall man with a black beard and a red bandana tied over his skull like an actual pirate, stalked over to me and ripped the bulletproof vest off me, and then smirked as he realized I was essentially naked underneath. My shirt was cut open from top to bottom, leaving my front bare for their leisurely perusal. Feigning calm I didn’t feel, I slipped my arms out of the arm-holes and rotated the shirt, stuffed my arms back through so I was at least a little less naked in front of a bunch of hard-as-fuck criminals.
They’d all gotten a gander at my goods, so they were all probably hoping Bandana would take the remnants of my shirt away.
Bandana held the vest and stared down at me, dark eyes narrowed. “Make no trouble, and I will not let the men molest you. Cause problems, and I will not be so strict with them, you understand me?”
“What are you going to do with me?” I asked.
“Take you to the boss.”
“Am I going to be killed?”
Bandana shrugged. “Probably, but not until he has made his use of you.”
“Do I get clothes?”
“No. Shut up with the questions.” He gestured at Yuri and then to the deck hands, barking an order in their language.
Yuri grabbed me by the arm and hauled me toward the cabin, then pointed at a ladder leading below the deck. I climbed down, and Yuri followed, jerked open a thick steel door, and shoved me through.
The room was tiny, barely wide enough to let me stretch out my arms in any direction. It was cold, dark, featureless, and stank of fish. There was nothing in it at all, not even a prison cot.
And I had to pee.
Super.
Kidnapping is fun!
10
SÃO PAULO
You really don’t know boredom until you’ve spent countless hours in a featureless ten-by-ten room in the dark, without so much as a fucking bed to sit on. Did I mention it stank like fish? Well, it did. It stank very,verybadly of fish. It sure as shit wasn’t me stinking like that, because I keep my snatch clean. I mean, you can’t let a guy go down on you if you don’t keep your shit so fresh and so clean-clean.
But I digress.
I’M FUCKING BORED.
That was my mantra for so long I lost the capacity to think of anything else. There wasn’t room to pace, except for maybe a step in either direction. It was pitch black. It was cold. The boat didn’t toss me around too badly, but once in while the boat would angle up, sending me sliding backward, and then it would pitch down, sending me forward…over and over and over. There was nothing to hold on to, nothing to brace myself with or against. I tried sitting in each of the four corners, but a pitch or a roll of the boat and I’d be sliding all over the place anyway.