“Let go of me,” she screamed as she wrested from his grip and bolted for the door.
Colón dragged her back to him and clamped a hand roughly over her mouth.
“You will be quiet,” he growled as he shoved her harshly on the bed, “and do as I say.”
He crushed her with his weight and lowered his mouth savagely upon her, bruising and violating the gentle curve of her throat. And she struggled, twisting and fighting with every ounce of strength she had as she let loose screams of panic. Colón ignored her pleas with cold indifference, and he planted a knee on either side of her hips, savagely tearing at the fragile cotton of her blouse.
”Stop it,” her panicked voice entreated frantically as she made a futile attempt to cover herself. “Don’t do this.”
A sob rose in her throat. Oh, dear Lord, she didn’t want this to happen. Please…please don’t let it happen.
“You are more beautiful than I had imagined,” he commented appraisingly through gritted teeth as he ran a hand over her exposed breasts. “Now, you be a good girl, Sabine. I will show you things you never dreamed of.”
Her protests turned to sobs as Manuel Colón slid the thin cotton skirt up her thighs and unfastened his trousers. His manhood strained obscenely toward the juncture of her thighs as he began to lower himself on her. He wanted her. He wanted her to pay dearly for defying him and denying everything that was rightfully his.
Señor Colón,” came Rosa’s urgent request outside the door as she knocked frantically. “I do not want to bother you – “
Colón jerked up his head and let out a string of curses in his native tongue.
“What is it, Rosa?” he spat viciously. “Can you not see that I am busy?”
“Yes,” came the nervous reply, “but Luís Roderigues is in the library. He says he must see you now. It is of great importance.”
Colón released an agitated breath. If it had been anyone else, he would have instructed Rosa to send him away; this girl needed to be taught a lesson for her insolence. He did not have time for interruptions.
But it was Luís Roderigues, and he would not be denied an audience. He controlled much of the land in this province and was undoubtedly the wealthiest of men. To refuse him would be an insult.
Colón shot a murderous glance at Sabine, who lay huddled on the bed, her breasts rising and falling to the rhythm of her ragged breathing. He would show her. When he returned, she would know who was the master here.
“Señor Colón?”
“Sí, Rosa,” he called out angrily as he yanked on his jacket. “I am coming.”
He slammed the door behind him forcefully, and the sound of it reverberated in Sabine’s ears.
A flood of racking sobs enveloped her, slowly pushing aside the fear and tension that filled her. So close he had come…and she didn’t even want to imagine what might have happened if Rosa had not come to the door. He had seen her…touched her…made her feel as though she were nothing more than a whore.
And her plans – her wonderful, beautiful plans for escape and freedom – sank into the depths of her despair. She would never leave here. She was trapped…forever.
XXX
Luís Roderigues pulled a cigarrito from the ornate case he stored in his inside jacket pocket and touch a lit match to its tip. Drawing a deep breath on it, he sized up the man who leaned against the decorative fireplace mantel.
He despised Manuel Colón, and would never have considered coming here if it hadn’t been for Michael. Colón’s reputation was that of a ruthless tyrant who would do anything for money and power; a disgrace to all Spaniards who lived in this province.
But the news his friend shared this afternoon had not rested well with him. Colón’s new girl was an American – and more than likely not truly a slave either; the girl was well-spoken, probably educated, from what Michael had told him. And Luís was here at his request to make an offer for her; to get her out of Colón’s control and make sure she could go somewhere she’d be safe.
“I hear you have a most beautiful house girl,” Luís told Colón smoothly in his native Spanish.
Colón grinned wide and took a long drink of his brandy.
“Sí. Good news must travel fast. She is very beautiful.”
“Would you be interested in selling her?”
Colón twisted the ruby ring on his left hand and smiled smugly to himself. So that was what this whole visit was about. He should have known that Roderigues would not be here for simply a social call.
Of course, it would be beneath him, he thought sarcastically. A mere criollo would not be worthy of his notice. It did not matter that Colón’s father had been a confidant of the king, or that Colón had spent much of his growing up years in Spain. All the Cuban aristocracy saw was a colonial-born Spaniard; a commoner beneath their notice.
And now Luís Roderigues wanted something from him; that was certainly not something he had seen every day. Well, after the scorn he had shown him all these years, he would not bow to Roderigues now. He’d be damned before he let him have his way.
“She is not for sale.”
Luís rubbed at his bushy moustache impatiently and flicked his spent ashes into a nearby tray.
“I will pay you twice what she is worth.”
“She is not for sale,” Colón repeated firmly, a self-satisfied smile tugging at his mouth as he set down a decanter. “Is there anything else?”
“No,” he replied, his stare hard upon Colón’s face. “I want her, and every man has his price. Remember, if I do not get my way, I can ruin you if I choose.”
Colón said nothing, but he veiled his nervousness at Roderigues’s words as he drew a long breath on the cigarrito he held; his jaw tightened with self-loathing as he watched his fingers tremble. He knew the man was not to be crossed. What Roderigues wanted, Roderigues usually received.
As Luís opened the door in preparation to leave, he turned back to Colón, his dark eyes filled with open hostility.
“Remember who wields the most power in La Habana province, Colón. Forgetting may prove to be your downfall.”
I cannot help but remember, Colón thought as he stared at the rich mahogany of the closed library door. You have never given me an opportunity to do otherwise.
He stared intently into his snifter of brandy, and a laugh rose from him as the great scheme he concocted in his head took shape. Luís Roderigues might think he could control everyone in his reach, but not him…not Manuel Colón.
Roderigues would never get the girl as long as he had enough breath to fight. Tonnight Colón would get rid of her. He would finally win against those aristocrats who had tried to keep him down for so long. And he would be on top for once; then he’d see who would be the most powerful man in all of Cuba.
Chapter Ten
It wouldn’t go away.
No matter how hard or long Sabine scrubbed, the repulsive feeling of being unclean remained firmly ground into her skin. He had touched her, made her feel so dirty that she never thought she’d be whole again.
Angrily, impatiently, she paced the room, hugging herself tightly against the sick feeling that twisted in her stomach. Rage seared her soul and burned her heart until she no longer felt the brand of his humiliation.
Then suddenly, violently, she twisted and grabbed hold of the water pitcher and flung it across the room with a heated scream; its shards scattered recklessly across the floor.
“I hate you,” she shouted heatedly at the top of her lungs as she turned and shattered the mirror behind her. “I hate you and everything you stand for!”
She threw the door open, its resounding bang clattering in her ears as she raced into the hallway, heart pounding, blood racing. She was leaving. It didn’t matter what anybody did or said, she was leaving this godforsaken place far behind her this very instant.
And no one would ever harm her again.
Fighting the urge to tear through the house with the screeching wails of a banshee, she stole secretively
down the back stairwell and into the shadowy confines of the kitchen. She needed some bread, or perhaps a hunk of that cheese Rosa had stored in the pantry. That would keep her until –
“Querida.”
Rosa’s voice whispered in the darkness, and Sabine spun to face her. Worried lines creased her features as her hands rested in a gnarled knot upon the worn wood of the kitchen table.
“I’m leaving,” Sabine told her flatly as she wrapped the bread in a clean cloth. “And you can’t stop me.”
“I know.”
“Neither can Colón.”
“Señor Colón has left,” Rosa said after a pause. “He has gone back to Havana.”
“He can go to hell for all I care.”
“You must go now. Run far – to Señor Pierson, if you can,” she continued stiffly as she examined her hands intently. “He lives far from here. Maybe ten miles or so. Due west.”
“I don’t need a man,” Sabine said pointedly as she opened the door.
“He will help you,” Rosa said, rising.
“I don’t need anybody.”
Rosa caught Sabine’s arm as she stepped out into the darkness.
“He will be good for you,” she assured as her dark, troubled eyes locked Sabine’s gaze. “May God speed you to safety,” she said, squeezing the girl’s hands securely. “Señor Colón will not discover your disappearance until morning. You will be far from here by then.”
“Thank you.”
Sabine hugged the older woman tightly and darted into the cover of the night. She was finally free. Free to run. Free to leave this place, this life, far behind.
And run she would until Rosa had the opportunity to change her mind and turn traitor to her scheme.
Gathering her torn blouse around her, Sabine stealthily made her way past the quiet, white-washed barracones that housed the fieldhands. A dog barked out a warning in the darkness, and Sabine flattened herself against the flaking clapboard of one of the buildings, her heart leaping spasmodically in her throat as she held her breath expectantly.
Her fingernails dug tiny grooves into her palm as she waited. Then, when no footsteps or shouts answered the animal’s call, Sabine raced across the open spaces between the buildings and plunged into the wildness of the Cuban underbrush. Twigs and palmetto branches tore relentlessly at her arms and legs as they grabbed at her skirt, insisting she not pursue the freedom she held so dear. Faster…faster. She must press on, get as far as possible; somewhere ahead was safety – and she would reach it before Manuel Colón reached her.
She ran and ran until breathlessness finally brought sharp pangs to her side. Collapsing in a weary heap under the thick fronds of a palmetto tree, Sabine massaged her side as she cursed herself for going no further. How far had she run in her mad dash from Colón’s plantation? Three miles? Four? And there was yet to be any sign of civilization.
Well, it was no matter. She would come upon someone – or something – soon. But now…now she needed some rest. Only a few moments. That’s all she needed before continuing.
Hungrily she bit into the hunk of bread she clutched desperately in her hands, its sweetness filling the empty pit of her stomach. The she snuggled under the lush vegetation that surrounded her, the pungent odor of crushed leaves filling her nostrils, soothing her soul. Only a few minutes, she told herself as her eyelids drooped sleepily; then she would move on.
XXX
The heavy smoke of cigars hung darkly in the back room of the León de Oro casino. Michael leaned back in his seat and inspected the pile of winnings that lay spread on the table before him.
“One more hand,” Manuel Colón spat out.
Michael signed resignedly and stifled a yawn. Hadn’t he had enough already? Everyone else had folded for the night. It was late. He was tired. And he’d had enough of Colón’s increasing demands.
But another round was dealt and Michael fanned out the cards in his hand. Incredible. He could hardly believe his luck tonight. Three aces, a king and a jack. If providence was on his side, he could leave for the United States by next fall and get himself out of the mess he was in. And then, maybe, he could pay Luís back the money he had spent to set Sabine free.
“Well?”
He looked into Colón’s hard, pig eyes. The son of a bitch. How much provocation would it take to put a bullet between them? Not much, Michael decided darkly. Not after what he’d seen today.
His free hand curled into an angry fist, clutching, clenching, flexing. Just once. Just once he’d like to slam his fist into that smug, neat face and feel the flesh give way under his hand. He’d love to make Colón feel the same pain Sabine felt.
Sabine.
He could still see the steadfast look on her face. Chin high. Shoulders squared. Emerald eyes glinting with determination…and hatred? Distrust? Hell, he didn’t blame her. He probably would’ve acted the same way.
But now the contempt he harbored for Colón burned more hotly than it ever had. Look what he had done to her, his conscience prodded, marred those honey-gold features with cuts and bruises a woman should never have; replaced the sweetness of her character with bitterness and cynicism. Colón had managed to destroy the beautiful person she must have been once.
Was that all, though? Had he stepped any further out of bounds? Had he tried to touch her, force her against her will? What else had he done to her since his return?
Damn. Luís better have succeeded in securing her release.
Impatiently Michael drummed his fingertips against the tabletop. Tomorrow was too far away. He couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning for answers. God, he thought restlessly as he shifted in his chair, couldn’t Colón give him some sort of indication now?
“You seem to be displeased,” Colón inquired nonchalantly, and a mocking smile crossed his features. “Is there something wrong with the bet I have placed?”
Scowling, Michael shook the disturbing thoughts from his head. Glancing down at the pile in the center of the table, he motioned for additional cards. Then, checking his hand, he slid a pair of earbobs to join it.
“Impressive,” came Colón’s reply.
The blond looked up at him passively and maintained his silence as he rubbed a hand against his jaw.
“Ii have nothing else to offer you tonight, Señor Pierson…except for maybe that girl you wanted so badly here in Havana.”
Sabine?
Michael’s heart stopped as a surge of unexpected anticipation raced through him. Luís’s proposition must not have made an impression on Colón, but here he was, laying before him the ends for which he was looking. He could have her, free her, and not be required to produce a single penny. Yes, tonight was definitely too good to be true.
“You know how I feel about owning slaves, Colón,” he bluffed as an expressionless veil draped over his excitement. “I don’t agree with the practice.”
“Ah, yes, but you were there. Why did you place a bid on her then, eh?”
He ignored the comment. He had spent too many nights over the last few weeks wrestling with the same question, and he knew why without even thinking. It was everything he had seen about her – her beauty, her strength; she drew him like a moth to a flame.
“Besides, I have no use for her.”
Michael leaned back and considered the proposition carefully. He had the opportunity to get Sabine out of there…maybe find out what she was doing here in Cuba…and maybe even lose himself in those beautiful green eyes for a while before sending her back to wherever it was she came from.
He closed his eyes tightly and scowled. Why the hell did these thoughts keep coming to him? He didn’t want her; he never had. But he wanted to help her; and if this happened to be the only way…
Michael nodded in consent and Manuel Colón slid the promissory note to the center of the table. He had better be making the right decision.
Colón laid his cards out on the table and passed a smug smile. Two pair, jacks high.
No hint of emotion passed ove
r Michael’s countenance as his final hand spread out before him: aces, four of a kind. Lady Luck had certainly sat by his side this evening.
“It’s been enjoyable, gentlemen,” he stated coolly as he collected his booty. “Let’s do it again sometime, Colón,” he added with forced casualness. “I’ll be by later this week.”
He turned and exited through the curtained doorway. Elation spilled over and a grin of triumph spread across his features. Not later this week, he promised Sabine silently as he looked out over the smoky front room. He would be there tomorrow.
She was finally out of Colón’s hands, he marveled, shaking his head as he reread Colón’s note several times. Incredible. He had been the one to accomplish it – with a simple hand of cards.
So he had her. But what had he managed to get himself into, exactly? He fell like a millionaire with that few hundred pesos of gold and jewelry in his pocket, but he also had this woman to care for. Damn, he had wanted to get her out of there, but…
Was he having second thoughts? Maybe. She certainly wasn’t going to welcome him with open arms. And he couldn’t possible scrape together the funds to send her back to wherever it was she had come from in the first place. The house and land had to be paid off before he even considered anything else. Why did everything have to be so damned difficult all the time?
Ah, hell, he wasn’t going to let it bother him. Not tonight. He had managed to get everything he had come for and more, and now all he wanted was a good stiff drink…or three.
Michael slipped the earbobs to a well-endowed, raven-haired barmaid and ordered her to bring a bottle of the best whiskey in the house. Tonight he would celebrate; tomorrow he would figure out what in the world he was going to do with Sabine.
“I was hoping you would be here this evening.”
The sound of the syrupy feminine voice that spoke up from behind him twisted his gut, and the sweet taste of his victory quickly dissipated as a set of finely manicured fingernails trailed languidly down the back of his neck. He didn’t bother to turn to confront the woman who attempted to gain his attentions.
Surrender to Love Page 11