Enslaved by the Ocean
Page 12

I hold my breath as I take each step, so sure I will have a gun pressed to my head before I make it down to the last step. I get to the bottom, and slowly turn. He hasn’t noticed. I pick up speed now, moving as quickly as I can down the halls. I get to the first room, and run into it. I don’t pay much attention to the bland wooden walls in the tiny room, or the single bed that looks like it’s seen better days in the corner. I go straight to the drawers beside it, and open them. Come on, there has to be a gun in here somewhere. Not finding one in this room, I run down to the kitchen. I hear voices, and know it’s out of bounds. My heart begins to thump desperately. I have minutes, if I’m lucky. My eyes dart around, and I run to the next room that’s open.
I go straight past the single beds—this one has two—and to the drawers. I yank them open, and I begin shuffling through desperately. Come on. Come on. When I find nothing, I stand straight and spin around, only to come crashing into a flabby, big chest. My entire body stiffens, and I lift my face to see an old disgusting pirate, grinning down at me. He’s got thinning grey hair, yellow teeth, and eyes that are a steely blue. He’s awful. My blood runs cold. He’s not giving me an expression that says he wants to hurt me. No, his expression is that of lust.
“Well, well, I heard there was a pretty girl on the ship. What’re you doin’ rummaging through my stuff, poppet?”
I shake my head, stepping back. “I was…I was just…”
“You know how long it’s been since I’ve had a woman?” He grins, showing me rotting teeth.
Oh no.
What was I thinking, trying to run through this ship alone? I take another step back, but he lashes out and grips me. I try to squirm and fight, but my body is so weak. He spins me around, crushing an arm across my chest. Then he presses a knife to my throat. Oh no, please, God, no. Don’t let this happen. No.
“Don’t scream, or I’ll slit it,” he hisses into my ear.
Then his hands lower down over my stomach to my shorts. Everything in my world stops, and my entire body is stiff with fear. I can’t move, even though everything inside me is screaming to fight. His hand slips into my shorts, and tears burn my eyes as his knife presses against my throat. I make a choking sound, and I plead with him to stop.
“Silence,” he orders.
I feel bile rise in my throat as the tips of his fingers skim my panties. My vision begins to blur, and I struggle to find my fight.
When his fingers pull at the elastic of my panties, I find that fight. I drive my elbow backwards suddenly, hitting him in the ribs. He bellows and stumbles, crashing into the drawers beside the bed. The knife drops to the floor, and I lunge for it. I wrap my fingers around it, and just as he goes to charge me I drop low, driving it into his leg. He screams, dropping to the floor. Blood runs from his leg, and the knife tumbles from my grip. I feel the blood drain from my face as I stumble backwards. I just . . . I just . . . stabbed him.
I make a rasping sound, and I hear voices down the hall. I have to get out of here. I can’t do this anymore. I drop to my knees, and the pirate is still rolling and screaming, gripping his leg. I grasp at the gun in his pants, and I pull it free. I push to my feet, and my hands wobble. I point the gun at him, and in a wobbly hiss, I snarl,  “Don’t move.” He is still groaning in pain, and I figure he hasn’t acknowledged what I said. Blood is pouring from the deep wound in his leg.
“What the fuck?”
I hear Hendrix’s angry voice, and spin to see him standing at the door, gun out.
“What are you doin’?”
“He tried to…he…he put his hands…”
“What did he do?” he says, his voice hard.
“He tried to rape me,” I whisper.
Hendrix’s fiery gaze turns to the pirate on the ground. “Is that fact?”
“No boss, it’s not…she’s lyin’. She came in here and threw herself at me…”
Hendrix’s face turns stony, and he pulls the trigger on his gun without a second question. I scream as a bullet lands right between the pirate’s eyes. A clean hole appears, and blood begins to flow steadily from the wound. My entire body sways, and I can hear myself crying. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. I just want to leave. Why won’t he let me leave? I’m tired. Exhausted. I’m done.
I lift the gun, and I press it to my temple. Hendrix turns, his eyes widen, and he very gently says, “Put that down, girl.”
“What’s the point?” I whisper. “My life is over anyway.”
“It isn’t what you want to do…”
“Isn’t it?” I scream, my hand shaking. “What is it you think I want? To live life as a sex slave? This is the better way.”
Hendrix slowly raises his gun, only to about my thigh height. “Put it down, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“N…n…no.”
I hear a shot fire out, I feel the burning in my thigh, and I feel myself collapse onto the floor. The gun topples from my hand, and skids across the wood. I open my mouth, and nothing except a strangled gurgle comes out. I feel like there is fire spreading up my leg. It burns. I scream, and my hands instantly go to the wound where I feel hot, sticky blood.
Hendrix is there quickly, leaning down, and lifting me into his arms. “It’s only a graze, you’re okay.”
“You shot me,” I bellow, my stomach twisting from the pain.