A panicked thought steals over me. What if everyone’s abandoned the yacht but me? What if everyone’s dead but me? The killer could still be stalking the decks. I clap a hand over my mouth, smothering a hysterical giggle. I’d really be Darwin Award-worthy if I got gutted like a fish because I’ve been locked up too long and I’m going a little crazy.
“All right, bitch, be practical,” I whisper. “Forget knife-wielding maniacs.”
A warm sea breeze fans my face as I look slowly around. I’m toward the back of yacht. The bridge and all the electronic equipment will be at the front. The power seems to be out, but I think ships and things have emergency generators, don’t they? If I can reach the bridge, I can radio for help.
I start edging my way forward through the starry darkness, and I hear nothing but my own breathing. I leave the emergency lighting behind me, but the yacht is silvered with moonlight so I can see well enough. I turn to look over my shoulder, and I think I see a shadow move, as if a man has just ducked out of sight. I stare at the spot for a full minute, wondering if I imagined it.
God, I hope I imagined it.
Swallowing, I edge forward again. Both my feet are on the ground when I hear a footfall. I squeeze my eyes shut and mouth one word: Fuck.
I’m being stalked.
Do I call out for help or run for my life? That weird sensation that I’m watching a movie of my own life steals over me again. I’m in the audience too, and we’ve seen the deaths of each and every person aboard this yacht. The camera has shown me walking unwittingly past blood-streaked walls and dismembered corpses. Now I’m edging toward my own death. No no no! we’re all screaming, throwing popcorn at the screen. Don’t go out there. Barricade yourself in your room. This chick is TSTL!
Yeah, I’ve made too many mistakes to be the final girl. I’m definitely getting snuffed.
I grip the railing, staring blindly around in the dark. I need to make one last solid effort to stay alive, and that barricade is sounding pretty good about now. I can’t double back because whoever is stalking me is behind me, but I can cross to the other side of the deck and try to lose myself in the shadows.
On silent feet, I hurry to the left hand side of the yacht—starboard?—and crouch down. My eyes land on a stainless-steel fire extinguisher with a blue label. DRY POWDER: For trash, wood, paper, flammable liquids and electrical fires. It’s about a foot and a half long, and when I pull it from its holder I find it’s comfortingly solid and heavy. One good thwack to a man’s head and he’d go down. For good measure I pull the pin out and practice aiming the nozzle. Now I have a melee and a ranged weapon. Score.
This asshole following me wants me to go back to my room. If I’m in my room then I can’t reach the radio, and he’s got all the time in the world to break in and get me.
I should go to the bridge, and I can always barricade myself in there.
The bridge it is.
But as I set off, I hear a noise in front of me this time. What the hell? Is he behind me, or in front of me? Is there more than one of them? My eyes land on the fire extinguisher again, and then at the hatch just to my right.
Holding my breath, I spray a swathe of white powder all over the deck. I saw this in Paranormal Activity, when the man was trying to discover if an invisible demon was coming into their room at night. The powder comes out in a hiss so loud that no one nearby can have failed to hear it. Gripping the canister tightly, I flip open the hatch and climb down the ladder one-handed, my heart pounding wildly in my ears.
As I stand in the dark space among what feels like stacks of life vests, I listen with everything I have. All is silent, but is that because I was imagining things, or because the hatch is closed?
I make myself count slowly to one hundred, and then ascend the ladder once more. It’s awkward doing this while holding the extinguisher, but I’m not letting go of the only thing I have to protect me. When I’m standing on the deck again, I look around.
There’s a pair of footsteps going right through the powder. Male ones. Big ones.
They’re heading toward the bridge. There was someone following me, and now I can’t get to the one thing that was going to save my—
Hands grab me. The extinguisher is yanked from my fingers and thrown overboard. I’m forced face-first into the wall and pinned there. I try to scream but a hand clamps over my mouth.
“Got you,” a voice says roughly in my ear.
My eyes go wide. A body is pressed tightly against mine, a strong chest against my shoulders. Whoever it is strokes his hand down my back and cups my ass, working his fingers into the cleft. My eyes go wide, and I make angry buzzing sounds in the back of my throat.
Then I catch the silky scent of his familiar cologne.
I’m hyperconscious that I’m not wearing any underwear beneath my skirt. When his fingers slide between my legs, I can’t help the moan that escapes me. Adrenaline has over-sensitized my body.
“Did I scare you, princesa?” he whispers harshly, rubbing my sex back and forth with possessive, hungry movements. Wetness surges against his fingers.
There was nothing wrong with the yacht. Damir staged the whole thing.
The vibe was one thing. Rubbing myself against the fingers of a man who has stalked me through a darkened ship and shoved me up against a wall is another. My cheek heats against the cool metal wall, and I gasp and buck. He leans his weight on me even more.
“No, not again. Leave me alone.”
His fingers find my clit and I gasp, my head thrown back. I can feel his breath lightly fanning the nape of my neck.