I did as he said, my knees wobbling with each step. The East Coast was still buried in winter though we’d slipped into the first days of March. The setting sun plunged the evening air down to arctic levels, keeping people indoors and the marina empty. I didn’t see a single soul who might help me, even if I did have the courage to call out to them. Dante led us to the second to last bay that housed a fifty-foot yacht. The magnificent vessel was constructed of immaculate white fiberglass with black-tinted windows. A work of art I would have been thrilled to explore under any other circumstances. However, being forced onboard at gunpoint made the boat feel like nothing but a cage. He hoisted me up on deck, then began untying the ropes that held us moored to the dock. It only took a handful of
