by Eva Charles
The captain shakes his head. “No service anywhere around here. You can email or text—maybe it goes through—but that’s the extent of it.”
“I need just a moment, please.”
I text Isabel: I’m getting on a ship to Barcelona. Stay at the Hampton Inn in Boston until I call you.
It’s almost seven thirty in the evening, her time. Maybe she’ll get back to me right away. I’d love to know if they’re on their way to Boston.
“I don’t have all night,” the captain says roughly.
“Sorry.” I slip the phone in my pack as we walk up the ramp. The image of pirates and gangplanks comes to mind as I take each tentative step.
When we get aboard, the ship is clean. For some reason, it makes me feel better. We pass a few crew members who nod at the captain and mostly ignore me.
“Passenger quarters are down here,” he says, descending two short flights of stairs.
“Are there any other passengers on the ship?”
“A few. But everyone’s asleep by now.”
At the end of a long, dim hallway, he uses a key to open a steel-gray door. Then steps aside so I can enter first.
I freeze in the doorway. The room is empty. He shoves me inside and slams the door shut behind us.
“I don’t understand.”
He stands in front of the closed door. Fleeing isn’t an option. What am I going to do? You have a knife.
When I reach around for my knapsack, he grabs my wrist and drags me to the wall, pinning me there with his large body.
“What are you doing?” I cry, struggling against him to free myself. But he’s too big and too fast.
“What do you think I’m doing?” he growls, tossing my backpack aside.
I want to cry or scream or something when it lands on the floor well out of my reach.
He shackles me to the wall like he’s done this before.
I’m going to be trafficked. Sold to the highest bidder.
Stay strong, Daniela! Isabel and Valentina are counting on you. Don’t let them down.
“Please let me go. Please. I can get you more money.”
“You’ll sell for a pretty penny. You don’t have the kind of money it takes to buy your freedom. If you did, you wouldn’t be here.”
“I do have it.”
I don’t know if it’s better to tell him who I am or reveal my connection to Antonio, or both, or if it will just make matters worse for me.
Could they get any worse?
I lift my chin. “My name is Daniela D’Sousa. My father was Manuel D’Sousa. My mother was Maria Rosa.”
“My name is Vasco da Gama,” he sneers, then laughs, his hand on the doorknob.
“I’m engaged to be married to Antonio Huntsman,” I blurt out, because I can’t let him leave. Once this ship is out on the ocean, the danger increases.
He pauses and turns to face me. “Is that so?”
“Yes, and Antonio will pay to get me back.” I hope. Unless I pushed too far. He might be done with me. The captain doesn’t need to know this, Daniela. “You don’t want to make an enemy of him.”
He grins. “Antonio Huntsman’s bride-to-be. Well, well. If it’s true, you’ll earn more money for me than I thought.” He starts to leave again.
“Please don’t go. Let’s discuss this. Please.”
The captain comes back and crouches next to me. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back. And when I do, I’m going to fuck you real good. Break you in for your new life. You don’t have a hole I’m not going to stick my dick into.” He smiles, and I notice his teeth have a yellow cast. “And if you really are the D’Sousa girl”—he takes a lock of my hair, and I flinch—“I’m going to enjoy it all the more. I’ve never fucked a princesa. Is your cunt velvet lined? Does it taste like honey?”
A sour taste tickles my throat. What a vile human being. But I don’t say anything that might make him carry out his threats now.
He lets go of my hair. “I have to leave before my crew figures out where I hid you. Because they’ll want to fuck a princesa too. But you’re mine first.”
Without another glance in my direction, he grabs my knapsack and turns out the light, leaving me in the pitch dark. I hear the lock turn and his heavy footsteps retreating.
What have I done? What have I done? There’s no way I can escape.
Marrying Antonio doesn’t seem so bad now—maybe it never did. Maybe the part I couldn’t live with was being separated from Isabel and Valentina. And the risks if the secret ever came out. That was part of it too.
What will come of them if I don’t survive? I abandoned them. I could have married him and sent money. They would have been fine. But I wanted to be with them. You were selfish.
I was. I wanted a life I was never going to have—not after Antonio lured me back to Porto.
Does he know I’m gone? He must. Are they looking for me? Probably. But they’ll never find me. Especially once the freighter leaves Porto.
I slump onto the floor and cry, and cry, until there’s nothing left.
Maybe some people are put on this earth for no other reason than to suffer.
I want my mother. I need her. The need is childlike and primitive, but my whole body aches for the comfort of her embrace.
My shoulders shake, and sobs of despair fill the tiny room, but there’s not a single tear left to shed.
I did this to myself. I had no choice. I didn’t.
The engine hums, and the ship sways. With every shift of the vessel, even the slimmest hope for rescue evaporates.
It’s not long before my mind and body begin to slip away. Drifting farther and farther into a dark abyss.
I’m not afraid anymore. I’m awake, but calm. A hollow shell.
Alone in the dark, I don’t think about Isabel or Valentina anymore, or about anything, really. I simply exist—like a discarded trinket, or an empty bottle of vintage Port. Once loved and cherished but having outlived its usefulness.
I’m not sure how much time passes before I hear footsteps.
There’s nowhere to hide. No weapons. Nothing. My heart rate doesn’t even tick up. I’m too exhausted.
I wet myself. I didn’t feel the urge, but I feel the gush. It’s an involuntary act. My body giving up.
The footsteps get closer and closer. When they stop, the lock turns, and my eyelids flutter closed.
As the footsteps enter the room, I shrink.
The fight is gone.
50
Daniela
My feet are unshackled first, and I’m yanked upright by the arm.
A familiar scent slowly breaks through the stench of concentrated urine. My heart clenches.
Antonio.
It’s your mind playing tricks.
A sliver of hope slices through the despair, but I don’t open my eyes right away. My spirit won’t survive the blow if I’m mistaken.
When my hands are free, I slowly open my eyes. Just a tiny peek.
“Antonio,” I gasp, tears falling again.
He doesn’t say a word as he drags me up the stairs and off the ship. It’s still docked. I thought— I don’t try to understand it.
Antonio doesn’t even look at me. The vitriol that surrounds him is like a shield. A black cloud so dense it’s impenetrable. But I have to try. I want to try.
“Thank you for saving me. I’m so sorry.”
I’m starving for a human connection. A small touch to remind me I’m alive. I reach for him as we get to the pier.
“Don’t you dare,” he growls, swatting my hands away. He’s rough, but the sting on my skin is nothing compared to what I feel in my heart.
Without a word, Antonio shoves me into the backseat of a waiting car and slams the door. He doesn’t get in. At first I’m scared of what’s going to happen to me, but Cristiano slips into the passenger seat, and I relax a bit. He won’t kill me. At least that’s what I tell myself.
Cristiano hands me a bottle of water over his shoulder. He doesn’t look at m
e either. But I don’t feel any rage from him.
“Do you have something I can sit on?” I ask, embarrassed that I peed myself, especially now that I’m going to get it on the car seat too.
He shakes his head but doesn’t turn around.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “Thank you for coming.” It sounds so ridiculous, but my emotions are on a wild ride, and that’s what spills out.
As we drive through the deserted pier, I remember Isabel is waiting to hear from me. She’s going to be beside herself if she doesn’t hear anything, and she’s going to frighten Valentina.
“I realize I’m not in any position to ask for favors,” I say earnestly. “But please contact Isabel, like you’ve done in the past. Tell her the plans have changed and to go home. Please don’t say anything to worry her.”
Cristiano doesn’t respond at first, and I worry about what’s going to come of them in Boston. They can’t afford to stay in a hotel forever.
“That was done shortly after you spoke with her,” he says finally.
“Thank you.”
I stare out the window, seeing nothing. Errant thoughts, mere fragments, run through my mind, chasing one another. “That was done shortly after you spoke with her.” What does that mean? Did they know where I was all along?
My pulse begins to race. “Were you tracking me?”
He doesn’t reply. And I don’t ask again.
As the car exits the pier, the driver makes a sharp right. He isn’t headed toward Antonio’s house in the valley. “Where are you taking me?”
Cristiano doesn’t respond, but he raises the privacy screen so there can be no more questions.
51
Daniela
After winding through the city for several miles, the driver takes a left into Huntsman Lodge. While I’ve been by it hundreds of times, I’ve only been inside a handful, when it was open to the public during celebrations.
The driver doesn’t pull up to the main building but takes a utility road around to the back of the sprawling complex.
When the car stops, the lock clicks, and Antonio opens the door and hauls me to an elevator on the loading dock. It’s just the two of us on a descent that seems to go on forever.
He doesn’t look at me. Not once.
“Not a word from you when we get inside,” he spits out, the venom nearly choking me.
I don’t know why we’re here. Or what it means for me. But I don’t ask. Instead, I press my lips together, biting down on the fleshy inner rim, and stare straight ahead.
When the elevator doors creak open, he grabs my arm roughly and leads me through a set of metal doors to a tiled room. He shoves me inside. It’s not all that different from the way the captain treated me. Although he had much less hatred about him.
“There’s a toilet, there,” he says, pointing to a water closet.
I go into the tiny room and start to shut the door, but he pushes hard against it.
“Closed doors and privacy are privileges you no longer have.”
I consider leaving without using the toilet, but I need to pee, and the thought of wetting myself again is abhorrent.
Thankfully, he turns his back as I relieve myself. My underwear and yoga pants are still quite damp. It’s disgusting.
When I go to the sink to wash my hands, Antonio wrenches me away and brings me to an open shower stall.
“Take off your clothes,” he demands.
I want to say something. To explain myself. To make him understand my untenable position. My desperation. But his body is tight, and the dark cloud around him is even thicker now than it was at the pier.
As I take off my clothes, I do my best to conceal my naked body. Not just from him but from the cameras that I’m sure are all over this place.
Even now I can’t let go of my modesty.
A vivid image of my mother pops into my head. Naked, unresponsive, blood oozing from her mouth and throat. Me, covering her with the picnic blanket, tucking it under her chin. Mamai wouldn’t want anyone to see her naked body. She was dead. Modesty was such an inconsequential concern, much like it is now.
I don’t cry, but as I take off my clothes, I allow myself to wallow in grief.
While I’m undressing, Antonio reaches around me into the shower and turns on the water.
“You have five minutes. Use plenty of soap.”
I glare at his back, but I step under the water quietly.
It’s barely tepid. I shiver, but I don’t care that much about the temperature. I’m just grateful to be clean.
The cool water wakes me up, and as I soap my hair, I realize this isn’t run-of-the-mill trouble I’m in. I defied Antonio in a very public way. I challenged his power and authority for all to see.
He’s not going to forgive this so easily. He might not forgive it at all. I’m a traitor in his eyes. Even my father, who wasn’t as exacting, would have viewed my behavior as an act of treason.
Traitors are punished by death in this world.
I’m afraid, although not as frightened as I was on the ship. Because you’re foolish. Antonio is going to torture and probably kill you. He is. But I don’t berate myself for taking any of the risks. I had to try.
Antonio turns off the water and shoves a threadbare towel at me. It’s nothing like the towels Victor keeps at the house. Although the rough fabric feels good against my skin. It makes me feel alive.
“Hurry up,” he barks.
My clothes are gone when I step out of the shower, and in their place is a pair of thin gray sweatpants and an olive-green T-shirt. No panties. No bra. No shoes. Be grateful for the clothes.
As soon as the sweatpants are on and the T-shirt is over my head, he grabs my arm, again, and hauls me out the door into a windowless room with concrete floors. Guards clustered in small groups make a path for us as we approach. No one says a word.
Is this the prison he once threatened me with? The one where he said the guards would take turns using me?
You knew this would be the punishment if you ran. You knew it, and you were willing to suffer the consequences. I was.
“I’m sorry, Antonio. I’m so sorry. I beg you for mercy.” It’s a very public apology, for a very public offense. My punishment will be very public too.
I’ll toss you to the guards and let them have at you. When they’ve had their fill, they’ll take you deep into the caves and drop you into a real prison. Those were his exact words.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, more desperately this time. Although in my heart I’m not sorry. And I’m not the one in the wrong here, but this isn’t the time to make a point. I won’t win. I’ll just make my situation worse.
Antonio grips my arm tighter, and I wince. I’m sure there will be a bruise. This time he won’t care. I don’t care either. It’s the least of my problems.
“I don’t want to hear another goddamn word out of you until you’re interrogated. Nothing,” he shouts. The word echoes in the cold room.
The vengeance he seeks makes my eyes water. But I swallow back the tears. I won’t cry in front of them. It’ll just be one more thing for them to mock. This might be the beginning of the end for me, but I’ll leave this earth with at least a shred of dignity.
Antonio hands me over not to Cristiano, but to Lucas, who has always had a rougher edge about him.
“Chain her to a chair in the central cave.” He walks away without once looking at me. It’s as though he’s distancing himself.
There will be no mercy for me.
Lucas leads me forward without uttering a single word. On the way out of the room, I notice Joey and the creepy man from the market. They’re not restrained. They’re talking with the guards as if they all know each other.
It was a setup.
That bastard. That fucking sonofabitch. He’s evil personified.
“It was all a game,” I say to Lucas when we’re out of hearing range of the guards. “Did you enjoy scaring me half to death?”
“If you think an
y of this is a game, you’re even dumber than I thought you were.”
I shiver at the menace in his voice.
With a hand still on me, Lucas drags a metal chair into the center of a room filled with wooden barrels, lined up in neat rows. This is one of the caves where Huntsman Port ages.
“Sit,” he commands, like I’m a dog.
I sit down, and he attaches cuffs to my wrists and chains them behind my back. The binding isn’t so tight that I can’t move, but the chains are heavy, and this position is going to get uncomfortable soon. Lucas chains my legs too.
Before he leaves, he brings a water bottle to my mouth. I shake my head.
“It’s a mistake, but suit yourself.” He screws the cap back on. “One bad decision after another.”
Moments later, the lights in the room are turned off, except for the one directly over my head.
Lucas is right about one thing. This isn’t a game. This is deadly serious. I feel it in my marrow.
It’s been more than twenty-four hours since I’ve slept. It has to be. Despite my attempts to stay awake, I nod off here and there.
As the minutes turn into hours, I have trouble discerning dreams from reality.
My life flashes before me in little snippets. A happy little girl in a purple tutu with sequins that sparkle when I twirl. Parents who love me dearly. High atop Zeus, galloping with my braids flying behind me.
As I flip through the frames of my childhood, I feel my mother’s presence. It’s comforting beyond measure, but if she’s here, it’s a sure sign of what’s to come.
But I don’t need signs.
Antonio is not going to want a woman who defies him at every turn, weakening his authority. A traitor. And once the guards are through with me, he won’t want to even look at me. He doesn’t want to look at you now.
But he’s not going to just let me go. He’s going to make an example of me. That’s how it works.
It’s over now. He won. But at least I fought this time. For all the good it did.
I’m tired. At this point, death would be welcome. My only fear is that it won’t be quick. That the torture will go on for weeks, or months.