Captive [malexmale]

Chapter One

"You behave," She added with a wink, "If you find any cute sailor boys--"

"Oh, gosh, Dare, don't." I groaned, pushing her away. We'd all laughed, shared hugs and last minute online recipes for the trip before I had boarded the yacht. It had taken all my strength to pull away from the rails, even after my friends had faded into the distance.

Was it safe to say I was dependent on them sometimes? Yes. I had done a lot of things on my own since my parents divorced when I was in middle school. My mother was constantly working, so meals were up to me, doing my homework alone, tucking myself into bed at night. It had been a miracle when I met those three my senior year of high school after we were forced to move from our suburban home to an apartment in the city. My friends had followed me all the way to college, where we spent our second year living together in a horribly painted mint green house just off campus.

Yeah. Life was good.

Emphasis on the was part.

I was accustomed to the house we had in the moderate temperatures of Wisconsin. Now I was practically melting in the ninety degree weather drenched in sea water, even though I hadn't even been in the water. Not that I had to. The yacht had an indoor pool.

I sighed miserably, shutting my cell phone off and tucking it into my pocket. We'd hit a dead zone not too far back and calling my friends for help would do nothing. Instead, I paused to turn and look up at the sky. The sun was shining right above us, but off in the distance, I could see dark storm clouds that made my stomach twist in a knot.

Joy. A storm.

I disappeared into the yacht and down to my room that looked more like a hotel room than a cabin in a yacht. I showered off, but even that didn't get the weird feeling of salt off my skin. I pulled on another white shirt and blue swim trunks before I did a walk around the yacht, walking past the pool, pausing with a frown to see my dad in the pool, laughing with his new wife.

My dad wasn't really a prick, like one of those rich dudes who made a big deal about sharing his money. He donated to charity, volunteered at community events to help the less fortunate, and I think that was what made it harder to hate him. Or maybe it was the big smile he got on his face with his new wife. His dark hair was slicked back from his well-chiseled, clean-shaven face, an unnecessary pair of sunglasses on his head. He was playing Marco-Polo from the looks of it as he waved his arms around for his wife, who stifled her laughter and moved away from him, wearing an incredibly tiny blue polka dotted bikini, blonde hair piled into a sloppy bun on her head.

I think her name was, like, Miranda or something.

I zoned out when he talked about her.

It was childish of me, and I knew that, but I couldn't help it. He was in this nice big pool in a yacht with his new young wife while my mom didn't even have the time or money to drop me off in North Carolina for the vacation. She had to work her butt off to pay the rent on her apartment. My friends had been the ones who dropped me off. I didn't hate my mom for not being able to make it, of course, it wasn't her fault she was always called into work.

But wasn't my dad even the tiniest bit remorseful about the position he'd left her in?

I pinched the bridge of my nose and went to the small kitchen area to grab a snack before heading to my room for a nap. A nap that barely lasted three hours before I woke up to the tossing and churning of the ship. Instantly my snack was in my mouth again and I groaned, rolling over, grabbing my puke bucket and emptying the contents of my stomach into it before I struggled to get out of bed without falling over.

Holy crap, what the hell was going on?

I wiped my mouth on my sheets, dragging myself to the door, hissing when I slammed into the wall near it as the ship lunged to the left. I grabbed onto the door frame, pulling myself out of my room and making my way up the stairs.