The one with his hand around my arm glares at him as we all start walking down the long corridor. Room after room. Opulent marble flooring against vicious combat boots. With each step we take, the smell of saltwater becomes aggressively stronger. Some rooms have people in them, not just girls, guys too, and some are empty. Before I can map any of them to memory, we’ve reached the end, and the guy with me yanks open a heavy metal door. Another long corridor, only this one is narrow and lined with multiple hanging light bulbs, all surging as we reach the end. I can smell mildew vaporizing off the walls, the dampness manifesting from the affluent rooms I came from. We push through yet another door, this corridor shorter.
Cold.
I’m so cold.
I shiver. It seems to drop in temperature the deeper we go. He yanks open another door, and instantly, we’re in the middle of a large room. Engines are firing furiously, the glacial temperature now doing a complete 180, hitting scorching heights as sweat throbs from my flesh. It’s then that the smell hits me. Fish mixed with oil. Then the ground starts to swerve more.
“I don’t remember coming onto a boat…” Rose murmurs underneath her breath. I want to agree with her. I don’t remember this either. I don’t remember getting onto the boat, only waking here.
Rose’s question falls on deaf ears as they continue to lead us forward, up metal steps and onto the main platform. I freeze when the wind whips across my face, my teeth chattering. The vast size of the ocean stretches wide around the large yacht, rocking in the middle of the ocean.
My eyes travel up to my captor and then to Rose.
Just as Rose is about to open her mouth, the loud sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air interrupts her.
“What’s going on?” Rose yells. The chopper begins to slowly lower to the helipad on the front of the yacht, the wind rushing around us in a frenzy. There’s a black seven-point star that’s on the helipad, with lights flashing on every point.
I slowly step back, just as the doors open. I watch as all of them, one by one, remove their bandanas.
Four guys.
Four very young guys, probably around my age—maybe a bit older. I scan them closely.
The edgy one who has taken it upon himself to attach himself to me has thick brown hair that looks naturally ruffled, as if he doesn’t give a shit what it looks like. His eyes are as green as tainted jade and his skin is so annoyingly flawless that it bothers me. His shoulders and arms are a vivid display of how hard he trains at the gym, and he must stand at least a foot taller than my five-foot-four inches. I’ve decided I’ll call him One until I know his name. Two, who I gather is the big mouth in the group, judging by his smirking face pointed directly at One, has dark brown messy hair and bright blue eyes that dance in mischief. His eyes remind me of Atlantic ice. I’m not sure how to take him for now, but I shall call him Two. The third, now named Three, has black hair, is brooding, and looks almost bored with everyone’s existence. Like us breathing the same air as he is, is an insult. He has a sharp jaw, a straight nose, and a little cleft that’s indented into his chin. The final boy is glaring right at me. His eyes are like whiskey, and every girl is probably parched. He has a square jaw and larger lips, with tattoos sneaking out from beneath his collar and up his neck. It’s obvious that he’s beautiful, they all are, especially One. One pushes buttons inside of me that I didn’t know I had. Without saying a word, he’s saying a lot.
One tugs on my arm, leading me toward the helicopter and rudely interrupting me from my observations. They’re all tall, with One being the tallest. They’re all lean, with Four being the biggest.
“Get in!” One points up the little steps to the sleek black chopper, and I abide. It’s not like I have any other choice. “If you haven’t figured out yet, this is your lifeline.” I try not to look at him for too long, because—well—because he’s pretty. If you can even call someone like him pretty. There’s a fine line between pretty and scary, and One uses that line as a tightrope. It’s not just his appearance either. It’s the way he carries himself and takes charge. You just know a true alpha when you see one. They don’t need to bite because their bark is more like a roar, terrifying enough to scare away anyone who comes near.
Rose glares at One as she takes her seat opposite me. “And if you haven’t figured out, she doesn’t speak much.”