When Julianna’s eyes adjusted to the brightness, she saw the canteen in Jorge’s hand. “Water,” she croaked. She licked her cracked, chapped lips, her eyes glued to the canteen, her heart leaping with anticipation.
Unscrewing the cap, he held the canteen to her mouth and tipped it. Julianna drank, deeply grateful for the cool water. She felt like a shriveled, drooping plant being restored as the water coursed down her throat. He let her drink her fill. Nothing had ever tasted as fresh or pure. While she drank, he watched her with those dark, somber eyes.
Pete came up alongside Jorge. Together they released her limbs from the manacles. If they noticed the puddle of pee that had seeped into the floorboards, they made no mention of it, for which Julianna was grateful. Jorge lifted Julianna into his arms as she flopped forward against him.
He laid her on the cot and sat beside her, rubbing at her arms with both hands. They began to tingle painfully back to life, moving from cold to hot as the blood rushed in. Her back muscles spasmed and she gasped from the pain.
“You’ll be okay,” Jorge offered, which coming from him was effusive concern. “Move your fingers.”
Julianna complied, and was relieved to see they seemed to be working fine. Carefully he rolled her over, running a rough finger over the welts. “Pete, bring the water bucket.”
When Pete had complied, Jorge pulled a bandana from his back pocket and dunked it into the water. “It’s not too bad,” he said, as he ran the damp cloth over her skin. “The only real wound is here.” He touched her left cheek where Stephen had struck over and over on a single spot. Julianna jumped with pain as he washed the area, flinching and squeezing her eyes shut.
He dunked the rag again, focusing on the rest of her body. “The skin’s not cut on your back and thighs—the welts are already fading. You might end up with a scar on your ass, though.”
Julianna didn’t want think about this. Instead she asked, “What about Rach—er, the dark-haired girl? Did Stephen hurt her?”
Jorge frowned. “She’s okay.” Julianna waited for him to continue, but he said nothing more.
When he was done washing her off, he dropped the bandana into the bucket and stood. “Jason wants you.” Julianna’s gut clenched at this declaration. Jason wanted her. She didn’t even want to think for what.
The men helped her to sit up and then stand. She was at once assailed with dizziness and sat back heavily on the cot, sucking in her breath sharply as the cut skin on her ass made contact with the rough canvas. Pete reached into his pocket and pulled out a rather bruised banana. He looked at Jorge with a question in his eyes. Jorge shrugged and nodded.
Pete peeled the banana and handed the yellow fruit to Julianna. She took it, half afraid it was some kind of trick, but he just stood impassively as usual, his hands in his pockets as he watched her. Before he could change his mind, Julianna began to gobble the overripe banana, chewing and swallowing as fast as she could. Jorge handed her the canteen, allowing her to drink from it herself.
Julianna had a sudden, horrible premonition this was her “last supper”. Why else were they being so kind to her? She was to be taken to Jason. Jason wasn’t a trainer. He was the owner of the island—the man who ultimately called the shots. Was she going to be sold? After her refusal to beat Rachel, had Stephen decided she was of no use to them any longer? Was she going to be handed off to pimps, whored out on the streets of some third world country? Terror gripped her innards and the banana lay like a heavy lump in her stomach.
I have to get out before that happens. I have to get away.
Jorge took the canteen from her and attached it to his belt. “We’re taking you first to Alma’s. She’ll get you cleaned up.” Alma! Julianna felt a surge of hope. Alma would know what was going on, maybe even help her.
Julianna stood on her own, feeling weak but otherwise fine, save for the throbbing spot on her bottom where that bastard had cut the skin. She touched the area and felt the fragile scabbing. Hatred moved through her like corroding acid as she unwillingly relived the scene, recalling her own terror, and that of poor Rachel, huddled and crying on the ground.
The men drove her to Alma’s bungalow, sandwiched between them on the ATV. She held herself gingerly on the seat, angled so the wound didn’t touch the leather. Alma opened her door as they were pulling up, apparently expecting her. Julianna was relieved when the men didn’t enter the bungalow as Alma led her inside. “Thirty minutes,” Jorge said, and Alma nodded and shut the door.
After the dark squalor of the hut, the room seemed so fresh and clean, with its white walls, and a large fan oscillating in the corner. The little bed was made, the edge of fresh white sheets folded neatly over a thin blue coverlet. Julianna longed to sink down onto it and sleep for a hundred years. When she awoke, every man on this island would be long dead. If this were a fairytale, that is. She sighed.
Alma, who every other time she’d seen her had always seemed so placid, even serene, now looked deeply troubled. Julianna’s sense of foreboding increased tenfold. “What’s going to happen to me?” she whispered urgently. Alma shook her head, pressing her lips together. Julianna felt panic rising like a tide. She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself together.
Alma led her to the shower and turned it on, gesturing for Julianna to enter. She stood gratefully beneath the water, just letting it splash over her as she took long, deep breaths, willing herself to calm down. At least, she told herself, it wasn’t Stephen who had sent for her. It was Jason. Again her mind landed on and then veered away from what he might want with her.
She reached for the shampoo, washing her hair and rinsing it, and then washing it again. She squirted a large dollop of conditioner on her palm and ran it through the tangles, her fingers recalling the many heads of the ladies she washed back at Sophie’s Salon. That world no longer seemed real. It was a dream—a longed for fantasy that might never come true again, at least not for her.
She shook her head, telling herself this kind of thinking had no place in her mind or heart. New York was real. The life she had left behind was real. She was real—a real person with dreams, hopes and the right to live freely. She wasn’t a number, she wasn’t a slave and she wasn’t done fighting.
She reached for the soap, which stung her welted skin, but it felt so good to clean the sweat, grime and filth from her body. She lingered as long as she dared. Pulling back the curtain, Julianna grabbed the towel Alma had left for her and looked around the bungalow.
She didn’t see Alma at first. “Alma?” she called softly, confused and frightened to find herself alone. She scanned the room and saw a shadow behind the rice-paper screen in the corner of the bungalow. She hurried toward it, peering around the edge. The space was set up as a small kitchen. Alma stood there, her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.
Shocked, Julianna moved quickly to her. “Alma, what is it?”
Alma looked up, wiping her eyes and sniffing. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t help it. I only just got the horrible news.”
Julianna clenched her hands into fists, nearly faint with fear, certain now she was going to be sold to pimps. Alma began to cry again and whispered in a choked voice, “Jason sold me. I’m to leave the island in two weeks.”
Julianna stared. She’d been so absorbed and focused on herself, it hadn’t occurred to her Alma might have problems as bad as her own. “What? Sold you?” Julianna blurted.
Alma put her finger to her lips. “Shh, they’ll hear you,” she whispered. “The camera can’t see past the screen but the microphone is sensitive. If we whisper very softly from here, they have a hard time hearing. Especially with the fan on.”
Julianna nodded. There was a tiny table with a chair on either side. Alma sat and gestured for Julianna to do the same. It felt at once strange and exhilarating to be invited to sit down at a table, as if she were a regular person. She wrapped her bath towel tighter, thrilled not to be naked, though she knew it wouldn’t last.
S
he thought about Alma and “the understanding” she’d said she and Jay shared. “Does Jay know?” she whispered.
Alma began to cry again. She shook her head. “I haven’t seen him yet to tell him. It could be I won’t be allowed to see him alone again, now that the decision has been made. He and Vince are just hired hands. They don’t live on the island like the others.”
Julianna nodded. Whatever understanding Jay and Alma might have, how far could it go anyway? Alma was an island slave, used by all the men, as much a prisoner as Julianna herself, even if she was allowed certain superficial freedoms. Why would Jay bother to risk his job or maybe even his life to help her?
Then she remembered the smile they’d shared, and the way their faces lit up when they saw each other. Could love exist, even in this dark and terrifying place?
“Have you—have you met the man who’s…” She couldn’t even say the words. The concept of one person buying another seemed so alien, though she knew it happened all the time, in every country in the world.
Alma didn’t need to hear the words. She nodded, tears again spilling. “A wealthy Colombian businessman. He already owns three girls, apparently, and wants another. Ai, Dios mio, I don’t want to go. At least here I have some degree of freedom. I have my own place.” She held her arms out. “I have…or I had… Jay.”
There was a knock at the door and Alma startled, putting her hand to her mouth.
“Fifteen minutes,” Jorge called, and then shut the door.
“We must hurry!” Alma jumped up, dragging Julianna into the main room. As they stood before the mirror, Alma took the towel from Julianna and examined the welts left from the caning, her fingers moving lightly over Julianna’s back. “These should be gone in a day or two.” Then she gasped quietly, touching Julianna’s hip just above where he’d struck her repeatedly. “Ah, but this, this might scar. What was he thinking?”
Julianna twisted to look at herself. On her left cheek there was a dark purple welt, really several welts, one just above the other. The skin was split and flayed, though at least it was no longer bleeding. Feeling sick, Julianna turned back around, leaning forward and pressing her hands flat against the vanity’s surface.
Alma reached into a drawer and pulled out a tube of triple antibiotic cream. “This will help.” She smeared a generous amount over the welted skin, her fingers gentle. Folding the bath towel, she put it on the small stool and gestured for Julianna to sit.
Working quickly, she did Julianna’s hair and makeup. She chose another of the silky white dresses for Julianna to wear, along with a dreaded pair of black high heels. She handed Julianna a skimpy pair of white lace panties.
Julianna looked at them doubtfully. “Go on, put them on,” Alma said, turning away. “Jason likes to…” she trailed away. “Just put them on.”
Julianna obeyed, her hands trembling as she pulled on the flimsy panties. Focusing on Alma’s problems for those few minutes had given her a moment’s respite from her own constant, gnawing fear, but now it had returned with a vengeance.
The door opened again, and both Jorge and Pete stepped inside. “Time to go.”
Realizing this might well be the last time she ever saw Alma again, Julianna whispered quickly, “Courage,” as Alma had to her that first terrifying day. She grabbed Alma’s hand and squeezed it for a moment. Alma squeezed back and then looked away.
Chapter 11
Julianna was taken to a part of the island she hadn’t seen before. Two small houses stood side-by-side, built of white stucco with red clay tiled roofs. The ATV stopped in front of the one on the left. The guards had cuffed her wrists again behind her back. They led her through soft grass to the back, which faced the ocean. Julianna stumbled a little in the high heels, but the men kept steadying hands on either side of her.
Ever since the beating, Jorge and Pete had treated her differently—almost kindly. What had changed? Was it because she’d dared to say no to Stephen? Had either of them ever dared to say no?
Jason was sitting at a table beneath a large yellow umbrella, a drink in his hand, a lit cigar between his teeth. He was staring out at the sea, frowning. He looked toward them as they approached, his expression easing.
“Ah, there she is. Bring her here.” The guards brought Julianna to stand in front of Jason. “Turn her around and lift her dress. I want to see what he did.”
Jorge pulled on Julianna’s arm and she turned. Pete lifted the hem of her dress, tucking it over her cuffed wrists. She felt the tug of the panties as they were dragged down to her thighs. As absurd as it was given all she’d been through, she felt herself blushing, feeling somehow more exposed because of the clothing than if she’d been naked.
Jason emitted a low growl as blunt fingers probed the welts. “Stupid man. What was he thinking?” he muttered to himself. He echoed Alma’s words, but while Julianna believed Alma had been shocked at the brutality, she had the distinct feeling that Jason cared only about his “property” being potentially damaged.
Her panties were pulled back up and the dress dropped. “You can go, boys,” Jason said. “I won’t require your services tonight.” Julianna saw the two men exchange a quick look before their faces smoothed into the usual stone.
As they walked away, Jason stroked the back of Julianna’s leg. “Turn around. Let me see you.” Julianna obeyed, the heat still in her face. Setting down his cigar, he looked her slowly over from head to toe, the tip of his tongue appearing between his lips. He brought his hands together and rubbed them. “You’ll do very nicely,” he said, and she couldn’t stop the shudder of fear and loathing that shook her frame.
He didn’t notice, or didn’t care. Taking a towel from the back of his chair, he folded it in a thick square and placed it on the seat of the chair beside his. Patting it, he said, “Sit on that. I don’t want those welts to bleed.” He shook his head, again muttering in a voice barely audible, “Stupid man.”
Julianna perched on the chair as best she could with her hands behind her back. The towel felt so soft beneath her. While she understood he wasn’t doing this to be kind, but rather to protect his investment, she appreciated it nonetheless.
Her eyes were drawn to the feast spread out on the table and her mouth began to water, Pete’s banana only a memory. There were plates of cut fruit and cheese, slices of bread and a mound of curled pink and white shrimp heaped in a bowl of crushed ice. There was a blue glass pitcher with sliced oranges and lemons rimming the edge, and two glasses filled with ice.
He reached for the pitcher and filled a glass. Lifting it, he asked, “Thirsty?”
“Yes, sir.”
He held the glass to her lips and she drank. It was a delicious Sangria, at once sweet and tangy. He allowed her to finish the glass. The wine made her dizzy. A few drops spilled on her white dress, red as blood.
He grabbed her chin with his hand and forced her to look into his face, which he brought uncomfortably close to hers. He had a certain rakish attractiveness, with his shaven head, the gleaming earring and the goatee, but his eyes were hard and flat. The scar, a long thin white line against his tan skin, ran down his face like a snake.
“Anders tells me you’re quite responsive to his training.” He let go of her chin, but his eyes still moved over her possessively. “You’ve got the looks, no question about that.” He narrowed his eyes and his voice went hard. “But beauty isn’t enough. Not if we’re to fetch the highest price.”
He frowned, thick eyebrows knitting together. “I hope your time in solitary taught you a lesson, number thirty-eight. The word ‘no’ has no place in a slave’s vocabulary. While Stephen was a little, uh, overzealous in bringing the point home, the sooner you learn to submit to your fate, the better off you’ll be.”
He stroked her cheek and she couldn’t help it—she recoiled from his touch. He didn’t notice, or, more likely, didn’t care. He sat back, pursing his lips. “We have several potential buyers in the works. There’s a man out of Texas, wants to buy a presen
t for his wife. And another guy, very high up in the Kuwaiti government, Ibrahim Mahmud. He’s bought from us before. But if you continue to be disobedient, I’ll sell you to another man who has a reputation for sadism that makes Stephen look like a pussycat.”
Julianna stared at him, her mouth falling open. He grinned, revealing large, square teeth beneath his thick mustache. “That’s right, little girl. You better learn to play the game or pay the consequences.” He reached for a shrimp and dipped it into a bowl of cocktail sauce.
He held it toward her. “Do you like shrimp?”
Julianna could barely focus on the question, her mind still reeling from his threats. “Come on, now, calm down. I’m not selling you tomorrow. You have time to redeem yourself. Meanwhile, answer the question. I like my slaves to have a good supper before we play, but if you’d rather not—“
“Yes, please, sir,” she said quickly, reminding herself she had to eat when it was offered, never knowing when the next meal would come.
He nodded. “Good girl.” He held the morsel to her lips and she opened her mouth, letting him feed her. The shrimp was delicious, fresh and tender, the tangy sauce the perfect complement. It occurred to her that food, which she’d always taken for granted in her previous life, seemed to taste better here on the island. It was as if her sense of taste and smell were heightened. Come to that, all her senses were heightened. She was always on constant alert, never at rest, never at ease, except maybe for a moment here or there in Anders’ arms, between training sessions.
Jason fed her pieces of fresh mango and banana, interspersed with bread smeared with creamy cheese and more of the tasty shrimp. Julianna savored each mouthful, though she despised the man feeding her.
The sun was beginning to set, the ocean turning a deep blue-green, the wave caplets splashed with gold. Jason held a second glass of Sangria to Julianna’s lips and she drank. She felt overfull and woozy and wished she could go lie down somewhere, even if just on the hard cot in a cell in the slave quarters.
Dark Obsessions - Volume I: Four Intense Capture Fantasies in One Sizzling Collection Page 12