Captured by the Criminal (Taken)

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. My feet move swiftly down each step. I’m not sure if it’s safer, but at least I can’t see the size of the waves from down here.

The moment I step into the cabin area, it’s quiet. Like we’ve reached the calm.

But it only lasts a second before men are brushing past me, trying to keep this ship afloat. I try to get out of the way and make myself invisible, because I know nothing about guiding a ship safely through gale force winds.

“This is all your fault,” a bearded man says as he passes me.

I turn away from him, my eyes wide as I search out the safety of my cabin. Hopefully, it’ll be over soon and the sea will calm.

I’ve never been on a ship in the middle of the ocean. Just a few yacht parties that barely went further than the Intracoastal Waterway, and the water was never choppy. If it looked like rain, they’d cancel the party.

I’ve gone sailing a few times, but again, never like this.

This is a whole other experience.

I make it to my room, my stomach coiling with nerves and exhaustion. I’m dizzy from the rocking, and I sit on the bed, waiting for what’s coming.

My nerves are all over the place and I try to calm my galloping heart.

The boat tilts all the way over and I fall off the bed, knocking my head on the bedside table. Everything goes black.

There’s a banging in my head and a piece of dry cotton in my mouth. Where am I? I can’t open my eyes just yet, so I listen to the surrounding sounds, trying my best to make sense of my pain.

“She took a nasty spill,” a man says.

“That was a rough storm.”

A storm. It all comes back to me in a flood. I try to sit up, opening my eyes and holding my head where it hurts most.

“Not so fast,” Costi says as his face comes into focus.

“Is it over?”

He grins, which takes a smidge of the pain away. “Yeah, we made it through in one piece.”

I try again to finagle my body to a sitting position. “What happened?”

“You must have bumped your head on something. I’m sorry.'' The other men in the room leave and Costi’s eyes meet mine. “I shouldn’t have sent you down here. I should have protected you better.”

“You kept me alive. That’s good enough.” I’m still torn why Costi is so hell bent on saving me and protecting me when he just plans to hand me over to Bishop.

“I have the cook making you a special tea that should help with the nausea.”

“Thank you,” I say as he helps me to my feet.

“Let’s get you to the galley.” He steers me through the hallways and into a kitchen with a large oak table where a few men sit drinking beer and playing cards.

“Out,” Costi barks.

The men follow his order without even a question or groan of disapproval at being told to leave. “They didn’t have to leave. I don’t mind,” I say when the last man files out behind the others.

“These men aren’t what one would call friendly.”

“I deal with the mob. I think I can handle a few pirates.” It sounds like I’m in the 17th century when pirates were a real thing. Well, I guess they’re a real thing now too, because here I am on a pirate ship, somewhere I never thought I’d be.

I take a seat at the table and watch as Costi grabs the tea kettle on the stove the cook left for us.

“Lots of sugar, right?” he asks, remembering how I take my tea.

“No. Plain.” It pains me to say that because I’m a sugarholic, most likely on my way to a life of diabetes. I just can’t help it. Sugar is so yummy on everrrrything. But god, the jabs from Gino took all the enjoyment out of it.

His brow raises. “Not even a little bit of sugar? I hope you’re not giving up everything you like because of that asshole.”

You know, he’s right. I’ve been kidnapped, so to hell with what anyone thinks. “Ok. A sprinkle.”

Costi adds a dash of sweetness, gives it a stir, and sets the mug in front of me. I sip it, trying my best not to meet his gaze. I don’t know what to say to him other than ‘let me go.’

“We should get to the Port of Gibraltar soon. The bad weather helped us shed some time off our trip.”

“Yippee us.” I don’t care how close we are to any port. I want to go back to the Port of Miami.

“Don’t be like that, B.”

“You can’t call me that. Only loyal friends can call me B.”

Costi gives me that look. You know, the look someone gives you when they’re calling you out on your bullshit. Arched brow. Tilted head. Side-eyes.