“The toilet.”

Isn’t head a military term for the bathroom? Just how much of a well-oiled well-trained killing machine is this giant of a man?

I’m really getting tired of all the questions running through my head and am starting to think running away is my best option here. At least if I can get back home I can get to my dad and we can bolt from our apartment before any damage is actually done. It’s not like we have anything to pack. The hardest part will be dragging dad out of there if he’s had a drink to calm his nerves after Elijah most surely rattled them.

“I found you a blanket,” a voice comes from behind me and I jump.

“Oh. Thank you,” I say, as that same giant hand of his that held me up now holds up a blanket as if it’s nothing, just as it had me.

“I’m not sure if it qualifies as soft and comfortable, or at least as much as you’re used to, but we can stop and buy you a new one when we get back to land.”

“When we get back to land?”

“Yeah,” he nods, wrapping a rope up and I can’t help but notice the thick cord resemble an extension of his forearms as he flexes to get the job done. “That blanket will come in handy. It gets cold on the open water at night.”

“We’re spending the night out there?”

“She’s all I got right now,” he says, sweeping his hand out in the direction of the boat’s deck.

I feel a ting in my ribs and strangely I feel jealous of an oversized piece of fiberglass and wood. I don’t count? And what’s up with referring to your boat as a woman? It’s not like his boat could ever love him like… Never mind.

“My dad will most likely come up with the cash before morning,” I lie. “Why don’t we just get a hotel or something?”

“Your dad coming up with the money?” he laughs. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Why are we going out to sea then?”

“We’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Where?” I ask, thinking back about dad’s business deal with Elijah. Wasn’t that around the time dad was making money hand over fist smuggling cigars out of Cuba? I don’t have a passport, let alone permission to visit there. And the last thing I want is to be locked up in a prison on some island in the Caribbean. An island that’s not exactly friendly with America and where I most likely won’t ever be found again.

“Do we really need to take the boat out?”

“What I need is for you to give this a chance.”

Ok…what is ‘this’? Anything I was feeling deflates like a water balloon that’s been pierced with a safety pin.

Elijah moves toward the control center of the sleek vessel and I take two steps and jump onto the plank and take off in a dead sprint down the pier as fast as I can.

“Emma!” I hear behind me, my name laced with the sound of someone missing me, a strange feeling to say the least. But I keep running, not even thinking of looking back over my shoulder.

In technical terms, I’m hauling ass as fast as I can until I reach the front guard shack to the harbor…and the ten-foot-high fence that surrounds it.

It’s only now that I realize this harbor isn’t exactly the type that holds boats who are in town visiting from Monaco for the weekend. This is more of an industrial type harbor, focusing more on cargo and things of that nature, making the presence of Elijah’s cigarette boat all the stranger.

Two Doberman Pinschers and a German Shepard come flying out from behind the shack and I freeze, but the dogs which look like they’re out for blood don’t. They sprint right up to me, slamming on the brakes just a foot or two from me as they continue barking and showing their teeth.

“Emma!” I hear in the background and know Elijah is hot on my heels.

I’ve gotta find a way to get out of here and get back to dad pronto.

“Where you running off to so fast, good lookin’?” a wiry man spits through one missing front tooth, and the other stained in a dark shade of yellow bordering on brown.

“I need you to open the gate,” I huff. “Now.”

“Aren’t we the bossy one. How about you come inside and tell me what’s troubling you and I’ll see if I can give you a hand,” he says, waving his hand at me as he laughs like a hyena. “Or at least get my hands on that tight little ass of yours,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Oh my, God.”


Tags: Lena Little Yes, Daddy Erotic