By the time Colin was twenty-two, his ruthless temperament had earned him the respect of seasoned thugs. He’d worked his way through the worlds of crime, beginning with drug rings, and moving to the more serious circles of human trafficking. He was smart, unlike many of the uneducated idiots on the streets. He kept under the radar of the authorities, and knew how to use polite properness at necessary times. With his estate money now available, Colin’s power was complete.
Within a year of gathering his inheritance, Colin’s manipulation of his criminal counterparts came full circle. He rented out nightclubs and took people on spontaneous flights to the Caymens. They believed he’d earned his money through illegal activities, which worked in his favor. Colin learned names of the most elusive kidnappers in UK crime rings, and he heard rumored places where captives were held.
At twenty-three Colin ventured to London on a lead. He hadn’t the slightest clue if his brother was dead or alive—could find no information about him at all, but he refused to give up. The house in London made Colin feel diseased just walking through it. He was brought in as a potential buyer and taken to see the slaves.
A strung out seventeen-year-old boy sat against the wall, sunken McCray eyes looking up at him through a mess of tangled curls—a shell of the brother Colin had once known, and it made him unable to breathe. The sight of Graham struck Colin with immense relief and shock. He was alive, and would soon be safe.
Graham registered no response to his older brother. Colin knew that he himself had changed greatly in the past seven years, but it killed him that Graham didn’t recognize him at all. He knew better than to expect a happy reunion, but he’d never imagined his brother would be so lifeless.
Hiding his fury of emotions, Colin paid cash to the fuck-faces and they seemed glad to be getting rid of Graham, even smug, as if they’d pulled one over on Colin. He memorized their faces so he could kill them in the future, but at that moment all he could think about was getting his brother the fuck away from there.
On the private jet, flying back to Scotland, Colin couldn’t get Graham to speak. His brother cowered in a seat by the window with his arms around his stomach, eyes dead, unresponsive.
Colin couldn’t take Graham’s catatonic state anymore. He went to him, grabbed him by the shoulders and shouted, “For fuck’s sake, Graham, wake up!”
The boy skittered out of Colin’s hands with a whimper and fell to his knees on the cabin floor, fumbling to undo the belt at Colin’s waist.
“What are you…? Oh, shit.” He grabbed Graham’s hands and wrenched them away. His own brother was trying to give him a blowjob. The realization of his diminished mental state made Colin want to cry for the first time since he was sixteen. Those fuckers had stolen his little brother’s life—his childhood and innocence, and who knew if he’d ever be able to live a normal life now?
Colin fell to his knees and took Graham’s face, forcing him look at him. “It’s me, Graham. Your brother, Conall.”
Graham’s eyes glazed and he began trembling. With each passing second of witnessing Graham’s agony, Colin’s hatred and vengeance grew, morphing into a strong beast inside his chest. He spoke through gritted teeth, trying not to scare his brother with his angry passion.
“You’re free now, and I swear to God I’ll kill them if they come near you again.”
Colin had no idea if Graham comprehended what he’d told him. All he knew was that the boy needed serious help. He watched in horror as his brother began to cry and shake, curling up and rocking, pulling his hair like he was going mad.
That’s when Colin knew saving his brother from captivity was not enough. They’d ruined the boy’s life, maybe permanently. He would bring the fuckers down, and spend the rest of his days finding people like them, and making them pay. Somehow.
His opportunity soon came in a different form than he’d expected...a legal form.
One thing Colin and the authorities agreed on was not to make Graham McCray’s rescue public, especially since he’d been found by Colin and not the government.
Colin was grilled for information, and the local police brought in MI-6 agents, personnel of the Secret Intelligence Service. They wanted to know every step of his process, starting from the moment he’d been put into foster care, but Colin was no fool.
“I need a legal statement that you won’t hold this information against me. Informant protection. And I want protection and help for Graham.”
The agents pawed through his record, no doubt seeing his plethora of misdemeanors, fighting and drugs, nothing to earn himself prison time. They agreed to his terms and he told them everything, hoping they’d fucking learn something from it.
He saw their eyes lighting up, and their hands speed-writing information as he gave years’ worth of illegal knowledge. The agents often shared knowing glances and nods, as if Colin’s information were confirming certain suspicions.
“We tried last year to take down this group in Dublin, but they’d moved by the time we got there.”
“That’s the problem with government shite,” Colin said. “You spend too much time talking, and mucking about waiting for permissions. You give them time to catch wind and escape.”
“Our success rates are actually quite high,” one of the agents told him.
“You didn’t find my brother in the seven years he was missing, so fuck your success rates.”
The room of officers and agents stilled as they watched his gunpowder eyes, and not one of them had a retort.
The door swung open and a man with a serious, lined face walked in. His dark hair and the scruffy partial beard on his face were graying. The others stood, which signaled to Colin that this was a high-ranking official. The man cocked his head toward the door and said, “I’ll take over from here.”
Everyone filed out and the man took a seat across from Colin, leaning his elbows on the table.
“Agent Abernathy,” he said as way of introduction. He motioned toward a mirrored window. “I’ve been listening, and I’m damned impressed by what I’ve heard, Mr. Douglas. We failed you.”
Colin didn’t respond. He sat back, legs out straight with his hands linked across his flat stomach. The Agent stood and opened a wall panel, hitting all switches, and then pulled a screen down over the mirrored panel.
“There. Nobody can see or hear our conversation, and we are not being recorded. Everything said now will stay between the two of us.”
Colin gave a single nod, wondering about the sudden secrecy.
“I’ve no right to ask anything of you,” Agent Abernathy continued. “But I’d like to make you an offer. A very rare sort of offer. Many laws were broken while you pursued your vigilante ways, and we’re washing your record clean of those, but I’m wondering if you’d be interested in getting paid to use your…unique skills.”
This peaked Colin’s interest. Without moving or changing his expression he said, “Go on.”
“I’m offering you the opportunity to become an undercover agent with MI-6.”
Colin laughed, but Abernathy ignored him and kept talking.
“We have an elite unit of personnel, unknown even among our own ranks. You’ve made quite a name for yourself, so you’d continue to work under the name Colin Douglas with your art as your cover story. But you would be an informant for us. It’s increasingly difficult and time consuming for our agents to infiltrate themselves the way you’ve done. They’re expected to abide by the law and follow certain protocol—all of which would not be expected of you.”
“Why would I do this for you?” Colin asked. “I don’t need the money.”
“I think we have the same agenda when it comes down to it, Mr. Douglas: justice. As one of our undercover elite there’s certain protocols you’ll have to adhere to, but you’ll have freedoms regular agents do not. You’ll be thoroughly trained in weapons and defense, but you’ll report to me and only me. Few will know of your involvement, and you’ll be paid in cash. Under the table. Aye?”
“Aye. And if we try this and decide it doesn’t work for us?” Colin asked.
“Then we go our separate ways. We’re not the mafia. You won’t work against your will, and nobody will attempt to take you out if you quit. But while you’re with us, we do require complete loyalty, and for the rest of your life we require the upmost secrecy. We have no leniency for traitors.”
Especially traitors not on the payroll, Colin thought, understanding the threat clearly.
Colin half-grinned. Abernathy half-grinned. And together the men struck a deal.
I’m not sure how long it took me to break down and eat the bread but it was pathetically short. An hour maybe. I hated myself for giving in, even though that made no sense. How was I hurting anyone other than myself by not eating? I needed to choose my battles better. My body was weak from being drugged, and I really could have used that meal. I stared at the cold plate now with regret, out of hand’s reach.
My heart accelerated when I heard footsteps and male voices nearing. I sat up straighter, wary.
Marco entered with another nicely-tailored middle aged gentleman, also of Latin descent. They both looked me over and I dropped my eyes. Then they began conversing in Spanish, talking about me like an object of property.
“Attractive,” the other man said. “A blonde American would be an excellent asset if you can get her to cooperate.”
Marco grunted his agreement. “I’m afraid my son has ruined her. She may not be worth the effort. If I cannot get her to cooperate, I will need your assistance. You know that is not my particular area of expertise. I will pay kindly to have this burden removed swiftly and silently.”
My stomach sunk as the men shared a knowing look, and I struggled not to show emotion on my face. Then the other man chuckled and spoke.
“Always a lover, not a fighter.” He clapped Marco on the shoulder. “When have I ever denied you services, friend? Eh? If the girl is unusable, she will disappear and never be found.”
Terror slid like a cool knife down my spine.
I was glad I hadn’t eaten the full meal because I might have lost it then. This man was obviously some sort of criminal business partner who did the dirty work for Marco. The way they spoke so callously of ending my life left no doubt that they’d kill me without reservation. I worked hard not to react. To control my breathing and facial expressions as the men looked me over.
The nameless man said, “You should test her out. Don’t let her get too comfortable. The sooner you begin training her, the better.”
Marco ran his thumb over his lips in thought, then nodded, calling out, “Luis!”
A moment later a slightly younger man with longer hair entered the room.
“Sí, Señor Ruiz?” His voice was eager, and when he glanced over and saw me he stilled, a look of interest in his eyes.
“I need you to test out this girl so I may see if she’s trainable,” Marco explained in Spanish. “Be careful. Fernando fucked her last night. And she only speaks English.”
Luis nodded and wet his lips, stepping toward me, popping open the button on his pants.
No. Oh, God, no. This was not happening. Luis’s body language became seductive as he moved toward me, and I couldn’t help but pull my legs toward my body.
He sat on the edge of the bed next to me and spoke gently.
“You are very pretty.” His dark eyes roamed my face. He wasn’t bad looking, but I was still repulsed by his touch. Looks meant nothing to me after falling for Fernando’s ruse. When Luis reached out to touch my cheek I went stiff and forced myself not to pull away. I would not react to any of his touches.
“That’s it,” he said with false gentleness. “You be good, an’ I make you feel good, yeah?” He spoke softly and sweetly, but it wasn’t real. It was like someone trying to lure an animal who might bite.
I had a choice to make. Failing this test would mean death. Passing would mean sexual slavery. Both options were inconceivable. If I fought against this, how would they choose to kill me? How long would it take? I’d never been good with pain. The very idea of that man attempting to take the life from my body filled me with an almost paralyzing fear. I wanted to be the tough kind of person who could choose death, but everything inside me screamed to live. So when Luis gently pulled my ankle, I let him.
He straightened both my legs and grasped my waist, lowering my body to a laying position with my hand outstretched above my head, still cuffed to the headboard. I tried to drape my other arm over my eyes, but Luis lifted it and stretched it up along side the bound arm. He murmured sweet things, which he probably thought were very soothing, as he unbuttoned my skirt and pulled it down my legs along with my underwear. I pressed my knees together.
My heart was working overtime now, and my breaths were too short.
“Muéstranos las tetas,” Marco’s partner said. Show us her tits.
Remaining gentle, Luis pushed my shirt up. I had on a strapless bra, so he slid his hands behind my back and easily unclasped it. I whimpered and turned my face to the wall when I was exposed to the men.
“Too small,” the man said in Spanish. “She’ll need implants.”
Luis took my breasts in both his hands and kneaded them.
“Demasiado pequeño?” Too small? Marco asked.
Luis answered in Spanish, his voice lower than before. “Nah. A nice little palmful. Firm.”
I was a full B-cup, and I couldn’t help but feel resentful as they picked apart my appearance like a farm animal for sale.
“We have big-breasted women,” Marco explained. “Might be nice to have a natural, smaller girl.”
The other man laughed. “Put her in some pigtails and a school girl uniform and you’ll have a best seller.”
They both chuckled, but as Luis leaned down and took one of my nipples in his mouth, making me accidentally gasp with surprise, they quieted. I refused to enjoy the feel of his mouth on me. No matter how kind he was being, knowing those men were watching made me tense and sick. I couldn’t relax.
When I felt Luis’s weight lift off the bed I made the mistake of looking to see what was going on. He was stripping. Naked. Hard.
Marco stood with his arms crossed, watching critically, while his friend leered. I wished so much they would leave. Especially my would-be murderer.
Luis’s weight dipped the bed once again and I began to pant with fear. I couldn’t seem to control it. I pulled at the cuffs, whimpering.
Calm down, Angela, I scolded myself.
“Shh.” Luis bent and kissed my neck, taking my breast in his hand again. He pulled away long enough to wet two fingers with his saliva and bring them down to my center. “Open your legs,” he said softly.
In that moment, as I gave in to save my life, I felt far more broken than I had in my drug-induced state when Fernando forced me. Because I had fought him. And now I was allowing it. I’d never been more disgusted with myself than I was when I let my knees fall open and Luis touch me with his wet fingers. He climbed on top of me, seeming pleased with my cooperation. But even with the moisture from his fingers I was too dry.
He pushed in and I bit my lips against a cry. Tears fell as he worked his way in and out, shushing me quietly, until I was finally wet enough for him to really move.
“Ah, pretty girl,” he said, wiping my tears as he moved above me. “Why you cry when a man make love to you?”
I closed my eyes. This was not making love. I was being raped for the second time in a day’s span, and even though the physical pain had m
ostly passed, there were layers upon layers of mental anguish in its place.
I didn’t cry anymore. I wanted him to get this over with. He enjoyed my body, running his hand from my wrist down to my waist, then bending to suck my nipple again. In other circumstances I might have enjoyed his ministrations, but here, like this, they made me ill.
“Bueno,” I heard Marco say. Apparently he was happy with my cooperation. Asshole.
My eyes stayed closed. Please hurry, I silently begged.
Then Marco’s evil friend said in Spanish, “Let’s see how she reacts to the back trap.”
Back trap? What the hell was that? My eyes opened and Luis was looking right at me. He was sweating a little now.
“I gonna make you feel good,” he said. “Okay?”
I was too uneasy to respond. Staying inside me, he hiked up one of my knees and reached around, squeezing my ass. Then he lifted that hand and stuck his middle finger in his mouth, wetting it. Reaching around again I felt his fingers roam down to the crack of my body and press against my anus. The tip of his middle finger slipped in and I cried out, bucking upward. Nobody had ever touched me there, and it felt like the worst kind of violation.
The disgusting man by the door laughed at my reaction.
“Shh,” Luis murmured. “You relax, baby, and feel good.”
“No,” I whispered. It was horrible and demeaning, but he didn’t seem to be able to push his finger any deeper from that angle so I stopped fighting.
With his finger half inside my ass, he began moving faster, breathing harder, getting closer. A single thought crossed my mind, and I couldn’t help but say it.
“I’m not on birth control!”
“Don’t worry,” Marco said. “He will pull out.”
Less than two minutes later he did. I was so relieved when Luis finally came on my stomach that I wanted to cry again. He gave me a smile, as if to say “good job” and I felt an overwhelming gratefulness toward him. I was experiencing genuine gratitude toward a man for not being violent when he violated me…how fucked up was that?
Escape From Paradise Page 4