Daddy’s Orders (Silver Fox Daddies)

“What do you think, chica?”

I couldn’t get over the fact that I was laying on a blanket on the beach, wearing a bikini.

While I’d packed a couple swimsuits for the trip to Logan’s, all of them were according to Dad’s rules, which meant that everything was a one-piece suit, with a skirt that covered my thighs. The swimsuits Dad made me wear had always struck me as those that women wore in old, black-and-white pictures from the early twentieth century. The only thing missing was a white swim cap.

It went without saying that no male guards could be around to see me swim at home. With all of the hassle it took, I only bothered taking a dip in the pool a handful of times a year.

Marta, knowing the swimsuit rule was likely one of the first I’d want to break, had gone to the trouble of picking out a few bikinis for me and packing them in her clothes. So, there I was, lounging on a gorgeous beach, clad in nothing but a black bikini that showed off just about every bit of my body.

“It feels… wrong. But in a good way.” I flashed her a grin. “Dad would kill me if he saw me like this.”

“Well, your papa isn’t here to scold you for not dressing like a little Amish girl. He would throw a fit for sure, but it can be our little secret.” Marta, seated on the towel next to me, followed up her words with a wink.

It was true that I felt like a very bad girl dressed in my skimpy bikini. All the same, as I lay there on my towel soaking up the warmth of the sun, I could definitely see the appeal of such a swimsuit. Every part of me felt kissed by the tropical rays above. Instead of being covered up and constricted, I was open and exposed.

I loved it.

I sat up, putting on my sunglasses and watching the water crash onto the shore.

“This place… it’s something else.” Marta shook her head in disbelief as she spoke.

“You’re right about that. Still doesn’t feel real.”

“People like this Logan character live in a way that people like us only dream about,” she replied, her eyes on the water. “Even your father, wealthy as he is, would be impressed by all of this.”

The mere mention of Dad was enough to make my stomach tighten.

“You want to hear something weird?” I asked.

“What’s that, chica?”

“I know that I’m a million miles away from my father, but part of me still half-expects him to pop out from behind a tree or a rock and scold me for what I’m doing.”

Marta let out a light laugh. “It makes perfect sense. You’ve lived under his rules for so long that it’s hard for you to imagine any other way to be.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Marta pursing her lips, her expression turning to one of contemplation. I could sense that something was on her mind that she wasn’t sure how to say.

I offered her a warm smile. “Come on, Marta. When have you ever been shy about telling me what’s on your mind?”

“Ah, it’s estupido. But it’s something I’m wondering about anyway.”

“What is it?”

A few beats of silence hung in the air. I sat up, resting my arms on my knees as I turned my head toward her.

“Maybe it’s the last thing on your mind, but I’m wondering if you miss your father.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could get a single word out, Marta raised her finger to silence me.

“Think about it,” she said. “Before you go off, that man, hard as he can be at times is your flesh and blood. People like me would kill to have a parent in our lives. Not everyone is as lucky as you, my dear.”

Marta had a point. All the same, her sentiments didn’t change how I felt in the slightest.

“I don’t miss him. Not even a little bit.”

Marta raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“You’re serious about that?” she asked. “You don’t have the slightest bit of longing for him?”

“Nope. Hell, if I had the choice to never go back to New York, I think I’d do it.”

Marta said nothing for a few long moments, eventually shaking her head in disbelief.

“That’s strange to hear, chica.”

“Are you serious? After the way he’s treated me since I was a little girl, you’re surprised that I’d feel this way?”

“I know your father can be… harsh.”

“That’s one way to put it. The prick’s kept me locked up in that damn house for years.”

“You know that’s not the truth. You’re making it sound like your room was a jail cell. He let you leave to go swimming or go for walks and all of that.”

“That just proves my point even more, don’t you see? He lets me do all of the kinds of things that a woman my age should have a right to do. I shouldn’t have to ask permission to leave the house to get some fresh air or take a swim.”

Marta pursed her lips again, and I could sense that she knew she couldn’t really argue with that.

“All the same, I know that your father has his parenting quirks, but he loves you… in his own way.”

I couldn’t help but snort. As I let out the noise, I reached into my bag and pulled out the novel I’d been reading, IT by Stephen King. Marianne’s YA fiction was fun, but I’d been plowing through those in a matter of hours. A big doorstop like IT, something I could sink my teeth into and spend some time with, had caught my attention the last time I’d been in the library.

For the moment, the book was a prop with which to make my point.

“Here’s another example,” I said, holding the book up. “There’s no way in hell Dad would let me read anything like this. And this bikini! You said yourself that you had to sneak it here so Dad wouldn’t find out about it. He’s completely controlled my life—telling me what I can wear, what I can and cannot do, what I am allowed to read. And don’t even get me started on how he controls everything I eat.

“But you’re a prisoner here all the same, Emily,” Marta said, a tinge of confusion in her voice. “You’re not allowed to leave at all.”

“You’re right but again, I’m here because my father ordered it. Between the two flavors of being a prisoner, however, this one tastes a hell of a lot better. Not to mention the little detail that Dad’s overall plan with me was to keep me locked away until he could marry me off to some cartel prick who’d treat me as a sex toy and breeding cow, and that’s if I’m lucky. Nope—I’ll take this prison cell over what my asshole of a father had in mind for me any day.” I swept my hand toward the ocean as I spoke.

Marta said nothing. I glanced over to see a strange expression on her face, one I wasn’t used to… she appeared hurt.

“You OK over there?” I asked.

Marta cleared her throat and shook her head, as if coming back into the moment. The typical toughness returned to her face.

“It’s fine, chica. I asked you a question, and you gave me an honest answer.”

All the same, I felt compelled to say something.

“Listen, I’m sorry. It’s just… the subject of Dad and the way he treats me, it’s not a pleasant one. I’m not going to apologize for my take on the whole thing, but I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat like that.”

“It’s OK, chica.”

I could sense that she hadn’t been entirely mollified by my words. All the same, if Marta was going to be upset over me not caring for the way Dad had treated me, that was her own business to sort out.

“Look at this!” I said, gesturing toward the water once more. “We’re on the beach, the weather’s perfect, and there’s not a thing in the world to worry about. So, let’s relax and enjoy ourselves, OK?”

Marta cleared her throat once more, sitting up.

“Si, you’re right. No need to talk about subjects that don’t make either of us happy. Better to focus on the good things.”

I smiled at her answer before placing my book on my legs and opening it. I began to read, but it was hard to focus. I kept thinking about Marta, kept thinking about how different she’d been since she’d arrived.

Marta had always been sassy—the type of woman to tell you exactly what was on her mind and not give a damn what you thought. It was one of my favorite traits of hers. But since she’d come to the island she’d been nothing but negative, constantly making comments about Logan, implying that he was somehow worse than my father. I didn’t like it at all.

I did my best to push the issue out of my head, instead trying to focus on the good things around me—the water, the sun, the book on my lap. It was hard to do though because out of the corner of my eye, I could see Marta sitting there looking totally uncomfortable, nervous, even.

As I tried to read, I found my attention still drifting. I thought about Marta back at the house, how she’d had a quick, mild freakout at the idea of Marianne coming to the beach with us. It was almost as if she’d wanted to make sure we were alone.

But why?

Once more, I tried to turn my attention to the words on the page. A few sentences in, however, I heard something. It was a strange sound, like a big, angry bee buzzing in the distance. It grew louder and louder.

I set down my book, looking up at the water. Sure enough, a boat was approaching—a red and white speedboat tearing through the waves, drawing closer and closer by the second.

“Who the hell is that?” I placed the book face down on the towel in front of me. “They’re way too close to us.”

Marta didn’t answer. Instead, she rose slowly, sticking her arms into the air and waving them around.

“Hey, hey!” she called out, yelling at the top of her lungs. “We’re over here!”

Something was happening. My stomach grew tighter by the second, the urge to get up and run building within. Strange as it might’ve seemed, my first instinct was to call for Logan. But I knew he was nowhere nearby.

I rose, standing next to Marta and squinting my eyes to get a better look at the boat. It was coming right toward us, three men on board. As they drew closer, one more horrible detail was revealed.

The men were armed.

Each of them had a rifle in their hands. The men were dressed all in black, with sunglasses hiding their eyes and bandanas over the bottom part of their faces.

I had to run. I had to get out of there.

Without waiting another second, I turned and prepared to bolt. Before I could take even a single step, something stopped me, someone stopped me, a hard grip on my wrist. I turned, horror on my face as I realized it was Marta.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked. “Let me go!”

I tried to pull my hand away from her grasp, but Marta held me with surprising strength. Her expression was hard, determined.

“Please, Emily, don’t run.”

Despite Marta holding me in place, the boatful of armed men drawing closer by the second, I did my best to stay calm. The speedboat’s motor grew louder, the sound nearly deafening.

“Marta, please tell me right now what’s going on.” My voice cracked a bit from the fear running through my body.

“You have nothing to be worried about, chica. Those men, they were hired by your father. Don’t you see, this is a rescue mission!” She smiled as if that were news that I’d be happy about. A new pulse of fear blasted through me.

I had to run.

“Over here!” Marta shouted, waving with her free hand. “You have to hurry!”

Taking advantage of her momentary distraction, I put my hand on Marta’s shoulder and shoved her hard. Marta let out a cry as she let go of my wrist and stumbled backward, and I had my chance.  I turned and ran hard, my legs pumping, my feet pounding into the hot sand.

But I didn’t get very far. I hit a pocket in the sand, my foot twisting to the side, my leg giving out underneath me. I stumbled forward, landing hard on my elbow, more pain rushing through me.

I rolled over onto my side, watching with bleary eyes as the boat approached, coming to a stop a hundred or so feet away from the shore. Marta ran in front of me, waving her arms.

“Right here! Hurry, before she runs again!”

I struggled to get up, the pain in my ankle too much to put weight on. The men jumped out of the boat and into the shallow water, guns in hand.