Chapter 108: The Judas Ship

Chapter 108: The Judas Ship


The air in the narrow corridor was thick with the smell of old grease and salt, but it was the voices bleeding through the thin metal door of the galley that turned Isla’s blood to ice. She pressed her back against the rusted bulkhead, her breath coming in shallow, silent hitches. Her hands, still stained with the silver-grey oil from the yacht’s engine, trembled against the fabric of the oversized wool towel.

She had been so certain of her luck. She had seen the ship's horn as a herald of her new life. Now, every word spoken by her saviors felt like a hammer driving a nail into her coffin.

“We’re having the men deliver the goods at the dock,” a deep, gravelly voice said—the Captain. “The usual guys?”

“Yes, Captain,” a younger, more nasal voice replied. “Everything is set.”

“Okay, good. The ship is already cleansed, so no issues with the authorities this time.”

There was a pause, followed by the clink of glass against wood. “If not for the cargo, that beautiful lady we picked up would have helped to clean up the lower decks. She’s got nothing to do but sit there.”

A raucous burst of laughter followed, making Isla flinch.

“Do you think a lady like that can clean? Fool!” the Captain barked. “Have you seen her skin? It’s fair and flawless. She’s never scrubbed a floor in her life. She’s spent her days in silk and her nights in high-thread-count sheets.”

“Oh, you mean the rich lady we rescued,” the nasal voice continued, his tone turning predatory. “She should at least do something to save her life. If it wasn’t for us, she’d be fish food at the bottom of the Mediterranean. She owes us. At least she should be… useful to us.”

Isla’s stomach twisted. The useful he implied wasn't about cleaning decks. She squeezed her eyes shut, the image of Lorenzo’s dark, possessive gaze flashing in her mind. Lorenzo was a monster, yes, but he was a monster who kept the lesser wolves at bay. Out here, in the middle of the lawless sea, she was realizing that she had traded a cage for a slaughterhouse.

“Do you want to get paid or not?” the Captain snapped. “You want to let a rich lady clean for you instead of asking for the ransom? You fool. If we bring her back intact, her father—or whoever that yacht belongs to—will pay more than we’ve made in three seasons of smuggling.”

“I wish she wasn’t a paycheck, Captain,” the younger man muttered, his voice dropping to a dark, husky whisper. “I’d have my way with her. Ladies like that… they get irritated quickly by guys like us. They look at us like we’re dirt. I’d like to see that look turn into something else.”

“So what? I don't care what you want,” the Captain growled. “But I'll admit, when that girl walked in, I saw it too. Her eyes… they’re wonderfully rare. Beautifully clear. Too bad I ain’t rich enough to have a girl like her.”

“She’d definitely make you go bankrupt, Captain. Girls like that are expensive.”

The Realization

Isla pulled away from the door, her heart thundering so loudly she was sure they could hear it through the steel. They weren't taking her to Livorno. They were talking about ransoms, usual guys, and cargo that needed cleansing. These weren't merchant sailors. They were smugglers. And she wasn't a survivor to them—she was a high-value asset, a piece of meat to be traded or used.

She looked down at her hands. The flawless skin they talked about was currently covered in scratches and grime, but to these men, she represented a world of wealth they could only touch through violence.

She realized then that her lie about the boat belonging to a friend hadn't saved her—it had painted a target on her back. They thought she was a "spoiled brat" from a billionaire family. They didn't realize she was a nurse with nothing to her name but a tracker around her neck and the shadow of a warlord behind her.

She had to get off this ship.

The Plan

Isla crept back toward her cabin, her mind racing. She couldn't jump—the merchant ship was too high, and the wake of the massive engines would suck her under the hull before she could even surface. She needed the yacht.

She remembered the Captain saying they were towing it. If she could get back to the stern, find the tow line, and somehow get back on board...

But the yacht had no gas. She would be drifting again.

“The owners will find it no matter where it goes,” she had told the Captain.

The realization hit her like a physical blow. She wanted Lorenzo to find the boat. But she wanted him to find it with her on it, not her body being held for ransom by these vultures. If she stayed on this ship, she would be sold to the highest bidder—maybe even back to the Syndicate rivals who wanted Lorenzo dead.

She reached her cabin and began to frantically search for anything she could use. She found a small paring knife left on her food tray. It wasn't a tactical blade, but it was sharp. She tucked it into the waistband of the oversized trousers.

The Encounter

As she stepped back out into the dim hallway, the floor tilted. The ship was slowing down.

"Going somewhere, Snowflake?"

Isla screamed, the sound catching in her throat as a hand clamped over her mouth. She was shoved back into the cabin, the door slamming shut behind them.

She struggled, kicking and scratching, until she was pinned against the wall. The man holding her wasn't the Captain. He was one of the deckhands, the one with the nasal voice. He was looking at her with a terrifying mixture of greed and lust.

"You're a long way from home, aren't you?" he hissed, his face inches from hers. His breath smelled of tobacco and cheap wine. "The Captain thinks you're just a paycheck. But I think you're a lot more fun than a pile of cash."

Isla felt the cold metal of the paring knife against her hip. She didn't hesitate. She didn't cry. She didn't beg. Lorenzo had taught her that in his world, mercy was a weakness that got you killed.

She reached for the knife, her fingers closing around the handle.

"Get away from me," she whispered, her voice no longer trembling. It was cold. It was jagged. It was a reflection of the man she had run away from.

The man laughed, his hand moving from her mouth to her throat, his thumb bruising the skin right next to the tracker hidden under her hair. "Or what? You'll tell your rich daddy? You're in the middle of the ocean, princess. There are no rules here."

"No," Isla said, her eyes flashing with a rare, dangerous light. "But there is a monster coming for me. And if you're touching me when he arrives, he won't just kill you. He’ll make you wish the ocean had swallowed you whole."

The man’s smile flickered. For a second, he saw it—the shadow of Lorenzo De Luca in the eyes of the girl he thought was a spoiled brat.

But greed was a powerful drug. He lunged at her, and Isla brought the knife up.