Forbidden Sensations: A Dark Romance by Savannah Rose (best ereader for pdf and epub .TXT) 📗

Kill was rated five out of ten demerits in the handy dandy notebook of the cosmos. The supreme being's guide to the galaxy forbids murder, not suicide, and when I imagined breaking one of the Big Ten and doing the world a favor in doing so… a light when off in my head. Everything changed. The allure of breaking bad was seductive. And so I went with it.

The plan I concocted could have used some fine tuning, to be sure, but hindsight is twenty twenty. Should circumstances not work out the way they had, I may not have been given the opportunity that lay before me – currently passed out against a palm tree.

Maybe this is what the fates had in mind. Everything happens for a reason. We make our own luck. We're responsible for our own happiness. Our destinies are laid by our own hands. And my personal favorite, there are so many things worse than death.

I could not agree more.

As expected, Maddox Don't-Call-Me-Maddy Petersen came sauntering into my camp like he owned the fucking place. Drawn to my fire as an asshole moth to a flame, threatening me, toying with me, taking my food, my water…

All according to plan.

Right before the bow of the Insatiable collided with the beach, someone pushed me. There was no other way to describe it, although what I was describing was in essence, impossible.

Two firm points of pressure on my back, a shove, and down I went. I'd like to think it was Rebecca. We'd had our fair share of sibling scuffles growing up, so believing it was her spirit that shoved me underneath the console stood to ridiculous reason. I hit not wood, but life jackets. About a half dozen of them, stored below the dashboard. I was essentially engulfed in pillows upon impact.

The collision was surreal. A flying sensation. Soaring and silent, gravity suspended for just a moment, then, wham. And absolute nothingness. There's a reason it's called a dead stop.

I was disoriented but conscious, and as I crawled out from beneath the console, I found I had sustained little to no damage. Not even my bum knee was complaining. Everything was in working order, all teeth in place, no cuts, bruises. I had gotten lucky. Really, really, lucky. Which is a lot when compared to the luck I’d been having only a couple minutes prior.

The same couldn't be said for Maddox. He'd been thrown from the stern, and had landed a few yards down from the wreckage. A heap of evil, right there on the beach, the ebbing tide lapping at his feet.

I watched him for a little while and didn’t see him move. Not even once. I’d thought that maybe he was dead and maybe my work here was done. Ofcourse, that was too easy for the likes of him. Too simple. There wasn't any time to dwell on it, however, as the way the Insatiable was creaking told me I'd have to abandon ship post haste.

But not before I'd retrieved a few essentials.

With one eye on him, both ears on the boat's groaning, I had dug the Insatiable's survival kit out from beneath the pile of life jackets. Inside the duffel, all the essentials; waterproof matches, emergency blankets, a Life Straw, some protein bars, and a few packs of chocolate.

“Good thinking, Miss Insatiable,” I’d said, as I shouldered the bag.

I gingerly made my way through the upturned cabin, passing by the master quarters. Inside, I found a few more items I couldn't live without. Clothes, for one thing. I hated to put on one of his god damn shirts, but there was no way I was going to go about this naked.

I’d glanced out the window, to where Maddox lay, wondering whether or not he had moved. Being as dark as it was, it was hard to tell, but it looked like maybe he had. It could have been the surf pushing against his legs, but there was no way to know for certain.

The emergency lights began to flicker, illuminating the cabin in a sad, dying strobe. What a disaster area. I couldn’t believe I’d lived through this. Everything was upended, everything broken, all the cabinet doors hanging open like gaping wooden mouths. Inside the one above the headboard, I saw the little red light of the GPS and tracking system. It was flashing, sending out our distress signal. Alerting the authorities of our exact location.

Putting the Black Box of the seafaring world in the master's quarters was weird, but then again, I once had a VW Golf with a chronic case of breaking down, and whose water pump was mounted in the rear axle casing. Pretty much a car's length away from the engine. No one could figure out the lack of logic behind that design, and considering most of these playboy ocean missiles are manufactured in Europe, I chalked it up to engineering that an American simply isn't wired to understand.

And just as I’d turned to leave, that's when I saw Maddox's opened suitcase. The impact must have belched it open, revealing its unique and highly questionable contents. This was his special bag of personal possessions. I vaguely recalled seeing it when we were boarding the ship. Around the same time that I tried, in my drugged-out state, to tell the guys on the dock I was being kidnapped. They just smiled, and waved, and told me to have a nice voyage.

Fuckers.

Another creak followed by a concerning pop managed to startle me. I didn't know what the fuck that was, all I knew was that I had to get off this boat, and find a place to hide until the Coast Guard got here.

I still didn't know if Petersen was alive. If he was, and even if he wasn’t, I wanted him nowhere near me.

I pushed open the one, still functioning window, tossed out the survival bag, hoisted myself up, and saw Maddox move. His arm twitched, his hand went