Page 9 of Her Wedding Night
“All right, boys, what did you bring to wager with tonight?” Forrest rubs his hands together, his eyes bright.
Gilly flashes some bling on his wrist. “My dad’s Rolex.”
Another guy whose name I missed smirks and lifts his hand, showing off a gem on his pinky finger. “My step-mom’s ring. It’s too small for her now. She never wears it.”
The casual way they’ve stolen from their parents takes my breath away. If my family was still alive…
But they aren’t.
“We’re up,” Gracie says.
Hannah and Alyssa push me toward the poker game.
“What are we expected to do?” I ask.
“Look pretty. Create curiosity.” Alyssa lowers her voice. “You get to keep whatever is bid on you, by the way.”
Hannah’s watching me. Waiting for me to react, but react to what? What am I going to do with someone’s stolen watch?
“There are six of them,” I whisper. “And only four of us.”
“Ethan said you were good at math.” She shrugs. “Sometimes they share. Sometimes they just watch. Sometimes they have more girls and they each get two. It’s different every time.”
My head is spinning from the fact they’ve done this repeatedly.
I will never step foot on this boat ever again. But until we return to shore, I need to do whatever it takes to keep ahead of this madness.
CHAPTER 6
GABRIEL
I grind the heel of my hand into my eye socket as I watch Ethan and his frat buddies finish their first hand of poker.
As far as I can tell, everyone is here willingly. And it also seems like with one singular exception, everyone knows what is expected for the evening—which makes me very fucking concerned about why Ethan kept Lucy in the dark about what is essentially a costume sex party. But if I call in the Coast Guard too soon, and they don’t find anything other than rich kids drinking, I’ll have burned my nascent relationship with Ethan for no reason—and Lucy won’t be any safer.
Because no matter what happens tonight, I know he’s obsessed with her.
That’s how I fucking became obsessed with her, too. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
On the security monitor, the inconvenient object of our shared secret obsession crosses to the bar and pours herself another drink. I note with interest that the splash of booze is barely anything. She waves the bottle in the air, asking the others if they’d like drinks, too.
She has the right approach. Get them drunk, and outsmart them. The drinks she makes for them are much heavier on thealcohol, as if she’s figured out that she needs to keep her wits about her—and dull theirs at the same time.
“Good girl,” I mutter under my breath.
Fuck, I can’t believe I let her get on the boat. I should have tossed her over my shoulder and dealt with her outrage once I had her alone, in a safe space.
I’d take her little fists pummelling my back any day over the stress of watching her realize what these supposed friends are all about.
I have a lot of regrets spinning through my head right now. Not going to her directly is at the top of the list, but I underestimated her powers of observation, and by the time I was ready to make myself known to her, she’d already pegged me as a danger.
And then there’s the other small issue of not trusting myself to be alone with her.
I would never hurt her.
Not in a million years.
But I’m not sure I can keep my desire hidden, either. I don’t know. I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Ever.