The Prey

“Oh, you can call me Gordon, now that I got my rocks off.” He chuckled. “I know the pirate thing is goofy, but it’s what gets me going, what can I say?”

Mara said nothing to this. It didn’t feel “goofy” when he choked her on his cock while he pulled her hair, or when he caned her ass. But at least the ordeal appeared to be over.

“You girls are amazing, I have to give you that. I mean, you’re new, right? I’m your first?”

“Yes, sir.”

Again the satisfied chuckle. “So in a way, you were a virgin. Ha!”

Mara didn’t reply, glad once more he couldn’t see her face.

Gordon continued, “I don’t know where Wallace keeps coming up with you girls. He must pay you a fortune, is all I got to say. No, no”—he interrupted himself as if she’d been about to protest—“I’m sorry. That was uncool, talking about money. I get it. It ruins the fantasy, the allure of this place—beautiful, responsive girls who let you do anything you want, not because they want it, but because they’re sex slaves, captives who will be killed if they don’t submit.”

Mara lifted her head, not sure she’d heard the man correctly. Is this what he thought? That the truth was in fact a fantasy? Though he was a pervert and a clueless dick, he was also kind on some level—cradling her gently in his arms after the sex, talking to her as if she were a human being rather than just a piece of ass for him to use and discard.

Now that his fantasy had been fulfilled, had Gordon sloughed off the Blackbeard persona and all its associated cruelness like the silly costume he’d worn? Was he sincere or, like Alex, would he use the hand that tenderly soothed her one moment to strike her the next?

Did she dare?

Before she could stop herself, Mara lifted her head and moved close so her mouth was against Gordon’s ear. “It’s not a fantasy, Gordon. It’s the truth,” she whispered. “Don’t react, please. We’re being observed, but I have to tell you. I have to try. I was kidnapped and brought here against my will. They’ll kill us or sell us if we try to get away. Please, please help me. Please help me get out of here. Please help all of us. I’m begging you.”

Gordon pushed her gently away and hoisted himself on his elbows. He stared at Mara for a long, moment, his pale blue eyes boring into her face. Her heart was smashing in her chest. Would he believe her? He had to! She was panting, her entire body coiled with tension, adrenaline spurting through her system.

She waited, both terrified and hopeful.

After several long seconds, to her shocked horror, Gordon began to laugh, a big guffaw, his head thrown back. Mara’s blood froze in her veins. “That’s a good one,” he managed in a gasp, shaking his head. “Jesus H., I actually believed you for a second. You are good. You should consider a life on the stage, if you ever get sick of selling your pretty ass.”

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, still shaking his head. “Like that could actually happen—a bunch of sex slaves held against their wills right in the good ole U. S. of A.” He stood and walked to a chair near the bed, reaching for a white bathrobe that lay over the back. Wrapping the robe around his body, he continued, “Like Dan Wallace, one of the top businessmen in North Carolina, would possibly involve himself in something like that! But I have to admit, you had me going for a second there.” He chuckled again.

Mara closed her eyes, unable to move, unable to think, unable to react. She had whispered, but his loud voice would have carried into the hallway, even if the suite wasn’t bugged.

What had she done? Oh god, what had she done?

She lay stiff, not sure what to do, if she should try again, or make a joke of it, or what. Gordon had moved to the bar set up in a corner of a room. He put ice into a glass and poured from a bottle of liquor. He turned to face her and lifted the glass. “Cheers.” He drank it down, made a face and then said, “Good stuff. They know how to treat you in this place.” He lifted the glass once more in her direction. “Sorry, want some?”

Mara shook her head, her thoughts still churning. Maybe everything was okay. She would need to find another way off the island. These guests were too invested in the process to risk getting involved. What had possibly made her think otherwise? Maybe it was good the guy hadn’t believed her. Maybe she’d dodged her own bullet.