Chapter 7

Day Seven – Cracks

The morning after the storm broke, clear and merciless, the sun was hammering down like it had a grudge against anything still standing. The beach was a battlefield: uprooted palms strewn like matchsticks, the HELP signal reduced to scattered rocks, the surf churning with fresh debris from the wreck.

Taylor was already out there at first light, rebuilding the signal one stone at a time. His muscles ached from holding the shelter together last night, but pain was just fuel now.

Kimberly joined him without a word, hauling logs bigger than she should have been able to manage. Her voluptuous figure—full curves that turned heads even in rags—strained against the torn fabric of her blouse, but there was no vanity in it anymore—just grim determination.

Inside, though, her mind was a storm of its own. Why does this feel so familiar? she thought, wiping sweat from her brow. Back in college, that dominant older boyfriend had convinced her to pose for Playboy—whispered promises of empowerment that turned into chains. The mansion parties followed: endless lines of cocaine blurring into orgies where she was just another plaything for men with money and power. She’d clawed her way out, vowing never to let anyone exploit her submissive urges again. And now here she was, following this pilot’s lead, her body responding to his quiet commands in ways that terrified her. No, she told herself fiercely. Not again. Especially not with Brittany watching.