Chapter 21

 

A couple of hours before dawn, the relentless rain stopped, just as abruptly as it started. John had passed out sometime during the night, which Belinda considered a blessed relief for both of them. Watching him suffer and being unable to do anything to ease his pain, meant she’d added a stream of tears to the deluge swamping the forest. Now, in the early morning light, he lay slumped against the tree trunk, breathing evenly.

Belinda wrung the excess water out of John’s shirt and used it to wipe his face. He was pale, almost grey, with dark, vivid circles under his eyes. She stroked his forehead with her fingertips, tracing over his cheekbone to his jaw. He had a decent growth of hair now, which did nothing to soften the harsh angles of his face. Even the ravages of a night enduring agony couldn’t detract from the strength he exuded.

Belinda pressed a kiss to his forehead. He would hate knowing she’d seen him this helpless. With a grunt, John writhed against his bonds, but he didn’t wake. The waves of pain seemed to have lessened, and exhaustion meant he slept through the latest assault on his system. Above them, the troop of monkeys that seemed to have adopted him watched on as he slept. Belinda hoped the little devils wouldn’t start throwing fruit at his head again.

The canopy had come alive as the first hints of sun touched the trees, and now it was a raucous maelstrom of noise and activity. Large red and blue macaws swooped overhead, going from tree to tree in search of breakfast. A gecko ran along the branch beside them and scurried up the tree, only to disappear in amongst the multitude of colourful orchids attached to the trunk. Behind her, in the lake, the giant otter family were back. They frolicked and played, calling out to each other as they did so.

If it hadn’t been for their desperate circumstances, Belinda could have been in paradise. The plethora of colour and activity was enough to make her drunk on the experience for months to come. Unfortunately, she was fairly certain her most vivid memories of her time in the Amazon would be of fear, hunger and exhaustion. Her empty stomach gnawed at her ability to think. They needed food. They needed strength to carry on and make it to the river—if they were even heading in the right direction to find it.

She studied the lake and wondered if it was safe to try fishing again, with the otters in the water. A meal would go a long way towards helping John recover. She scanned the shoreline, looking for the best place to set up her makeshift net, and that was when she noticed that the forest floor was more colourful than usual. The weight of the torrential rain had brought plants, branches, and fruit crashing down to the ground, and the area was littered with the bounty. And it was a bounty, because in the middle of it all, Belinda could have sworn she spotted green bananas.

With a little whoop of excitement, she wrapped the damp sheet tight around her and grabbed the other half of the sheet to use as a bag.

“I’ll be right back,” she told John, even though he didn’t even stir at her words. “I’m bringing breakfast.”

With a grin, she carefully climbed down the tree and ran barefoot to the edge of the lake—keeping plenty of distance between her and the otters. She was working on the principle that if she ignored them, they’d do her the same courtesy in return. She picked up the bundle of fruit and burst into relieved laughter. They were bananas. She was fairly sure they weren’t the kind you could eat raw, but she could cook them first. Surely it would be easier than their attempt at cooking fish? She surveyed the treeline. There were more than enough bananas there to keep them going for the rest of the day at least.

She danced around the area, picking up fruit and storing it in the sling she’d made across her body. If she lived to be one hundred, she would never look at a banana the same again. In fact, she might get one dipped in bronze and keep it on her mantel.

As she bent and reached for another bunch, the jungle went suddenly quiet and an icy chill swept through her. Slowly, Belinda stood, scanning the treeline.

But it was too late.

A hand clasped her throat as a knife pricked her side and she found herself pulled back against a hard body.

“I knew I would find you,” a male voice said in heavily accented English. “You could not escape me, my English whore.”

Miguel.

The guard who’d promised to rape her.

Panic assaulted Belinda, and she struggled, kicking back at him, scratching at his arm. The hold on her throat tightened until she was clawing for air.

“Keep fighting,” he said against her ear. “I like it when they fight.”

Belinda stilled, making him bark out a guttural laugh.

“I’m going to enjoy you,” he told her. “You have spirit. Breaking it will be my pleasure. Where is your friend? Did he abandon you?”

Belinda’s gaze shot to the tree where John was slumped over. If you didn’t know he was there, you wouldn’t have spotted him. He was in no state to help her. He wasn’t even conscious. Miguel would kill him for sure.

“Yes,” she said.

“Excellent.” His hand tightened further, and dots danced in front of her eyes.

She was losing consciousness. He was killing her. She clawed at his arm, trying to pull it away from her throat, and he yanked her up onto her tiptoes.

“If you don’t behave, I will make you bleed.” He ran the flat of his tongue up her cheek as Belinda began to feel lightheaded. She fought, struggling against him, desperate not to pass out.

“Maybe I will make you bleed anyway,” he said. “I like blood. It can make things much more interesting.”

The blackness of oblivion closed in on Belinda. Her hands and feet tingled, and she lost the energy to fight. She was dying. He was killing her. John. Who would look out for John?

Abruptly, he let go of her throat and her legs gave way. She gasped for breath as his arm circled her waist. He held her in place with a punishing grip on her breast. His fingers dug in tight, and she knew there would be marks. He pressed her back into his body, rubbing his hips against her, letting her feel the threat of his erection. Letting her know what her future held.

Belinda gasped for breath as her vision cleared. Her throat was aching and tender, and she knew there was no way she’d be able to scream—even if John was awake to hear her.

Miguel took a handful of the sheet between her breasts and ripped it from her. It fell to the ground, along with the sling full of fruit. She lurched forward, taking advantage of the second he wasn’t holding her to try to escape. A hand twisted in her hair and pulled her back. The knife moved to her breast, the tip against her nipple. She felt a sting and whimpered. Blood ran down her breast and dripped to the forest floor.

“Beautiful. The red against your pale skin is beautiful.” He ground his hips against her, yanking her back with her hair until her scalp felt like it was going to rip from her head. “Maybe I will make red lines all over your body and carve my own pattern into the famous skin of Belinda Collins.”

“No, please. Please don’t cut me.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, forced from a throat that ached with each laboured word.

“See, I knew you would beg. They all beg. Eventually.” He pushed her forward with such force that she tripped and landed hard. Her knee hit one of the tree roots, which jutted out all over the ground. A sharp, hot streak of pain made her gag, and she knew she was badly injured.

Running was now impossible.

A sob escaped. She couldn’t hold it back.

Miguel chuckled at the sound. He grabbed her hair, yanked her to her feet and threw her over the same fallen tree John had asked her to bend over the day before. Another pained sob escaped. Her knee barely held her weight. Her throat was on fire. Blood trickled from her breast. And still, she fought. She struggled against him, clawing at his arms, kicking back at him with her good leg. She managed to turn until she faced him and scratched at his face, drawing blood.

“Bitch!” With one almighty backhand, he struck her across the cheek and sent her back to the ground.

She hit her head on the log and her world tilted. For a second, she no longer knew where she was or what was happening. And then she felt a hand tangle in her hair and he yanked her back to her feet. Her knee gave out under her, and he held her up with her hair. It felt as though her scalp was being ripped from her skull. Belinda sobbed, barely able to see through the tears filling her eyes.

He pushed his face into hers. It was a contorted mask of evil intent. “Do that again and I will cut your pretty face.”

He didn’t wait to see if she understood. Instead, he shoved her over the log. The brittle bark bit into her stomach. Flesh scraped off her arms. A harsh hand smacked down in the middle of her shoulders, keeping her in place. He kicked her ankles wide. She pushed at the tree, fighting to get away. It was impossible. Between her injuries and the way she was balanced over the log, she was trapped. She sobbed, the noise tearing through her bruised throat. A hand twisted in her hair, keeping her in place, and the knife sliced deeper into her hip.

“Bitch! Stay still.”

“John!” she screamed, but it came out as a whisper.

Miguel leaned over her, pressing his body along her back, his weight and strength making it hard to breathe. The smell of sweat and dirt and stale alcohol made her gag.

His tongue came out and he licked her face, tasting her tears.

“Salty.” He laughed.

With blurred vision, she saw him stab the knife into the tree, just out of her reach.

“Please, don’t,” she begged. “I’ll pay the ransom.”

“I never wanted the ransom,” he said.

He wedged his hand between their bodies. Belinda struggled as she sobbed, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t shout, couldn’t do anything. He overwhelmed her and kept her captive far too easily.

She felt his fly zip lower, and his hand pull out his cock. It pressed against her behind, and she gagged. Her stomach convulsed and she vomited up water and bile, making him laugh. His hand slid over her backside.

“My famous whore,” he said.

Belinda whimpered, clawing at the tree, trying to get away from him. Trying to get out from under him. She felt the weight of his body lift as his hold on her hair tightened. And then she felt him grasp his cock and rub it against her rear. Taking his time positioning himself. Enjoying her pleas for mercy. Knowing none would come. He was going to do it. He was going to rape her, and she couldn’t stop him.

“No!” she wailed hoarsely. “No!”

It was pointless. No one could hear her bruised voice.

Nothing could save her now.