Page 61 of The Bad Girl
Chapter 22
Nadine
A hard knock sounds on the door, casting me from sleep, and into confusion. I jolt up in bed, naked and afraid.
Maxwell is pushing to make sure the door stays closed even though there is already a desk and chair in front of it.
“Come out!” A muffled shout comes through the doorway.
“No, I think we’re fine in here,” Maxwell returns.
“It was an order! Food’s ready.”
My stomach growls when it hears the word food.
Maxwell looks to me with a worry-lined face.
“We might as well go out,” I reason.
“I don’t like this.”
“What choice do we have? He has a gun.”
Maxwell frowns but moves the chair and desk from the door.
I throw on the skimpy bikini, then pull my orange tunic and white pants on over it. It reeks of booze from Eliza’s spill, but at least it covers me more than the white sarong.
When I’m ready, Maxwell cracks open the door, but motions for me to stay back. He peeks out in each direction, triple checking the hall.
“Okay, let’s go up top, see what’s going on,” he says, reaching for my hand.
We step into the hall as Lady Elaine walks past. Harlow and Eliza are exiting a cabin further back.
Poor girl.
We tiptoe up the steps, Maxwell keeping me an arm’s length behind him as to further protect me.
Lady Elaine walks onto the deck as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. Lady Elaine is clearly a bad girl.
I see Mike T. seated, thick ropes tied around his body, and I exhale a relieved sigh. If there were anyone aboard the boat that could cause Johnson issues, it’d be Mike. Luckily, Johnson didn’t take care of that problem.
“It’s okay, you can come on up,” Johnson barks. “I don’t wanna hurt no one, I just want to get you guys fed.”
“Why should I make it any easier for you to simply shoot us all?” Maxwell challenges.
“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
Maxwell steps onto the deck, and I follow, Eliza and Harlow behind us.
The bartender is already mixing drinks, and hors d’oeuvres have been placed out.
I move past Maxwell, who clutches my wrist.
“Look, whatever happens, happens. Me moving slower isn’t going to prevent it.”
“She really is a pistil.” Johnson chuckles.
Maxwell releases me, and I grab a plate, fill it with food but turn down the alcohol.
