Colin studied the pictures while his brain worked, and he plotted out loud. “I’ll contact the local galleries there, make it seem like I’m branching out with my trade. I’ve got drug contacts who know people in Spain. It could take months to earn a name for myself, but I can’t rush it. What’s the goal once I’m in?”
“Get her out. Alive. By any means you can. Her parents have raised over two million dollars. They’ve been on every news station and television talk show. They’ve got web pages dedicated to this search. They’ve spent nearly half the raised money on private investigators, who led them to us. They can’t send an American agent in there—too suspicious.”
Colin nodded. Even as a Scot it might take longer to earn their trust.
“And Douglas?” Abernathy raised an eyebrow. “If you get the lassie out, you can keep the reward money, because it will be your last mission with us. Once you’ve taken property from a man like Marco Ruiz, you’ll need to disappear. If Angela Birch is alive, and if she’s at this estate, she’ll also need to go into hiding. Only her parents will know. We’ve warned them that they’ll need to make new lives for themselves too, and they’re willing. They’ll do anything to get her back.”
Colin let this news settle into his mind. This could be his last job with the agency. He could start a new life for himself. Become a new person.
If he survived this mission and could get the girl out alive.
“I understand,” Colin said.
“Good. Here’s a video compiled of the girl by her parents so you can get to know her a bit.” Abernathy reached out a hand and they shook.
Back at his flat, Colin got to work, sliding the homemade DVD into the player.
It began with a surprise party for Angela Birch’s eighteenth birthday in her senior year of high school, went through her graduation, and extended through her year and a half of college before she went to Cancun. Colin watched her laugh, sing, and interact with her parents and friends. She seemed responsible, mature, intelligent, and unaware of her own natural beauty. Unassuming. Innocent. The video tugged at parts of Colin he hadn’t felt tugged in countless years—or maybe never.
The Birches were a family. A real, loving family, who deserved to be together. He wanted to make this happen. And he couldn’t deny that a strange, deep, selfish part of him wanted to meet this Angela. How would this responsible, smiling girl have taken to the world of slavery? He couldn’t imagine her filthy and drugged on the floor like Graham had been. The very idea made him want to thrash everything in his path to yank her out of whatever situation she might be in.
Disappointment filled him when the DVD ended, and he pushed Play again. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. After hours of repeated footage he had her voice memorized. He knew her expressions of amusement and sentiment. He felt like he knew her, which was ridiculous, but he felt it nonetheless and couldn’t bloody wait to get her the fuck out of captivity.
His head spun with possibilities as he envisioned himself inside the world of Marco Ruiz. He would have to put on his best show yet, submersing himself into that shady battle land where lines of right and wrong became skewed.
To enter a snake lair, Colin would have to become a snake.
The night of Josef’s beating, for the first time, Marco allowed a patron to keep me until the morning. Until that point he’d been sheltering me, but I knew those days were over. Now, men could have me for more hours, waking me during the night if they wanted, pushing my head down to their crotch in the morning while they were still half asleep. Making me feel less and less like a human.
When Luis took me back to the slave quarters to shower the next morning, I was nervous to see Josef. My patron had paid to have me all day, so I’d be taken back to him once I was cleaned.
In the room my eyes darted around for Josef. I saw Perla first, sitting on her bed with her knees pulled up, naked. She gave me a sad look and her eyes drifted toward the wall. I rushed in and saw Josef lying on his stomach. My hand flew to my mouth.
His back.
I’d never seen so many bruises. He was purple and red in criss-crossing streaks. My eyes burned with moisture, but no tears fell. The memory of him hanging there flashed through my mind alongside an image of the grin he’d given me during sex. I wanted to run over and beg his forgiveness, but Perla’s voice stopped me.
“Déjalo dormir.” Let him sleep. She’d apparently gotten the memo from Marco to speak only Spanish to me now. She didn’t sound mad, only sad.
I gazed at the sleeping Josef and hoped he’d had one of those pills for his own self yesterday. With reluctance I turned and went for my shower.
My stomach was upset when my patron led me into the dining room for lunch that afternoon. I crawled at his side and he sat on the end next to Marco. I hadn’t slept well the previous night, and my neck hurt. He’d made me sleep on the floor without a blanket. Granted, the temperature in the rooms are always perfect, and the carpets were lush, but I still hated it.
I reached up slowly to rub my neck when I saw one of Marco’s men escorting Jin into the dining room on her hands and knees in a red, strapless dress. When she got within five feet of me she looked up just enough so that our eyes met. Her face contorted into a raging, feral expression.
Oh, shit.
Somehow she knew Josef’s beating was because of me. And she must have added up the pieces and figured out we’d had sex. Jin was yet another aspect I hadn’t taken into account when I seduced Josef. I felt horrid and my guilt was surely written across my face. Her feelings for Josef had to be off the charts because she launched herself forward, taking me completely by surprise.
My ears filled with ringing as we both screamed. She had handfuls of my hair, yanking as we rolled, kicking, kneeing, snarling. I’d never been in a fight before. It was scary to have someone attacking me, wanting to hurt me. I grabbed her wrists, trying to subdue her hands and protect myself by keeping distance between us, but she was a strong and vicious little thing. Her teeth cut into my shoulder and I screeched in pain, bringing my foot up and kicking her back. She came away on her knees with blonde strands between her fingers, panting.
Why the hell wasn’t anyone stopping this? One quick glance around answered that for me. They were too busy watching and laughing, enjoying the cat fight. Marco sat stiffly, unamused, but made no move to end the fight.
Jin raised a hand to slap me and I caught her wrist, but then she swung the other one and clapped me hard across the ear, almost making me vomit. I threw myself at her, trying to wrestle her down with my heavier weight and hold all of her limbs down. She bucked when I straddled her and I brought my face down close to hers.
“Lo siento,” I whispered fervently through my teeth as she thrashed underneath me. “Lo siento.” I’m sorry…
The room cheered, thoroughly entertained at my domination over her.
Jin finally stilled, pressing her lips together and breathing hard through her nose. I watched the fire drain from her, replaced by fear as she realized what she’d done. I wondered if we’d both be punished. My shoulder and scalp were freaking stinging, but I couldn’t be mad at her. I hadn’t been beaten, and I felt like I deserved it.
Someone yelled in Spanish, “Kiss and make up!”
Oh, no.
The girl on girl scenario was yet another thing I hadn’t had to do in my time at the villa. But Jin didn’t hesitate, and I knew she was trying to save face. She pulled her hands from mine, and reached around to grab my ass, pulling me closer. She craned her neck up to me. When our lips met I was shocked by the softness of her mouth, so small. She tasted like strawberries. I relaxed into her, kissing her, my heart still pounding. Jin moved her hips and I met her rhythm, rocking against her. Her body was so tiny under mine. The whole thing felt weird, but not bad…just…very different.
“Angel,” Marco called. I broke the kiss and looked over at him. He nodded to my patron, who was giving me “the eye.” I climbed off Jin and crawled to him, sore all over now as
I felt an array of scratches from her nails and teeth across my skin.
My patron pushed his chair back enough to show me his tented pants. Without question I went forward and took care of him.
I felt numb, like I was coming down from a high.
I didn’t think about the people watching.
I didn’t think about how he insensitively grabbed the hair on my head, bringing further pain to my tender scalp.
All I could think about was how much Jin cared for Josef, and how she’d shown more human emotion in that moment than I’d ever seen at the villa. And how strangely grateful I was to witness her beautiful burst of passion.
Months passed. I’m not sure how many. In the early days I’d kept a mental calendar, but that all stopped after the Josef incident. Even though he was a total sweetheart and held nothing against me.
When we’d finally made eye contact for the first time after his beating, he stuck out his tongue at me and freaking winked, like a kid. The tension immediately fell away from my body and cool relief had filled me, but I’d always carry guilt about it. We never discussed it, and even Jin went back to being her normal distant self.
I think Marco kept me hidden from many of the people who visited the villa. No doubt my parents and those in the U.S. had rewards out there for information about my whereabouts. They weren’t the type to give up or give in. And Marco clearly did not trust all of the people who came through his doors.
Sometimes whispers would spread through the villa about a government official coming, or a westerner, and I’d be locked in the slave quarters for the duration of their visit. I wondered what would happen if someone did recognize me. Would they have the balls to blackmail Marco, or turn him in? I could see some of these skeevy, disloyal criminal, mafia types pulling something like that. I could also see Marco’s men hunting them down and killing them while they slept.
There seemed to be something missing from the eyes of everyone who came to the villa. They lacked the basic human elements I’d grown up seeing in facial expressions—compassion, remorse, joy. The eyes I saw here were calculating and suspicious, greedy and selfish. When they smiled or laughed it was usually about something fucked up.
And of course there was lust in their eyes. Always.
I tried not to look in their eyes unless it was clear they wanted me to, but thankfully they were usually fine without eye contact. Except the ones who liked to inflict a little pain. They enjoyed seeing my eyes.
The average patron was middle aged. Very few of them were young or in shape. Those with nice bodies had cruel faces. But we were expected to stroke their gigantic egos and screw them as if they were gorgeous rockstars. There came a point where attractiveness meant nothing to me anymore. The best looking men to come through the villa were some of the most boring. The fat and old men who I assumed would be sweet were some of the meanest. The average looking men who I wouldn’t have given a second glance to in my old life could go either way. They never ceased to shock me with their wild desires or surprising gentleness. Even with warnings or advice from the other slaves, I never knew what to expect when I walked in a bedroom.
I did, however, know what not to expect. I never expected consideration or conversation, unless you count the “You like that, don’t you?” question, to which the answer always had to be, “Oh, yes.”
I knew I was just a body. I was ever aware. The way eyes followed me with hunger, even Marco’s men. My body was not mine. It belonged to whomever paid the high price to rent it. Or it was gifted to business partners of Marco’s as a “thank you.”
The villa gave off an aire of romance, but it was a facade. Romance meant love, and love meant joy.
But joy didn’t live at the villa. Only temporary satisfaction resided here. And even I began to rely on those temporary moments to hold me over from one day to the next—whether it be a much-needed orgasm, a pet from Marco, or a laugh with the other slaves. Every little moment of comfort was something to savor. In the end, those things were like ghosts in my hand. No substance. Nothing to hold. Nothing to keep.
Over a year Colin had been in Spain. Fifteen fucking months. He’d never expected it to take this long. Hell, he’d never been on a mission for this long, period, and it was screwing with his head.
He knew the sordid underbelly of the Spanish Riviera about as well as the shitty streets of Glasgow now. He knew who to turn to and who to avoid. He’d picked up a bit of Spanish. After nearly nine months of gallery events he’d finally mingled with the “right” crowd—the rich connoisseurs of beauty who also enjoyed indulging in the darker side of society. And still, most people claimed not to know Marco Ruiz. Slippery bastard.
Colin Douglas could read lies in the single shift of someone’s eyes. These crooks were all liars, and yet he had to suffer them. He snorted lines of coke with them, and banged the women who were practically tossed in his lap—setting aside all emotions. Once he’d earned the trust of the elite, they took a sort of protectiveness over him, as if he were their special, exotic artist. A source of entertainment. He fucking hated them.
And while he was making leeway, days and months were slipping away. For the first time since he’d hunted his brother all those years ago, Colin began to feel anxious that he might fail. His painting was even suffering. He felt strangled. When one of the biggest drug lords on the Spanish coast came to him asking for a custom painting, Colin was hesitant to promise it.
“What is wrong?” Señor Acosta asked, speaking in English for him.
In a split-moment decision, Colin decided to try his luck from a different angle.
“I…seem to be having a bit of an issue finding inspiration. A muse, if you will.”
Señor Acosta pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his gray suit jacket and offered one to Colin, who accepted. He then lit both their tips with a fancy zippo and grinned at Colin on an exhale.
“I see you with the beautiful women. Do they not inspire a good-looking young man such as yourself?”
Colin took a drag, holding the filter between his thumb and middle finger, and shook his head. “They try to hold me down. Bother me all the fucking time.” That was actually true. He couldn’t seem to escape the women he’d been with, even here in Spain. Being one of the only straight and single men in a gallery had its positives and negatives. It wasn’t that he disrespected women—it’s that he couldn’t afford any emotional ties in his life, and no matter how clear he made his intentions, there was always someone pushing for more. Colin gave a cynical laugh. “I need a woman, but I don’t want to have to listen to her after we fuck, aye?”
“Take a whore.”
Colin made a face. “Believe me, I’ve thought about it. But I don’t want any fucking diseases, and I have a reputation to keep. If there’re any high class, discreet whores in the area, I’ve yet to find them.” He exhaled a plume of smoke and prayed the man would take the bait.
Señor Acosta rolled his cigarette in his fingers and stared at the gallery wall mural in thought. Colin held his breath until the other man finally turned back to him, a shrewd wariness in his eyes.
“What if there were such a place, Señor Douglas? A private paradise where you could paint, and party, and fuck to your heart’s desire?”
Bingo.
Colin’s jaw clenched in an effort not to show his elation. “Aye, pal. If there were such a place, I’d pay any price.”
Señor Acosta ran a tongue over his lips. Then he nodded. “Let me contact an acquaintance of mine. I will be in touch.”
The man walked out without another word, and a familiar rush of victory flooded Colin’s veins. He rubbed a hand over his short cropped hair and his hand shook.
Don’t celebrate yet, he told himself. Getting inside those walls was just the beginning. After all this time, he didn’t even know if the girl was still alive. If she was, she might not be at the villa. He tried not to let his thoughts linger down that road. He’d face that path if he came to it.
The ca
ll from Señor Acosta came two days later with detailed instructions about which boat to board. The Señor was having his man take Colin to the villa since it could only be entered by sea.
“The proprietor is a well-respected man named Marco Ruiz. He is doing me a favor, Señor Douglas. He does not always take kindly to Westerners and their ways. You are never to breathe a word about him or his home, or what takes place at the villa to anyone. If you do, he’ll find out, and he’s not a man to be fucked with. Comprende?”
“I understand. And you know I’m tight-lipped.”
Colin had witnessed some of the largest drug deals of his life go down in that past year.
“Indeed. If I doubted you for a moment I wouldn’t dream of referring you. The villa will be perfect for you.”
“Thank God. I need a good fuck. If this holiday doesn’t inspire creativity, nothing will.”
“My friend, I am expecting the most God damned incredible painting of your life after this.” The man laughed darkly, like someone with many secrets. Colin chuckled too, because he had a few secrets of his own. He was one step closer to stealing something valuable that this Marco prick never should have had in the first place.
Colin packed his easel, paints, and clothing, and set off immediately for the docks. He slid his sunglasses on as the sunshine hit him.
He didn’t allow himself to relax as the boat sped over swells of the Mediterranean sea. For all he knew they could be onto him, planning to kill him at sea and dump his body. If that was the case he wasn’t going down without a fight, and he wasn’t going down alone. He trusted no one.
After twenty minutes, when they slowed to round the corner of a hulking cliff, lush with greenery, Colin could only stare. Not much in this world surprised him. He’d found loveliness in Scotland, and a whole different kind of beauty in Spain, but this villa built into the cliffside was like nothing he’d ever seen. The Spanish architecture with its stone steps, archways and stucco, nestled into the tropical landscape, was breathtaking.
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