They usher me into one of the many rooms housing the mansion. A clock on the wall tells me it’s 11:00 a.m. I’m relieved to find that I’m not dumped in a cellar with bars locking behind me, but it doesn’t make the space any less of a prison.
As soon as the two guys remove their hands, I put a safe distance between them, pressing my back against the nearest wall and feeling my nerves calm instantly. They remain unfazed by my behavior.
“What are you going to do with me?” Not answering, the one called Javier walks out with a bored look and gets into position next to the door.
“Rest,” is all Emilio says before he strolls out too, locking the door.
“Hey! What the fuck?” Cutting the distance to the door, I pound it with my fists. “You can’t keep me here against my will!” Apparently, they can, but I’m not ready to accept it. “Let me out!” No response. “Hey, do you hear me? Open the fucking door!”
12:00 noon.
My throat is raw, and my hands burn from slapping them against the wood for the last hour. Defeated, I take in my new accommodations.
A single bed sits to my left, the sheets white and wrinkle-free. A wooden desk with a matching chair stands to my right, its surface empty. Apart from the clock on the wall, there’s no decoration giving the space any color.
A window allows the sun to flood in providing a breathtaking view of a lush, green landscape interspersed with palm trees and rich plant life. I’m surprised to find that the window is void of any bars. Opening it, I glance down only to find the ground looming three stories beneath me. A man in a gray suit stands sentry directly below me. Another marches up and down a pathway a few yards away, also guarding the estate.
Damn, this place is brimming over with security. Escaping would certainly end in a nasty fight, one I’ll lose for sure.
1:00 p.m.
Exhaustion gets the better of me. Walking over to the bed, I grab its frame and pull it into the nearest corner. Plopping down on it, I bring my back flush to the wall, making sure to have a good view of whoever comes in.
6:00 p.m.
The sun is setting. Seems I slept through the entire afternoon. Straining my ears, I try to catch any noises. Nothing. Absolute silence. A tray with food and a jug of water stand on the desk. They weren’t there before, so someone snuck in while I was out like a light.
Walking over to the table, I inspect the tray. My stomach rumbles in response to what looks like soup with vegetables and meatballs, but I’d rather keep my hands off it. Who knows, maybe they drugged it.
I gulp down half of the water, though, eager to wet my parched throat. Dots of crusted blood litter my forearm, and I use the last drops to wipe them away. My blood or theirs?
I sit down on the bed again, my gaze settling on the floorboards. Bored, I start to count them.
8:00 p.m.
Seventy-two floorboards. Two cracks on the left wall, three on the right. One-hundred-twenty-four square tiles cover the ceiling. One of them is not aligned with the others, and it drives me nuts.
Panting through my nose, I slowly feel my patience slipping away. I’m bored. I’m depressed. I’m scared. And I’m itching to hold a pencil and move it over some paper.
Scrambling up, I amble to the table and open the drawers. All empty. Surprise!
9:00 p.m.
Javier and Emilio drift in. They approach with deliberate steps, causing me to retreat. “What do you want?” I ask in alarm, not liking them clinching their hands around my arms again.
“You’re going to take a shower,” Javier announces in a gruff voice I’m slowly getting used to, hustling me out the door. I try to keep track of where we’re going but fail after the third turn. God, this place is a fucking palace!
I glance at Javier, the slender one with the temper issues. “Care to tell me where I am?” His jaw clenches, but he maintains his poise. “Your tie knot isn’t straight,” I comment in hopes of getting a reaction. Nada.
I switch my attention to Emilio, the composed one. “There’s a stain on your shoe. Looks like bird shit.” His eyes continue to stare straight ahead. My gaze trails up to his belly. “Wow, one burrito more, and your shirt is going to shoot off its buttons.”
His grip on my arm tightens, causing me to hiss. Emilio shoots him a dark look, but Javier keeps a firm hold, letting me know to keep my mouth shut if I want to avoid a dislocated shoulder.
The bathroom is insanely huge. Marbled tiles are everywhere, and the sumptuous walk-in shower unit with milky glass walls is nearly as big as my room at Sam’s. My heart jumps in excitement when I notice the flasks of aftershave lined around the basin, and I already make plans on bopping them on the heads of my supervisors.
“You’ve got five minutes,” Javier grumbles, stopping directly in front of the cabin. My heart drops. Well, there goes my chance of getting my hands on a weapon.
With a sigh, I step into the shower, shedding out of my clothes and leaving them on the raised ledge. It’s only now I realize how bad I smell, and I nearly groan in pleasure as the rain shower drizzles water onto my head.
The gleaming tiles in the cabin are so highly polished, it’s like looking into a mirror. The warm water stings on my fresh tattoo, and I glance at it in my reflection. Immediately, my mind leaps into the past, resurfacing the memory of his hands cutting into my flesh, pressing me into the mattress until my ribcage creaks in protest.
A fist pounding on the bathroom wall startles me. “Hey! Hurry up. If you’re not finished in thirty seconds, I’ll come in and drag you out,” Javier threatens.
A pile of fresh clothes waits for me. With a frown, I examine the fringy shorts and tight tank tops. Nope, not my style.
My bodyguards shoot me a dark look when I step out with my old clothes on, Emilio heaving a sigh as if my behavior hurts him physically. They escort me back to my prison.
10:00 p.m.
“Hey, would you mind giving me a pencil and paper? I’m going to die of boredom in here.”
“Eat,” is the only thing Emilio drones with a nod to the soup I haven’t touched before he clicks the door shut behind him.
“Fuck you, idiots!” I curse, kicking the door with my foot to make my point.
12:00 midnight.
Curling up on my bed, I try to go back to sleep. The distinct shuffling of footsteps from the guards outside makes me fidgety, and it takes me forever to fall asleep. Chills run down my spine from the cold wall against my back, but I don’t dare to switch positions in case anyone decides to sneak in.
4:00 a.m.
I’m on the speedboat again. It’s pitch black, a storm making the boat reel on angry waves. My drenched clothes cling to my skin. Javier handles the wheel, his suit completely dry. He turns around only to give me a wicked grin, and I watch in terror as his face morphs into one haunting me every night. I try to move, ready to jump into the ocean, but I’m glued to the leather bench covered in my old bed sheets, and there’s nothing I can do as he approaches me and flips me onto my stomach.
I jolt awake with my heart drumming against my ribcage. Pressing my eyes shut, I try to shake off the remnants of the nightmare. Not working.
My hand wanders down my panties while I will my mind to concentrate on pleasure instead. Fucked up, you think? Sure. I’m twenty years old and still a virgin. He was only interested in my back hole, so my front is still unchartered territory.
My breathing becomes harsher as wetness coats my fingers, and I push them inside, chasing the high that would bring me peace. For some unknown reason, the face of the man who’s the reason I’m here pops up in my head. My mind trails off to the moment when he scraped the switchblade down my neck, and I come fast, burying my face into the pillow to silence the groan.
7:00 a.m.
I’m pissed that they took my phone. If I could at least text Kendra and tell her I’m fine… I’m sure she’s going insane right now making an entire police unit go crazy.
My heart sinks when I remember that Sam’s wedding will take place soon. I hope they don’t intend to cancel it because I disappeared. They’re better off without me, anyway. I’ve never worn a dress in public, I hate parties, and I’m agoraphobic. That doesn’t make me the ideal wedding guest.
9:00 a.m.
Emilio strolls in with a tray in his hands. My eyes swerve over the plate with bacon and eggs to the glass of orange juice.
“Can I have coffee, please?” A razor-sharp glare is my answer. I ponder about what to say next. “I need tampons.” The horrified look on his face is priceless, so I point a finger at my pants and add in a whisper, “You know, the painters are in.” Emilio dashes out the door as if chased by a bee swarm, leaving me chuckling.
A car rolls to a stop below my window. Glancing down, I see Javier and the handsome man with the Jesus Christ tattoo approach the shiny limousine. They talk, Javier nodding before he opens the back door for the other to get in. They drive off.
12:00 noon.
Who is the man keeping me here? He seems to be someone high up in the ranks. A rich ass, born with a face made for the front page of GQ and the imposing aura of the Pope. I remember the way he set one polished shoe in front of the other as he approached me, how his ringed fingers brushed his lower lip while he gave me a calculating gaze, how he emanated power from his masterful form, settling on my skin like an invisible spell.
I recall his face, his features a mixture of scary and breathtakingly handsome, all sharp angles with high cheekbones and a set of pale eyes cutting through my composure like a laser sword. I was absolutely mesmerized by this man—in awe or fear, I can’t say. I came close to recoiling as he stopped in front of me, but it was more the invasion of my personal space making my heart shoot up like a rocket rather than fear of him hurting me.
And then he said my full name, a name only my mother ever used. The way it flowed over his tongue in addition to his South American accent made it sound like a blend of a dirty chant and a religious prayer.
3:00 p.m.
Mister Mysterious’ fancy car rolls in. Javier steps out first, opening the back door, but instead of the black slacks from a designer suit, a silver high-heel comes into view, followed by a woman’s body clad in a white summer dress.
She’s absolutely gorgeous. A Brazilian beauty with a body made to conquer the world’s biggest catwalks, as exotic as a Piña Colada with a tan coating her like liquid caramel. I hate her instantly. Not because of Mister Mysterious following behind with a hand on her waist but because of the jet-black hair she flips with her hand—hair that looks exactly like my mother’s.
“Daniel, you can trust me on this,” she says to the man in question, and they vanish inside the mansion.
Anger starts to boil in my stomach. While Daniel indulges in a ripe mango, I’m rotting away like an old banana peel. What does he want with me, anyway? Keeping me as a house slave? Selling me off to some pimp overseas? He doesn’t strike me as dangerous, but I can’t shake off the notion that, whatever business he’s in, it’s bordering on illegal. For all I know, he might be a gunrunner or dealing drugs. Doing the same dirty things my father thrived in.
So, where do I come into the picture?