Keep My Baby Safe

by Bella Grant

  “How long will I be here?” she asked.

  “Until your ransom is paid, or I decide to sell you,” he replied, his nonchalance real and unaffected.

  Grace’s fork clattered to her plate, spewing beans onto the table. “Sell me? What do you mean?”

  “Without the bruises, after a shower, and with some decent clothes, you’re a beautiful woman,” Tomas commented, his eyes dropping to her breasts. She covered them hastily, and he met her gaze again, a smirk transforming his features from angelic to devilish. “I would keep you for myself, but I prefer my women tame. You, I think, will need to be tamed.”

  “No. You can’t do that,” Grace said, her mind freezing at the idea of becoming a sex slave to some animal in human form.

  “Are you a virgin, perhaps? A virgin will always fetch a higher price,” he commented as if speaking of a commodity without emotions. He looked her up and down, appraising her. “No, not a virgin. Too beautiful, too old, and an American. Such loose morals there.”

  She vomit rise in her throat, but she swallowed it. “I will not be sold like cattle.”

  Tomas laughed loudly, his head tipping back and baring his throat. Grace had a momentary thought of plunging her fork into that throat, but even if she killed him, she wouldn’t escape.

  “You don’t have a choice, belleza.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “A word of good news, though.”

  He paused, and Grace growled, “What’s that?”

  His smile was like a boyfriend giving an expensive gift to his girlfriend, and her nostrils flared in disgust. Rather than take offense, he seemed to enjoy her response to him. “I will contact your Mr. Hudson again. He will have until Friday to send me the money for your release.”

  “What’s today?” Grace asked quietly, ashamed she had no idea.

  “Tuesday.”

  Jerking, she realized she’d been imprisoned for four days. She must have been unconscious for an entire day at some point. “Tuesday…” she whispered, looking at the floor. She jerked her head up. “How much did you ask for?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Grace frowned and snorted a laugh as she looked down at her half-eaten food. “I guess not.”

  Tomas was silent for several seconds, so she lifted her eyes to meet his. He peered at her, his eyes unreadable. Lust was absent from his gaze, but so was every emotion. She couldn’t read him. He was expressionless unless he wanted to reveal his emotion, and Grace was certain any emotion he revealed was a calculated response to get what he needed. A sociopath, she determined, her fear escalating further. The man would kill her on a whim and go to dinner soon after.

  “You are a beauty. Your hair is touched by sunlight, and your eyes are like grass in the spring,” Tomas complimented, though he seemed to be talking more to himself.

  “Your poetry is pathetic,” she quipped, rolling her eyes. A daring retort, she thought, wondering what he would do.

  His eyes and face hardened, and before she could react, his hand connected with her right cheekbone. She fell to the side, slamming into the floor with her shoulder. Her shoulder screamed in agony, and her cheek felt as if someone had clocked her with a hammer. She lay on the floor for a moment to regain her composure as tears slipped down her face. But she refused to stay on the ground. She pushed herself up slowly and returned to her seat, holding her shoulder with the opposite hand.

  “You should be grateful I leave you with only a bruised face,” he hissed, the one break in the persona he’d created. He tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck, and shrugged his shoulders, calming himself.

  In an act of rebellion, Grace picked up her fork and began eating again, ignoring the fear and the pain. If she was going to die, she would do so with some dignity. Tomas had frozen and was watching her, and though she wasn’t looking at him, she felt the heat of his gaze on her.

  After three bites, the man began to laugh again. He shook his finger at her, causing her to tense in fear, which only increased his laughter. “Not just beautiful. Strong too. Maybe I will keep you for myself. Tame you into the woman I want.”

  She looked into his eyes, mustering every bit of courage and hatred. “Fuck you.”

  He looked as if he might hit her again, but he refrained. He smiled at her, a movie star in real life, and he said, “You haven’t asked about your friend. Trevor?”

  Grace’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. “He’s dead. Your men killed him in cold blood.”

  “I have pictures,” he taunted, tilting his head to the side, a divine specimen of the male figure. “Would you like to see them?”

  She shook her head but didn’t speak. She didn’t trust her voice. Grinning like she imagined a serial killer might, he pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket and dropped it on the table.

  He leaned close to her, so close she felt his breath on her cheek. “Look if you’d like,” he whispered. His lips grazed her temple, and she jerked to her feet and moved away from him.

  “Don’t fucking touch me.” Each word was emphasized like its own sentence.

  His malicious grin appeared. “Your boss has three days. If he can’t pay, on Saturday, your training begins. You’ll bow down to me. In fact, you’ll beg me to allow you to suck my cock. Or you will experience alive what my men did to your friend after his death.”

  With a small bow, he turned and left the cell, closing and locking the door behind him. He turned and blew her a kiss through the bars, and Grace again felt the need to vomit. She couldn’t let herself do so. She glanced at the table where the rest of her meal sat next to the envelope filled with pictures of what she assumed was Trevor’s body. Determined to finish her meal first, she sat down and ate, looking anywhere but at the envelope.

  Escape wasn’t currently an option, but if she were taken somewhere to shower and change, perhaps she could get out then. She had no idea if she was in a house or a warehouse, or even whether she was anywhere near Matamoros, but she’d think of something. Anything, even being killed during an escape attempt, was better than becoming that sociopath’s sex slave.

  Her meal eaten, she stared at the envelope for many minutes before opening it. She pulled out only one picture, and when she saw it, prayed it was the worst of the bunch. A loud sob left her as she stared at the mutilated body of her best friend. Quickly, she returned it to the envelope and closed it, refusing to look at any other picture inside. She preferred to remember Trevor alive.

  If that was the death that awaited her, she had to escape. Or become a mindless sex slave. More sobs echoed through the cell as she sat motionless in the chair. She thought she’d been afraid before. Real fear gripped her like death. Every thought was of death, and pain, and fear, and torture, and she began to scream. She screamed until her throat was raw. She cried until she could cry no more. The concrete slab was her only refuge, and she curled under the flimsy blanket and begged sleep to take her. No nightmare could be as bad as her reality.

  Chapter 6

  Grace paced her cell, her shoulder on fire. She’d removed her shirt and looked at the bruise that had developed after her fall, wishing she had an ice pack. After Tomas had left, she had slept for what felt like several hours. With nothing to do when she woke, she turned her camera on and scrolled through the pictures she had stored on the card. Unfortunately, she deleted regularly after uploading the pictures to her computer, so she only had a hundred or so on the memory card. She played a game, imagining how she’d edit the pictures and the stories she’d tell to go with them.

  After ten stories, she was tired again. A new bruise had blossomed on the right side of her face, and her eye was swollen where his knuckle had hit. She had no mirror, but an awkward selfie with the camera revealed her face to be a mass of colors. A concussion crossed her mind again, but in the picture, her eyes looked fine. She wandered to the concrete bed and lay down, despair in her heart.

  Another day passed. She had created stories for nearly every photo in her camera. No food had been brought
to her, as Tomas had promised, so she felt weak. Her water was almost depleted, and she worried they planned to leave her in the cell to die of thirst and hunger. She spent most of her time curled up on the slab of concrete, listening for whatever sound might be carried to her. When she heard the outer door open for the first time in forty-eight hours, she rolled over and sat up slowly to avoid dizziness. Gathering what strength she had, she rose to her feet and waited for the person to arrive at the cell.

  Tomas de Velazquez appeared like an angel, the same woman with him carrying a tray with a covered plate and a pitcher of water. Neither spoke as they entered. The woman smiled knowingly at Grace, deposited the tray on the table, and left with her bathroom bucket. Ravenous, Grace nearly ran to the table before her rational mind forced her feet to remain still. She didn’t speak, nor did she move when he smiled and gestured at the table.

  “I’m sure you’re hungry, belleza,” he murmured seductively, his eyes half closed as they watched her. “Please, eat.”

  “You promised me food every day. You lied,” she responded harshly, her voice creaking from lack of use and water.

  Tomas nodded, sighing loudly. “Yes. You needed a lesson in humility.”

  “You have nothing to teach me,” she replied, frowning darkly. “All I’ve learned from you is hunger and pain.”

  “In hunger and pain are substantial lessons,” Tomas replied, his voice smooth like water.

  “What lesson have you learned from hunger and pain?” she questioned, eyeing him.

  Tomas watched her, and all her strength went into returning his gaze. When his eyes narrowed, she mirrored the action, but when he laughed, she lifted a nostril in disgust at him. Her sneer was met with more laughter, and with a roll of her eyes, she walked to the table and sat down to eat. A white napkin had been placed under the fork, and she snapped it and placed it on her lap as if she were at a restaurant. Her nonchalance was fake, and forcing herself to eat slowly was a feat that almost defeated her.

  Tomas watched her from his place near the door before wandering over to sit across from her. Neither spoke for several minutes while she ate with a civilized air, and Grace was more than aware of his watchful eyes on her. She glanced up at him, and with her mouth full of steak covered in red sauce, she spoke.

  “My face must be a joy to look at,” she commented blandly without looking at him. She opened the tinfoil next to the plate and found tortillas, so she tore one in half and dipped it in the delectable sauce. “All the colors.” Her eyes met his. “Inflicted by you and your men.”

  Tomas breathed a laugh through his nose as he shook his head at her. “Your face could not be marred by mere bruises, belleza.”

  “Thanks,” she replied, sarcasm dripping from her tongue.

  “Your newspaper man answered our demands,” he announced after she’d slipped another bite into her mouth.

  She glanced up from her food, an eyebrow lifted in question. “And?”

  “Mr. Hudson claims he doesn’t have the money.”

  Grace shrugged and continued spooning food into her mouth, pretending his answer was of no consequence. “I’m not surprised. I told you the newspaper doesn’t have that kind of money. Charles doesn’t either.”

  “I considered sending the video to your sisters,” he informed her, watching her closely.

  Her nonchalance disappeared. She jerked upright, her food forgotten as fear struck a chord in her heart. “My sisters?”

  “Faye and Elaine, I believe are their names,” he said, his eyes telling her he was relishing his little game. “Elaine had her baby, in case you didn’t know. Ethan and Charlie were by her side.”

  A tear slipped from her eye, then another and another. “How do you know about my family?”

  Tomas’ smile was like a gleeful jaguar staring at a dying deer. He crossed his legs slowly, brushing at imaginary dust on his perfectly tailored pants, and spread his hands wide. “A search on the internet requires very little knowledge. Social media is so useful.”

  “My family doesn’t have money,” Grace was quick to say, her eyes boring into his. “They have less than Charles.”

  “Yes, I did discover that as well. A pity, really,” he told her, tilting his head to the side. His handsome face was pensive as he watched her. He glanced at her plate and gestured to it. “Finish eating while we converse.”

  “Stay away from my family.” Her shame at her wavering voice was palpable, but she maintained eye contact as she spoke.

  Tomas chuckled. “I have no intention of seeking your family.”

  “What is your intention?” Her stomach clenched as he eyed her like a new car.

  He sighed loudly, exhaling for a long time before speaking. “Alas, I have decided I don’t have time to tame you into the perfect woman. I have a feeling it would take weeks.”

  “Forever, you mean,” she asserted, the strength back in her voice. “I will never be a sex slave.”

  He sucked in a breath and looked around the room as if debating how to answer her. His silence was more unnerving than if he’d hit her again. He was a deadly creature in a beautiful package, more frightening because of the magnificence of his face. Grace’s body trembled, and though she was still hungry, she couldn’t pick up her fork in front of him. He would see her fear in her shaking hands.

  “Never is such a” —he waved his hand, searching for the word— “an absolute, belleza.” He uncrossed and crossed his legs again, his easy manner like that of a date. “I have decided to sell you to the highest bidder among my men.”

  Dread settled on her like a weight, and the fear she thought she’d felt earlier was more like a little jitter of nerves. This was real fear. Her body wanted to release, her muscles to relax, her mind to escape, but she fought those needs. She breathed slowly in and out several times, a trick a friend had taught her. It didn’t work on the inside, but externally, she hoped she looked calm.

  Tomas’ eyes dropped to her breasts, which were covered only by her filthy tank top and bra. She didn’t bother to cover herself with the button up shirt; he could choose to remove it if he wanted. Another tear slipped down her cheek.

  “Why can’t you just let me go?” Grace asked, a shiver in her voice.

  “Because you chose to put yourself in my line of sight,” Tomas answered graciously, the perfect interviewee. “And because a woman of your beauty is worth a lot of money here.”

  A quiet sob left her, and she slammed her fist on the table as she rose to her feet. “No! I am not going to be sold! You can’t do this! It’s the goddamned twenty-first century! People don’t sell people!”

  Throughout her outburst, he’d remained seated, watching her. She panted, her chest rising and falling dramatically. His smile began slow but eventually took over his face, and Grace felt as if she were looking at Pennywise the Clown. Either her capitulation or her death was promised in that gaze. But she wouldn’t bow down to him or anyone he sold her to. She’d fight until they had to kill her.

  “How naïve you are for a reporter,” Tomas commented, shaking his head. “My belleza—”

  “Stop calling me that!” she screamed. “I’m not whatever you’re saying! Just let me go!”

  His face tightened. He rose slowly and pushed his chair under the table. Without a word, he walked to the cell door and banged loudly on it with his oversized ring. The woman returned and opened the door, hurried inside with the bathroom bucket, dropped it in its place, and quickly left. Tomas turned to face her again, his mask of geniality missing. Evil was in his expression, in his eyes, his predatory persona the real Tomas. Grace stepped back reflexively.

  “Before I leave, allow me to tell you a story,” Tomas began, his voice frighteningly quiet. “An American woman disappeared from Matamoros last year. They never found her. Would you like to know why?”

  She shook her head madly, sniffing as her chest tightened and her tears flowed relentlessly. “Please. No.”

  A malevolent smile lifted his lips, causing
a shiver of terror to sliver down her spine. “My men found her and thought she would be to my taste. Lovely blonde woman. Beautiful like you, though not strong. They brought her to me, but her weakness was too great. My women dressed her up, put makeup on her, and drugged her. I sold her to the top bidder.”

  He paused while she processed his words. Her head began to shake of its own free will, her face crumpling as she waited for him to continue. She couldn’t stop his words or her tears.

  “I had no idea what he had in mind for her, my soldier,” he continued, pursing his lips as if disappointed in his man. “He released her into the surrounding forest. A group of six men hunted her like an animal until she was cornered not far from here.” He lifted his head as if listening, then stared into her eyes with his dead, soulless ones. “Her screams echoed for two hours before her vocal cords no longer worked.”

  Grace’s breath sped up as if she’d just completed a mile on the treadmill, and she was no runner. She opened her mouth to speak but could find no words. Afraid she looked like a gasping fish, she snapped her mouth shut and stared at him as he continued to speak.

  “All six men fucked her,” he said blithely, shrugging. “And invited a few more to enjoy the spoils.”

  “Raped her,” Grace corrected on a sob, her hand lifting to her mouth to cover it.

  “As you like,” he sneered. “They left her laying naked at the forest’s edge, bloody and battered, for they were not gentle, and possibly unconscious. Who can say.” He turned to the door and looked over his shoulders. “The predators found her. Dragged the body away. We didn’t look for it.”

  Grace sobbed through her hand and sank into the chair she had shoved back when she’d risen. Her mind was blank, her fear overtaking every thought she tried to think. Tomas watched her break down, enjoying her horror. He closed the door to her cell and locked it, but he didn’t leave.

  “My women will be down for you soon, belleza, to take you to a bedroom with a bathroom where you can shower. They’ll give you fresh clothes and prepare you for the sale,” Tomas instructed. “Do as you’re told, and your fate will differ from that of the American blonde.”