I exist to serve… I am a cunt…
No. No. I am Mara. I exist for me.
Stop it. Say the words. Why do you exist?
I exist to serve, to suffer, to please and obey.
Yes. That’s it. Go on. Say it.
I am a cunt, a piece of ass.
Mara’s brain stumbled, the words sliding away. What was next? What was next?
She was distracted by the scene going on a few yards away. Raeanne’s ass and the backs of her thighs were covered in dark red welts, her arms still held high overhead by the curly-headed buffoon. Another wave of rage and hatred crashed over Mara’s senses. She clamped her mouth shut to keep from screaming. Her hands were clenched into fists, and she was glad for the distraction of her fingernails digging painfully into her palms.
Finally, the disgusting old man seemed to tire of whipping a defenseless woman. He lowered his arm, letting the whip fall to the ground. DJ gestured with his free hand toward something nearby.
The guy moved to what Mara saw now was a backpack, larger than the ones she and the other girls had been given. Tied to its side was what appeared to be a long aluminum cane. Jesus, were they going to beat Raeanne with that thing?
When he held it up, however, she saw it was more like a ski pole. At DJ’s direction, he telescoped the cane to three times its original length, screwing it at the breaks into one long, sturdy pole, perhaps eight feet long.
Keeping the pole in one hand, Jed pulled several small skeins of rope from the pack and stood, moving toward Raeanne. DJ let go of Raeanne’s wrists, but only long enough to pull them together in front of her. Both men moved in, obscuring Mara’s view, though she could guess what they were doing with the rope. Then DJ pushed on Raeanne’s shoulders and she sank to the ground.
Mara closed her eyes, not wanting to witness Raeanne’s inevitable rape, but after a moment she opened them again, aware she had to remain vigilant in case either man became somehow aware of her presence. To her surprise, instead of one of the men climbing onto the supine girl, they were binding her wrists and ankles to the aluminum pole.
Mara could hear the men laughing, the sound coarse and guttural to her ears. The older man’s words were inaudible from where she hid, but DJ’s loud voice carried in unwelcome snippets. “…Told you she can take a beating… Oh yeah, don’t you worry, she lives for this shit. This girl loves it all, don’t you, babe?”
As far as Mara could tell, Raeanne didn’t reply, but the men didn’t seem to notice or care. When she was fully bound, each man grasped one end of the pole and crouched, placing a shoulder beneath it. As they stood, each with an end of the pole on his shoulder, Raeanne was lifted between them, tethered to the pole by her wrists and ankles like a gutted animal.
The men began to walk, Raeanne swaying in her bonds, her eyes wide with fear. Her lips were pressed tightly together, as if she’d promised herself she wouldn’t make a sound, and if it was possible, Mara’s heart broke a little more for her friend.
I’m so sorry, Raeanne. I’m sorry I can’t help you. I’m sorry I can’t kill those men with my bare hands for what they’re doing to you. The sudden image of DJ, big hulking, brutal, stupid DJ, naked and trussed like a hog on that pole almost made Mara smile. Bullies were cowards when you scratched just beneath their false machismo. Unlike brave, stoic Raeanne, he would probably squeal like an actual pig.
The men moved slowly through the brush with their prisoner until they disappeared from Mara’s sight. Mara tried to feel satisfaction at the knowledge she was the last one standing. She tried to tell herself Alex would be proud of her achievement, but the sentiment was hollow. She didn’t care what Alex thought. The realization was both terrifying and freeing.
She didn’t want to be caught. Not now, not ever.
Cautiously, she eased from her hiding place and stood, getting her bearings. The air had grown humid and oppressive. Looking up, she saw the sky had filled with clouds, some of them dark and fat with the promise of rain. A flash of lightning lit the clouds in the distance, followed by a rumble of thunder.
Mara began to move in what she hoped was the direction of the bog. There was a sudden rustling sound just to her left. She jumped and then froze, her heart hammering. She saw something move in the corner of her eye and instinctively swung her head in that direction. A small squirrel with a bushy tail was regarding her with a curious expression.
As Mara blew out a breath of relief, the squirrel scurried away. The rain had begun to fall, though the leaves provided some shelter, allowing only a few fat droplets to splatter through. She remained where she was a moment longer, listening. The last hunter was still somewhere in the forest looking for her. Though she could no longer gauge the time from the position of the sun, she was reasonably sure they were nearing the four-hour mark.
Despite DJ’s statement that no girl had ever lasted the full time allotted, Mara found herself determined to do just that. No one was going to capture her. She’d find a perfect hiding place and maybe she’d never come out. She’d curl so deeply into her flying fantasy that she would sprout actual wings and take to the sky. They would wonder forever what happened to the girl that got away…
Mara was abruptly distracted from her daydream by the unmistakable sound of twigs cracking and brush rustling. That was no squirrel. The hunter was close, way too close. There was no time to climb a tree or even duck into the brush. On pure instinct, Mara took off in the opposite direction of the sound. She flew over the ground, barely aware of the brambles and thorns that reached out to snag her legs and arms and snap in her face.
“Hey,” she heard a man call from some distance away. “Hey, there.”
Her heart smashing in her chest, Mara dropped flat on the ground. On her belly in soaking leaf mold, she wriggled toward the bog, nestled as flat against the forest floor as she could manage. It was raining harder now, the sound of the pelting drops through the leaves blocking out the ever-present break of the waves against the shore. A sudden, blinding flash of lightning illuminated the relative darkness in gleaming quicksilver, followed apace by the roll of thunder. Rainwater plastered the bandana to Mara’s skull, the water running in rivulets over her forehead and into her eyes. She wiped it with the back of her wet hand as she rose into a half-crouch, listening intently for any sign of the hunter.
Hearing nothing but the pounding rain, Mara scuttled crabwise through the brush, arriving finally at the clearing near the bog. She prayed the man hadn’t followed her, but the sound of her own ragged breathing and pounding heart roaring in her ears made it hard to be certain. She leaned over, her hands on her knees, and panted with exertion.
Then she heard it. The sound, once more, of footsteps moving through the leaves and trigs that covered the forest floor. “No!” she cried softly, tears springing to her eyes.
Alex tried to slip into her mind, whispering her mantra, reminding her of why she existed, but his features were blurred, his words an unintelligible garble, and she shook them away.
It was her own internal voice she now paid attention to. Keep going. Get out of sight.
Mara moved as fast as she could through the blinding rain toward the high grasses that surrounded the bog. Something slithered by her feet. Mara startled and bit back a cry. No poisonous snakes, DJ had promised that nasty old man, but non-poisonous snakes weren’t a whole lot lower than their poisonous cousins on Mara’s list of things to avoid in the wild. Still, keeping company with snakes was better than being caught by a rapist, and the sound of someone approaching was getting louder.
Mara darted toward the tall grass and dropped to her hands and knees. She crawled in among the dripping stalks, edging close to the fetid water of the bog. Something cold and wet touched the back of her leg and, in spite of herself, Mara squealed. Jerking her head back, she saw a fat, dark green toad hopping away, no doubt as disconcerted as she. Swallowing hard, the rainwater nearly blinding her, Mara crawled deeper into the sheltering grass.
All at once, a hand
closed over her ankle. Blind terror shot through Mara’s core. With a cry, she jerked away and leaped to her feet, her survival instinct adding wings to her heels. She tore through the grass and ran straight for the bog, splashing noisily into the salty, muddy water, which, it turned out, only came up to her knees.
“Hey, hey there!” the man called. “Stop running away. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. Please, don’t go in that water. You don’t know what’s in there.”
You’re not in there.
Desperately, Mara continued to wade forward through the sticky mud. Her heart was thumping so hard against her ribcage it hurt, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She heard the splash behind her. Adrenaline coursed through her limbs as she raced away from the sound. The water was deeper near the center, and Mara began to swim, using every ounce of energy to put space between herself and her pursuer.
The water grew shallower as she approached the far end of the bog, forcing Mara to stand again. She scrambled through the mud to dryer ground. The myriad scrapes and cuts she’d sustained during the course of the hunt stung and throbbed from the salty water, and Mara welcomed the cleansing rain that continued to pelt her skin. She didn’t dare stand there for too long, however, aware the hunter was just behind her.
Looking around, her sight made keen by desperation, Mara spied what appeared to be a rocky outcrop, the stone just peaking beneath a thicket of brush. Yes! She moved as quickly as she could through the wet, slippery leaves that blanketed the ground.
Pushing aside the brambles, she crouched and felt beneath the stone canopy. The leaves on the floor of the small cave-like opening were dry, the space larger than it had appeared from above. Was there enough room for her to wedge herself beneath it?
The sound of water splashing behind her made the decision for her. Mara rolled to her side and eased herself under the stone, biting back a curse as the rough stone scraped hard against her shoulder. Reaching upward, she pulled back the cover of tangled vines as best she could over the entrance.
Exhausted and shivering, she lay in a fetal ball, her ears pricked for any sound of the hunter. She heard another sound far off, the piercing cry of a whistle—Curtis’ whistle.
The hunt was over. She was supposed to come out. She was supposed to present herself. Mara recalled DJ’s disparaging words to Raeanne about climbing out of her “hidey hole.” Though she knew she’d pay a terrible price for her disobedience, Mara stayed right where she was. She was safe, she was out of the rain and, at least for now, she was free.
Then a pair of feet shod in muddy running shoes appeared at the entrance of the cave. Mara stared in mute, terrified horror. When a face appeared between the brambles, Mara tried to stifle the pure animal wail of despair. She failed.
Chapter 11
Wes drew back, startled by the woman’s heart-rending cry. Getting hold of himself, he leaned forward and peered anxiously through a tangle of vines and brush into the small opening beneath. “Hey,” he said, striving to keep his voice calm and soothing. The girl had twisted away with a terrified cry when she’d seen him, and now was drawn in on herself like a cornered animal. “You okay in there?”
His initial plan of letting the other guys do the hunting had fallen by the wayside when he’d been informed via walkie-talkie that he was the only one left in the forest, and there was one girl still out there waiting for him to find her. DJ’s ominous hint at the dinner of a promised beating for any girl who didn’t allow herself to be caught left Wes no choice but to seek her out, even if it meant slogging through the mud to get her.
He reached for the walkie-talkie to let the others know the hunt was over, but his hand met with empty space. Glancing down at his belt, he realized the walkie-talkie must have fallen off when he was in the bog. He shrugged. Probably just as well. If things went according to plan, DJ and his father wouldn’t have a chance to touch this girl, or anyone else, for a long time.
The girl didn’t respond. Wes removed the pack from his back and opened the flap. Reaching inside, he yanked out a hand towel. “Hey,” he tried again. “Take this towel to wipe away some of that mud. It isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing.” He held the towel just inside the entrance to the tiny cave. The girl didn’t turn or respond.
A sport whistle trilled somewhere in the distance. The rain had stopped finally, and the sun was peering weakly from behind scattering clouds. “Please, listen to me,” he tried again. “You need to come out of there. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. I want to help you.”
She didn’t move.
Impulsively, Wes reached into the small space and touched her shoulder. Her skin was cold. She flinched and whimpered. Wes drew back his hand, his heart aching for the obviously terrified young woman. He turned his backpack upside down and dumped the contents. At the bottom of the pack was a small, rolled-up blanket. Wes unrolled it and, reaching once more beneath the outcropping, he draped it as best he could over what he could reach of her shivering form.
His cell buzzed and vibrated in the back pocket of his jeans. He’d forgotten all about the phone as he’d splashed through that bog in his pursuit of the girl. Fortunately, the protective waterproof phone case he’d placed it in before boarding the yacht had apparently done its job.
The buzzing recalled Wes to his original mission and he reached quickly for his phone. He swiped the screen to activate the call. “Yeah,” he said brusquely.
“I’ve been calling for twenty minutes. Where the fuck were you?” Hugh demanded by way of greeting.
“There was a storm here. It must have interfered with the satellite. Listen—”
“We finally got the go ahead,” Hugh interrupted. “Coast Guard has surrounded the island to prevent any incoming or outgoing boat traffic. Air traffic controllers on the mainland are on standby if any private planes try to go in or out of the designated coordinates. The taskforce should be there within a half hour. We’ve got ten men, fully armed, with warrants for search and seizure. They have authorization to arrest any and everyone who gets in the way.”
“Listen, Hugh, there’s bigger stuff going on here.” Wes spoke rapidly but in a voice he knew the girl could hear. “This place, this Pirate Island, isn’t just some high-class, super-exclusive escort service for wealthy men—there’s forced prostitution, probably sexual abuse and worse. I don’t know the magnitude yet, but I’m pretty sure we’re dealing with sex slavery, torture and human trafficking on top of illegal drugs. We’ll need to get the feds involved.”
“What the fuck,” Hugh exploded over the phone.
The sport whistle sounded again, closer this time. “Hugh,” Wes continued urgently, “I’m dealing with a crisis situation right now. I can’t stay on the phone. The team needs to tread cautiously and move very quickly. There are maybe ten or more young women here who will need to be protected and evacuated. We can’t let this turn into a potential hostage situation. You got all that?”
“Fuck,” Hugh breathed. “Yeah. I got it. Go do what you need to do. I’m on it.”
Wes ended the call and slipped the phone into his back pocket. His cover was blown, but that hardly mattered at this point. In a matter of hours, the jig would be up. He addressed the girl’s back. “Listen to me. I know you heard all that. I came here on an undercover assignment. My name is Wes Armstrong and I’m with the Drug Enforcement Administration. I’ve been following a drug trafficking ring that has led me here, and we’re about to make the bust.” He forced himself to speak gently and calmly. “I believe you and the other girls on this island are not here of your own accord. I want to help you. Talk to me. Tell me your name. Please, come out from under there.”
To his vast relief, the girl shifted beneath the blanket and managed to rotate herself in the small space so she was now facing him. She lay on her side, the blanket pulled around her, her eyes wide as she stared up at him. In spite of the wet hair plastered to her head and the dirt streaking her face, she was arrestingly beautiful, with large hazel eyes
, high cheekbones and a sensual mouth.
“What’s your name?” he repeated softly.
“Mara,” she whispered.
“Mara,” he repeated. “Mara, do you believe I’m who I say I am?”
She stared at him a long moment. Finally she nodded.
“Can you get yourself out of there? Can I help you?”
Mara shook her head. “I can’t come out. He’ll punish me.”
Wes’ gut tightened. “Who will punish you? What for?”
She swallowed visibly and squeezed her eyes closed. She shook her head slowly.
Not wanting to press her too fast, too hard, Wes let it go, for now. “I won’t let him,” he said firmly. “Come on. Come out of there. The taskforce is on its way. Whatever the hell’s been going on here, it’s over now. We’re going to get you the fuck out of here.”
Tears had begun to track in muddy streaks down her dirty face. “He’ll never let me go,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I’m property. A cunt. A piece of ass. I belong to him.”
Wes tried to keep the horror off his face. He shook his head firmly. “You’re none of those things, Mara. You belong only to yourself.” He held out his hands, willing her to take them. “Let me help you out of there. You don’t need to hide anymore. We’ll protect you.”
Wes moved closer, his open hand thrust into the space. Slowly, her eyes fixed on his, the girl rested her icy fingers in his hand. Gripping gently but firmly, he brought her forward out of the small enclosure, rising as he brought her out. Using his backpack as a makeshift cushion, he helped the young woman into a sitting position. The blanket had fallen away as he had helped her from the cave. He reached in to retrieve it and draped it around her shoulders.
“Are you all right to walk? I want to get you out of the woods and into dry clothing. We’re going to need to pretend a little while longer until the rest of my team gets here, okay? As far as anyone else knows, for now I’m still Tom Cartwright. I found you hiding, and I lost track of time while I was”—he stumbled mentally over the right words and came up with—“while I was playing with you. Can you do that? Can you pretend a while longer?”
Dark Obsessions - Volume 2: Four Dark, Delicious Capture Fantasies Page 17