Billionaire At Sea

25

Damian

“Where have you been?” asked Marshall, as I met him in the salon.

“In my office,” I lied. “Sorry, I lost track of time.”

“I heard the strippers are here,” said Simon, looking delighted as he and the others entered the room.

“I heard that, too. So, where are they?” I asked Marshall.

“They’re getting ready,” he said and then nodded toward the entrance. “That’s Big Al over there. One of the three bodyguards they arrived with.”

I looked over and noticed the thick-necked Neanderthal silently watching everyone. He stood a head taller than most of us and had to weight four bills. We nodded to each other.

“How many girls did they send over?” I asked Marshall.

“Six,” he replied.

“Good. That’s what I ordered,” I said and then walked over to where Ransom was seated. “How’s is everything going?”

“Fantastic,” he replied, looking relaxed.

“Where’s your beer?” I asked, noticing that his hands were empty.

He nodded toward the bar, where Simon was now talking to the bartender I’d hired. “He’s ordering me a drink.”

“Good. Just let me know when you’re ready for that cigar,” I said.

“Maybe as we’re pulling out of the harbor?” he said.

“Sounds like a plan. I’ve got a special one with your name on it. One from Cuba. I think you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” he said as music began to play.

I grinned. “Looks like the entertainment is about to start.”

“Yeah. Thanks a lot for that,” he said dryly.

Chuckling, I patted him on the back. “Don’t be afraid. They are only women. What kind of damage could they possibly do?”

Thirty minutes later we found out just how much. Ransom was seated in the middle of the room with his hands behind his back, while a heavily endowed woman was straddling his lap and slapping his cheeks with her giant breasts. Seeing how red his face was, I knew he was definitely in some pain.

“I think he’s going to cry,” said Simon, who was laughing hysterically at the display.

“You’re next, fucker,” growled Ransom, not appearing to be enjoying himself.

“Gladly. Bring those cannons over here,” said Simon, holding up a hundred-dollar bill. “I could use a good beating.”

“I agree,” said Ransom, turning the stripper around gently. “Go get him, doll, and don’t hold back.”

Giggling, the young woman began dancing her way over to Simon.

“You okay?” I asked Ransom as he ran a hand over his face.

“That hurt like hell,” he said, chuckling. “It was like getting hit with sandbags.”

I laughed. “Poor baby.”

“Seriously, that s**t hurt. You try it.”

“No. I’ll take your word on it,” I said, watching as another stripper made her entrance, this one dressed like a nurse.

“Oh s**t,” said Ransom, as the stripper scanned the room holding a big, fake needle – one that looked more like a p***s than a syringe. “She tries pricking me with that thing and I’m done.”

I laughed.

***

Admittedly, being a man, I couldn’t help but get a little turned on by all of the nudeness. Had I not been playing around with Mia all day I might have even participated in some of the craziness. Instead I sat back, watching in satisfaction as our guests enjoyed themselves. When the show was finally over and the strippers were safely off of the ship, some of the guys began playing poker again.

“The ship is about ready to set sail. You ready for that cigar?” I asked Ransom.

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

We told the others where we’d be and then Ransom and I walked out onto the deck with cocktails.

“Well, that was interesting,” he said as we sat down.

“It sure was.”

“I think Simon might have gotten a piece of ass from the stripper with the sandbags. Those two disappeared for a while.”

“I noticed. Maybe he’ll lay off of Ridley now.”

“Sorry about that,” said Ransom, lowering his voice. “He can be a real dickhead at times. If he wasn’t such a good drummer, I’d replace him.”

“It’s fine,” I said and then handed him a cigar. “Here you go. This one’s a genuine Cuban. Best there is, I hear.”

He took it out of the plastic and smelled it. “Thanks, Damian. This thing is going to keep me up all night.”

“It’s your weekend. Why waste it on sleeping?”

He laughed.

We lit the cigars up as the ship’s engine was started. Soon, we were pulling away from the marina and heading out to sea.

“So, how’s your son doing?” he asked me.

“Okay. He’ll be here on Monday.”

“How are things with Marissa?”

We started talking about my ex and all the s**t she’d pulled. Ransom had met her once, and although he’d been nothing but cordial, told me later that she’d tried hitting on him.

“Not a surprise,” I replied, disgusted with her. She’d always been a flirt and I’d thought it to be innocent. I’d been so wrong about her.

“You seeing anyone now?” he asked.

I thought about Mia and smiled. “Maybe. It’s complicated.”

I wasn’t sure what was going to happen between us. I certainly wasn’t ready to give her up anytime soon.

“It can’t be as complicated as Marissa.”

“You’ve got that right.”

We talked and smoked our cigars until about two a.m. Afterward, Ransom headed to his cabin and I checked in with the captain and crew.

“How was your little party?” Charles asked, when I arrived on the bridge.

“It was crazy but manageable,” I replied. “You didn’t pop in for a lap dance. I was hoping to see you.”

He chuckled. “No. That would have worn me out. I need all my wits about me if I’m to be responsible for this ship.”

“I understand. I’m grateful to have you aboard,” I said as my cell phone began to ring.

Curious as to who was calling me so late, I pulled it out but didn’t recognize the number.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, leaving the bridge to take the call.

“No problem,” said the captain.

I stepped outside and answered the phone “Hello?”

“Mr. Stryker. Listen carefully. I have something that belongs to you. Your son,” said a synthesized voice.

My stomach twisted. “Who is this?” I asked angrily.

“Say ‘hello’ to your father,” instructed the stranger.

The next voice that I heard stopped my heart.

“Hello? Dad, is that you?”

“Jake?” I replied, horrified. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m scared.”

The stranger got back onto the phone. “If you want to see your boy alive again, do not contact the police. Do not tell anyone on your ship that we have him, believe me… we’ll know. You must keep this to yourself.”

“Listen, you motherfucker, if you hurt one hair on his head, I’ll kill you!” I growled angrily.

“You are in no position to make threats. I’ll be calling you back in thirty minutes. Keep this to yourself or you’ll regret it,” the stranger said before hanging up.