Surviving Raine 01
Read Surviving Raine 01 Online
Authors: Shay Savage
Surviving Raine
By Shay Savage
Copyright © 2013
Shay Savage
All Rights Reserved
Cover design by Aymee Zayas
and Iron Clover Photography
Dedication
To the many fans who wanted to see this to happen. As always, I write for you.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – Lost
My head was pounding, and I was pretty sure the whole room was spinning. Okay, it wasn’t spinning, just rocking. Despite the copious amount of alcohol I’d ingested last night, a rocking room was normal since I lived on my ship. That didn’t exempt me from a hell of a hangover, though.
I rolled over and let the temple-splitting pain run its course before forcing my body to comply with my wishes and rise from my bunk. I made my way over to the cubby-sized bathroom to relieve myself of whatever vodka was left in my system and wash some of the night-grime from my face. If the passengers on this ship could see their captain in the morning, they’d probably disembark as quickly as possible. They might even be willing to charter a canoe to navigate the Caribbean instead.
Not that I was going to look significantly better in the afternoon.
I looked in the mirror, which was usually a mistake. This time was no exception. I hadn’t shaved in a few days, and I looked like I felt – gritty and hung over. The pale blue irises that stared back at me were surrounded by red and dull from lack of real sleep. There was still a bit of a mark on one cheek from last week’s bar fight in San Juan.
After giving my teeth a quick once-over with the brush, I tossed on relatively clean cargo shorts and a rumpled polo shirt that was lying on top of the dresser. I looped my belt around my waist and headed out of the forecastle. At this ungodly hour of the morning, that is – about 7:00am, ship time – I hoped not to run into anyone else.
Usually, most of the passengers that chose to sail with me were not morning people, and I was free to walk about my home without running into them. Apparently, this trip had one early riser. A tiny little dark-haired girl with tanned legs curled up underneath her sat near the mainmast with a book in her lap. Weird. At least she was far enough aft and engrossed enough in her literature that she didn’t notice me.
I entered the pilothouse and gave a nod to the nighttime helmsman.
“You look like shit,” John Paul chuckled. At six-four and two-hundred plus pounds of solid muscle, you didn’t argue with John Paul.
“Thanks,” I replied. John Paul was my one and only friend, which was perfectly fine with me. I had met him right after I graduated from high school out on a shooting range over ten years ago. That’s when I fucking loved guns. I had been good with them, too. Probably still was, though I hadn’t pulled the trigger on one in quite a while. It’s too easy. I’d rather use my fists if I really needed to. “How’s
The Oblation
running?”
“Smooth as always,” John Paul said, tilting his favorite cowboy hat back a little on his head. He looked me over and rubbed his fingers around on his chin, which was covered in fine, dark hair. “Any survivors?”
“I didn’t wake up with anyone ugly,” I replied, grabbing the pack of smokes off a short table next to the wheel. I pulled a lighter out of one of the pouches on my belt, right next to my favorite jackknife, and lit up.
“Well, that’s a bonus at least,” John Paul said. He handed the wheel over to me with a nod. I sat back on the stool, tossed one arm casually over the top of the wheel, and looked out over the bow at the slow rolling waves of the Caribbean. I took a long drag and exhaled smoke off to one side.
“Remember that bitch in Puerto Rico?” John Paul asked, as if I was going to forget her. “You didn’t even realize she was on the ship when we left!”
John Paul chortled, and I cringed. I was stuck with her for four days until I could get her back. If I had just picked up a tourist or a local, that would have been one thing, but this one had been a working girl. Cost me a fucking fortune.
“She wasn’t ugly,” I mumbled.
“She wasn’t hot, either,” John Paul said. All right, I had to give him that. At least I had made sure I got my money’s worth once I realized I was stuck with her for a few days. She may not have been the hottest, but the chick had a tongue that wouldn’t quit and she sucked cock like…well, like a pro.
Which she was.
“Fuck off and get some sleep,” I told him. Thinking about it was making me a little uncomfortable in my shorts. I must not have gotten any action last night after the vodka shots. John Paul laughed and headed off to bed for the morning.
John Paul was about the only person in the world, aside from those who were actually out looking for me, who knew my background. He was like a brother to me, despite our bickering and arguing. It was always in good fun. I could trust him, and it was good to have someone to trust. It almost made life bearable. Throw in a couple of women and a bottle of something strong, and suddenly all was good in the world.
It was John Paul’s idea for me to buy
The Oblation
in the first place, knowing full well I wouldn’t object to taking him with me. She was a one hundred and five foot traditional gaff-rigged, three-masted schooner, and she could sleep twelve passengers and a three person crew. On day trips we could take nearly fifty out at a time just hanging out on the deck. That money was pretty good, but the big bucks were in taking a few filthy rich, high society idiots on their own private pleasure cruise.
Usually it was a ritzy family vacation or some debutante on their bachelorette cruise. I got a lot of action on those trips, half the time from the soon-to-be bride. The current excursion was a five-day sail, running out of San Juan, stopping in the British Virgin Islands for snorkeling or whatever, and then continuing to Anguilla to some high class resort there. I didn’t get involved in any of the tourist crap. I just owned the ship, sailed it during the day and spent my nights drinking, either on the ship or off. It didn’t matter to me.
Sometimes I fucked one of the passengers, but that was purely because my hand had gotten tired.
I wasn’t a people person, and one thing I tried not to do was to associate with any of the passengers
at all
. If I could avoid even seeing them, that made for the perfect trip. Other than the one sitting under the mast with her book, I hadn’t laid eyes on any of them yet, but we had just left port yesterday. I did most of the actual sailing, John Paul did the tour guide shit, and Alejandro, John Paul’s bunkmate, did the cooking and whatever else was needed. The three of us knew how to sail most anything, and we all got involved in the mechanics of making the ship go where we needed it to go. I wouldn’t even have any passengers, but I had to make an honest living somehow.
I didn’t have a lot of experience in my nearly thirty years when it came to honest livings.
I stubbed the cigarette out and chugged some of the “special” coffee out of the thermos John Paul left for me. I probably should have had something to eat, but my stomach just wasn’t ready for that yet. Maybe a little later. I lit up another smoke.
After a couple of hours, the passengers started to wake up and come out on the foredeck where I couldn’t help but see them. I usually looked surly enough they didn’t try to spend a lot of time talking to me, but there was always one who would attempt to truly engage me in conversation. I just didn’t feel up for it this morning, so when an overweight, balding guy came up and started babbling, I smiled dumbly and responded with
“Yo no hablo Inglés,”
and he left me alone.
I chain smoked and ignored passengers until noon, when I ate a bit of something Alejandro brought up from the galley and let him hold the wheel so I could take a piss. The rest of the afternoon was spent in much the same way. About the time the passengers were having dinner, we arrived in Cruz Bay for the night. They’d spend the rest of the night and next day there with their snorkeling and shopping and whatever the hell else they did on shore. To me it meant better booze than what I had on the ship and a good hooker.
Once we were docked and John Paul took over for the night, I made my way to the closest drinking hole and ordered three shots and a beer. After the shots were gone, I sat back and nursed the longneck, watching the people around me. I saw the chunky guy who tried to talk to me earlier, but he was busy trying to talk to the early-rising, bookworm girl with dark hair and long legs. I couldn’t see her face from where I was sitting, but she had to be twenty years younger than the guy. Unless he was seriously loaded and sporting a ten inch cock, she was way out of his league.
He must not have had either because she got up and left after just a few minutes of listening to him babble. As she was walking out the door, a black-haired island girl walked in wearing clear heeled shoes. Just what I needed. I didn’t waste any time but walked right up to her, whispered a number in her ear, watched her eyes light up, and took her back to my cabin.
I wondered if she was even eighteen as she rode my cock half the night. Not that it mattered around here – sixteen was good enough, legally. Being a U.S. man, though, I had a thing against girls under eighteen. It just didn’t seem right. I guess for what I was paying her, she would agree to be whatever age I’d be comfortable screwing.
She had really nice tits, and I spent a lot of time sucking on her nipples. She tried to convince me I made her come just from licking them, but I knew the difference between a real orgasm and a fake one. I wasn’t doing it for her, anyway – I just liked sucking on tits. I didn’t need to make her come – she was getting money out of this, not orgasms. She was supposed to make sure I got off, and she didn’t disappoint. I did feel her come on me once, so she got her bonus, too.
Once I was done with her, I handed her the cash and told her to find her own way home. She smiled, fanned through the bills, and offered to meet up with me the next time I was in the area. Yeah, maybe. She was cute enough. Beats beating off.
She left an actual fucking business card on the dresser as she left. Who would have thought they had them?
I spent the next day at the same bar, getting way too fucked up to fuck anyone. I stumbled back to the ship about ten minutes after we were supposed to set sail, flipped John Paul off, puked over the bow, and finally dropped onto the floor of my cabin. I saw a couple of the passengers eyeing me before I slammed my door and sealed it.
Yep, the room was definitely spinning this time. Why the fuck did I do this? Again?
Because it keeps you from seeing all those faces all night long.
Oh yeah.
I lurched into the bathroom and puked again. I tried to get a washcloth wet so I could clean off my face, but I couldn’t seem to stand up long enough to reach the sink. I crawled back into the main room of the cabin and managed to get close to my bunk, if not actually on it. I closed my eyes and willed myself to sleep.
* * * * *
I woke up when I hit the ceiling of my cabin.
Yeah, the ceiling.
At first, I figured I was having a nightmare because it didn’t make any sense for me to be where I was. Besides, nightmares were a common enough experience in my life, but when I heard the siren going off, I knew whatever was going on, it was
really
going on. I crawled over the ceiling and reached up to get to the handle of my cabin door. Once I got it open, water started rushing in.
I grabbed my belt and wrapped it around my waist, securing it quickly. I could hear wind and rain, but it wasn’t heavy. It certainly wasn’t heavy enough to cause us to capsize; it was just heavy enough to make it hard to see what was actually going on. I headed aft, wading through water as it poured in, seemingly from all sides. It was almost pitch black, and I could hear screaming coming from the passenger cabins.
