Chapter 5 - The Glass of Water
By eleven-thirty, I was back in the master suite bed.
The storm had fully hit us now. The Vance Voyager, a hundred-and-forty-foot tri-deck yacht, was pitching violently through the dark waters of the Mona Passage. Every few seconds, the bow would rise high over a wave crest and drop with a shuddering THUD that rattled the heavy brass fixtures in the bathroom.
I lay under the duvet, my dark silk dress replaced by a soft white nightgown. My right hand was hidden under the pillow, fingers wrapped tightly around the cool, heavy handle of a stainless-steel fillet knife I had taken from Mateo’s pantry.
The door latch clicked open.
Flynn stepped into the room. He was wearing a dark blue waterproof storm jacket over his shirt, his hair damp from the spray on the outer decks. In his right hand, he carried a crystal glass filled with water.
"Cassandra?" he called softly, shutting the door behind him.
I made a low, groaning sound, letting my head roll to the side on the pillow. "Flynn...? What time is it...?"
"It's almost midnight, sweet girl," he said, stepping over to the bed. His voice was smooth, relaxed, entirely unhurried. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, the weight of his body pressing the heavy feather bed down toward him. "The storm is getting pretty bad outside. I wanted to check on you one last time."
He held out the glass of water.
"Drink this," he said softly. "It will help settle your head so you can sleep through the rough water."
I looked at the glass. In the dim blue light of the storm outside, the liquid looked clear, but I could see a faint ring of white residue clinging to the glass near the rim.
"I'm so thirsty," I whispered, reaching out with a trembling left hand.
I took the glass from his fingers.
Flynn watched me, his eyes locked onto my lips. His body was tense, ready to react if I showed any sign of resistance.
"All of it, darling," he instructed gently, brushing a damp strand of hair off my cheek. "Then we’ll go outside for a minute to get some fresh air before you settle down for the night."
"Fresh air?" I asked, bringing the glass near my lips. "It's so cold outside..."
"Just a minute on the aft deck," he said, his hand resting on my knee under the covers. "The cool air will help with the fever."
I lifted the glass. I let the cold rim touch my bottom lip.
Then, with a sudden, violent movement, I swung my arm upward, slamming the crystal glass directly into Flynn’s face.
The heavy glass shattered against his cheekbone. Water and jagged shards of crystal sprayed across his face, cutting a deep, jagged line from his eye down to his jawline.
Flynn let out a sharp, choked roar of pain and shock, stumbling backward off the bed, his hands flying to his bloody face. "WHAT THE FUCK—!"
I didn't give him a second to recover. I threw the duvet off, pulled the six-inch fillet knife from beneath the pillow, and lunged forward off the bed.
I drove the blade downward toward his shoulder.
Flynn, despite his shock, was faster and stronger than I was. He caught my wrist mid-air, the force of his grip grinding the bones of my arm together until I gasped in pain. The knife clattered out of my fingers onto the plush carpet.
"You crazy bitch!" Flynn snarled, his face a grotesque mask of blood and water. His blue eyes, once so full of simulated warmth, were now wide, murderous, and wild. "You heard us!"
"I heard everything!" I screamed, kicking wildly at his shins with my bare feet. "You monster! You're not getting a dollar! Do you hear me?! NOT A SINGLE CENT!"
Flynn drove his knee into my stomach, knocking the air from my lungs in a agonizing gasp. I collapsed back against the carpet, retching, unable to draw breath.
He stood over me, wiping a sleeve across his bloody jaw, his chest heaving.
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"It doesn't matter," he panted, his voice dropping into a terrifying, guttural rasp. "It doesn't change anything, Cassandra. You think anyone is coming to save you out here? You're dying tonight. The only difference is now it's going to hurt."
He reached down, grabbed me by my hair, and dragged my screaming, thrashing body toward the cabin door.
