Marooned with the Rock Star (A Crazily Sensual Rock Star Romance, with Humor) (18 page)

*

“Oh shit,” I say.

“At least I found out who one of my haters
is,” Kurt says, a little sadly.

“Do you think that will affect us?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know.” He
favors me with a grim look.

“At least we know Adeline is OK with it,” I
say, even though I know it isn’t what I think.

Truth be told, the spectacle of Adeline going
on TV unsettled me. She was clearly still fighting her demons, and
she is so
not
OK with us being able to walk and use our
hands and leaving her behind for a whole new different life.

“Yeah,” Kurt says uneasily, “she seems to be
OK with us.”

REBECCA

On the fifth day, Jai and Faora throw a party
to which we are even invited. Or perhaps we are the main event, as
we are to find out.

The whole pirates’ enclave or smugglers’ den
have come to the island, it seems. OK, there aren’t that many of
them anyway, but there is still a sizeable crowd of about fifty on
the beach, and they have brought their women along. They brought
beer and all sorts of booze. And drugs. Coke, E, Special K, Weed.
Everything is available . . . and there’s not even a price.

Screw that. There was a price. The pirates
are celebrating being forty million dollars richer. They have
already withdrawn the money from the paying account and sequestered
large sums all over the world in private bank accounts from
Switzerland to Singapore.

For the occasion, Faora can certainly afford
to buy us new clothes. And so she did, from the mainland, wherever
it is.

I look at myself critically in the
mirror.

I am in a green Grecian goddess gown with one
shoulder left bare. The dress itself is worked with glittering
embellishments. Secured on the strap is a golden clasp. I have done
my red hair up in piles of softly cascading curls, and I daresay I
look nicer than my usual self.

Kurt seems to think so too.

He stands behind me in the mirror, his hands
on my shoulders. He is very handsome himself in a tight black tee
and black jeans. His hair has been washed and combed. He is
clean-shaven and he smells of eau d’ toilette.

The situation is almost deceptively
‘normal’.

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs.

I sigh. “Just five more days of this, then
tell me we’ll be out of here.”

“We’ll out of here.”

“What’s today’s tally?”

“It’s eight o’ clock at night, and the tally
stands at $48 million,” he says darkly. “We’re running behind
today.”

“And yet we’re going to a party.”

“We may as well party like it’s our last.
Ooops, I’m not supposed to scare you.”

“I’m plenty scared already.”

The door opens without preamble. The
thump-thump-thump of music immediately becomes much louder. Thank
goodness we are decently dressed.

One of our captors jerks his head.
“Come.”

Do we have a choice?

For once, no one manhandles us – at least not
yet. We are not treated like visiting royalty either. The house is
filled with drunken, dancing people – all in various states of
revelry and drug-induced stupor. Some are getting undressed. Some
are in the midst of getting fellated in not-so-dark corners. Some
are getting fucked on sofas, armchairs, surfaces. The air is
punctuated with groans and moans and sighs amid the
not-exactly-fuck-me music.

Jai comes up to greet us. He is clearly
inebriated.

Doesn’t touch the drugs he peddles
, I
think. Only alcohol.
Smart man.

“Welcome, thrice welcome to our humble party
in your honor,” he says. “Come. Sit. Have a drink on us. You’re
going nowhere.”

Sure, rub it in.

Someone has set up bar in a corner and I now
go to it. A bartender is there and he grins at me as I saunter
up.

“One margarita, please.”

“We don’t have margaritas.”

“Then give me a vodka on ice.”

“One vodka coming up. Neat.” He smiles at me
again, showing white teeth. Like I said, the situation is almost
normal.

Faora sails in, drink in her hand. From the
color of it, it looks like bourbon. She makes a beeline for
Kurt.

She grabs him by the T-shirt collar.

“Come,” she says, “dance with me.”

“Uh, no thanks.”

“You would refuse your host?” She arches her
eyebrows.

Kurt looks at me and shrugs as if to say
‘Better get into her good books’. I agree. As long as it is just
dancing and none of what is going on around us.

They start dancing, and I lean against the
bar to watch. Kurt is an amazing dancer, of course, but I already
knew that. He is stage trained and he rehearses like mad with his
choreographer to get all his moves perfectly synchronized with all
his back-up dancers. Now that I have more insight into Kurt, I
really admire how hard he works and how much effort he puts into
everything. If only his haters could see and experience that.

Faora isn’t a bad dancer herself. I put her
age to be about thirty-seven or thirty-eight, and it is clear that
a natural rhythm flows in her genes. She is not dressed in her
usual caftan today, but a sexy strapless red gown which shows off
her curves to full effect.

I must admit she looks fabulous.

She is also all over him. She is clinging to
his back, his waist, and then her hand slips down to his buttocks
in his tight jeans to cup them firmly.

Hey
.

Kurt immediately reaches down for her hands
to bring them up to his waist again.

Jai comes over to the bar beside me.

“Enjoying yourself?” he says in his slow,
lilting voice.

“Maybe your sister is,” I jibe back.

He glances at Kurt and Faora. Faora is trying
hard again. Her hands are all over Kurt’s waist, caressing his
flesh under shirt. She bunches his T-shirt and pulls it out of the
waistband of his jeans.

“Can you blame her?” Jai says. “She has been
a fan of his for the better part of four years now. He is a very
attractive man.”

“Whom you are trying to maim, so cut it out,
OK?”

He stares at me, and then laughs
heartily.

“Your fire is back,
cara
. You were so
silent in the beginning that I was wondering if the cat had stolen
your tongue. You redheads are known for your fire, no? Perhaps the
thought of your impending freedom has made you bold. But do not
count your chickens so soon, as they say it.”

“What do you mean?” I say, a frisson of fear
suddenly blossoming within me. The thing I’m most afraid of is that
these people would renege on their deal. They are cutthroats and
pirates after all.

He leers at me. He smells of whiskey. His
face is very close to mine. I cringe.

“Exactly what I mean,
cara
. It is now
eleven o’ clock. You have not met your target today, no?”

I knew exactly what it was half an hour
ago.

“Not yet,” I say.

“It now stands at $49 million.”

“We will meet the target by midnight.” I
sound more confident than I feel.

“We will see about that. We will see. The
last forty-eight hours has been slower than usual, no? Perhaps your
boyfriend has received too much negative publicity of late, or
perhaps people are just tiring of him.”

“That’s not true.” My cheeks burn.

But deep down inside, I’m afraid it is.
Perhaps it’s a combination of all things. The ‘countdown’ is no
longer ‘new’ news. After the big injection of cash from the music
industry, the regular folks have begun to be complacent. The
negative onslaught of press of late is worrying, of course. Maybe
fans are beginning to think that Kurt is not all
goody-two-shoes.

But no one is perfect!

They just aren’t!

It doesn’t mean they deserve to get a digit
mutilated!

Out on the dance floor, Faora is trying to
grope Kurt again, and he is trying to wriggle out of her grasp. I
make to go to them, but Jai restrains me gently.

“He’s a big boy. Let him decide what he wants
to do.”

I can only hang back, gripping my shot glass
so hard that it is almost at breaking point. Kurt seems to be
having an argument with Faora. I can’t hear what they are saying
from here – the music is too loud – but Faora’s eyes are flashing
dangerously. It ends with Kurt stalking off towards me.

“Kurt!” I rush to him. “Are you all
right?”

“So far.”

“What did she want?” I say in a low
voice.

“What do you think?” He glances back at Faora
uneasily.

Faora wears an annoyed look. In fact, it is
more than annoyed. It is one bordering on barely contained fury. I
recognize that look. It is of a woman scorned betwixt with
jealousy, especially when he immediately comes over to me – his
girlfriend.

Uh oh.

Jai checks his cellphone. “It’s less than
half an one hour to midnight.”

Faora says, “Then we should give the world a
lesson in our ways of justice.”

Jai jerks his head at two of his men.

“Seize him.”

KURT

They haul me back into the room. I am putting
up a lot of kicking and biting, but one of the Jokers clips me
rather harshly on the side of my head. The room spins a little and
I wobble on my feet, but they hold me upright.

Then they seat me on a chair in front of the
table. On a tripod before the table, the camera’s seeing eye
captures everything. On a side table to my right, a laptop screen
shows the ticker tally: $49.5 million.

My heart is drumming in my ears, and I’m
aware that they are NOT KIDDING and people like these would do
anything to get their way, whether or not I’m famous or a national
treasure or both. Jai comes in and closes the door. He wears a
President Nixon mask. In his hand is a carving knife.

Outside, I can hear Rebecca screaming as she
is being restrained.

“Place his hand on the table and hold it
down,” Jai commands.

The door opens and Faora steps in with
Rebecca, struggling in the grasp of two other men with Joker
masks.

“Don’t hurt her!” I say immediately.

They forcibly straighten out my left arm and
place my hand on the table. I bunch my left fist. My gut feels like
it’s in freefall.

“Do that and I will chop your entire hand off
instead of just your little finger,” Jai warns.

“No,” Rebecca is pleading. Tears are falling
down her cheeks. “Please . . . don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything you
want. Just don’t . . . don’t hurt him.”

Beside her, Faora is smiling vindictively.
She is enjoying putting me through this, I can tell. And all
because I refused her indecent advances.

“No, Rebecca. Don’t listen to her, she’s not
making any sense. Please . . . I can call my accountant. He will
find you your one million dollars. I can call someone.” I’m
babbling, I know, but I’m so scared that my bladder feels as though
it’s going to release all its contents at any moment.

Jai looms beside my table, cleaver
raised.

“Straighten out your fingers, or I’ll cut
your hand off at the wrist,” he says casually.

I blink back hot tears. I am aware the camera
is capturing this entire scene. I force my own fingers to unclench
themselves.

The ticker starts to move:

$49.6 million.

“It’s not even midnight yet,” I say. My
throat feels very sore with my ragged breathing.

“But it’s very close.”

So he’s going to wait till the exact moment,
like Cinderella?

“Only fifteen minutes to go.” Jai smiles.

I’m sweating bullets. Rebecca goes limp in
the grip. She’s crying openly now.

“Please,” she keeps saying. “Please don’t
hurt him.”

I force my vocal chords to work. “So tell me
. . . that guy I found on the cliff. Did you kill him?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you did.”

“Then you thought right.”

“Just who was he anyway?” I suddenly wanted
to desperately know the name of the man whose clothes and
belongings I raided.

“He was an American, like you. And his family
didn’t pay up in time either, so we put a knife through his neck
and left him up there for the birds to pick clean.”

This ghastly thought imprints itself into my
head like a mental scream.

“But you – ” Jai grins. “No one has ever done
anything like this before . . . until you came along.”

“It’s almost midnight,” Faora interjects. She
makes sure her uncovered visage is off camera.

Uh thanks.

The ticker shows $49.8 million.

Oh shit shit shit. My blood has suddenly run
very cold.

Jai grabs my wrist on the table where my four
quivering fingers are splayed in a fan. All my limbs are now
paralyzed, and I no longer have any feeling in my hands.

Jai produces a piece of rag. He proceeds to
tie this around my left forearm very tightly in a makeshift
tourniquet.

The clock on the laptop monitor inches
towards midnight.

The ticker shows $49.9 million.

Rebecca screams.

Jai raises the cleaver.

“What if you cut off my fourth finger as
well?” I ask in a hoarse voice.

“Don’t worry. I’m a good knife man.”

Just then, the sound of shattering window
shutters booms in the room. Shards of wood rain on me from behind.
I half turn, as do my captors. A black clad figure materializes in
the room. It immediately aims some sort of gun at Jai and pulls the
trigger. A noiseless projectile strikes Jai’s upraised arm. The
cleaver falls.

“No!” I scream and pull my hand away in time
as the cleaver’s blade falls onto the table and embeds itself into
the wood.

Two other black clad figures burst into the
room through the door and aim guns at Faora and her men. They
immediately raise their arms in the universal gesture of
surrender.

“Let her go,” says one of the figures. He has
a man’s stentorian voice. His face is hard-planed and serious.