Daisy’s POV
I twist my hands, trying to get some slack in the tight binds around my wrists, but to no avail, the knots are unforgiving and dig into my skin with a vicious bite that I know I’m going to feel for days to come . . well, if I live that long.
I sneak a look at Cargill’s goon, who is still sitting by the door, leaning back with ease as he scrolls his phone. He hasn’t even looked up since he tied me to this chair, it’s as though I’m not even here.
The rumble of the engine is muted, but I can still feel the slight bob of the boat as we carve through the water heading God knows where.
My gaze moves to the far wall, scanning the rows of expensive whiskeys and spirits that line the wet bar, held in place by a baton across the front that is fixed to each side of the wooden structur
