Escape From Paradise

by Gwendolyn Field

  Nobody in the world should be that bloody rich. Marco Ruiz must have been the boss of Señor Acosta—all the Señor Acostas in Spain, for that matter.

  The motor slowed to a purr as they entered the no-wake zone and came to a dock. The crystal waters around them were deep blue in the shadow of the cliff.

  A brute of a man with his long hair pulled back in a ponytail met them at the dock. He gave Colin a once-over, unsmiling. Colin eyed him right back, because he knew from years of experience that’s how respect was earned among these types. The boatman hauled Colin’s things to the dock, and Colin picked them all up, giving the boatman a nod before he tipped his hat and left him there.

  “Weapons?” Marco’s man asked brusquely.

  “No.” Colin wasn’t a fool. And as a sign of good faith he set down his bags and stretched his arms out at his side. The man patted him down. Colin had him in height, but the brute was broader. Still, in a fight Colin was quick and confident. When the man stood and looked in his eyes he saw that Colin was a man who wouldn’t take any shite or back down.

  “Follow me.”

  When they got to the stone steps a smaller man rushed out of a hidden entrance and smiled at Colin, giving him a small bow.

  “Por favor, Señor. I take?” He pointed to Colin’s bags. Though Colin hated to have this older man doing something he was perfectly capable of doing himself, he knew it was the kind of luxury Marco’s guests were expected to take advantage of. He also knew they’d go through his things, searching for anything suspicious, but they’d find nothing. Holding back a sigh, he handed over everything except the easel, which was heavy, and the canvases, which were large and awkward.

  “I’ll keep these. Thank you.”

  The man bowed again, disappearing through a side entrance that looked like a dark hall. The door quickly closed and Colin followed Marco’s big man up the steps. The higher they ascended, the more breathtaking the view became. After nearly a year and a half of seeking entrance into this place, a jolt of anticipation shot through Colin’s system.

  At the top of the steps they came to an open air garden, and a fragrant breeze hit him. A middle-aged man in slacks and a black button up shirt met them at the top. He had a graying mustache and dark eyes that seemed to pierce Colin, searching him thoroughly, and filling him with a sour loathing.

  “Señor Douglas? Soy Marco Ruiz.”

  “Sí,” Colin answered, holding out his hand, which the man shook solidly. He decided to speak to Marco in English, since his Spanish left a lot to be desired. “Señor Acosta had only amazing things to say about your home, and I can see he didn’t exaggerate one bit. I thank you for allowing me to come, especially at such a short notice.”

  The bodyguard hung back, never taking his eyes off Colin.

  Marco picked up on his English cue seamlessly, and Colin recognized the man was extending a courtesy. “Mm. Our mutual friend is quite keen about his art.”

  Colin chuckled. “That he is.”

  Marco eyed him one last time, as if memorizing him. Cops weren’t the only ones who took in details. Seasoned criminals were especially good at it, as well. Marco may have stood there appearing to be a gentleman, but Colin knew better. He wished this mission was about more than simply retrieving the girl. He wished he could take this man down, but that could only be done by Spanish officials, and they wouldn’t allow it.

  Marco led him to a table on the veranda set with brunch foods: tropical fruit salad, Spanish omelets, and coffee. Colin sat, knowing this would be a “get to know you” session. He’d had one of these, in some form, with every stage of vagrant who’d ever considered letting him into their confidences. This, however, would be his first brunch. His childhood manners came out as he placed the napkin across his lap.

  Marco sipped his coffee and his head cocked to the side, as if trying to figure Colin out. He knew he didn’t look like your typical artist, whatever “typical” meant. His face was chiseled and often scruffy. His dark hair shaved. Eyes as blue-gray as the Mediterranean sky before a storm. His physique was strong. And he didn’t give much of a shite about fashion, though he dressed to impress when he had to. It was all about looking the part.

  “I believe for the first time ever my slaves might actually fight over a patron,” Marco muttered.

  Ah, that thought did nothing positive for him, but Colin chuckled and set down his water. “You flatter me, Sir.”

  “Tell me, Mr. Douglas. What are you looking to get out of your week here?”

  “Peace and quiet. Beauty. I can see you have that in abundance.”

  “Mr. Acosta mentioned a muse?”

  The side of Colin’s mouth went up. “That would be helpful.”

  “And how do you envision this muse? A dominant woman? Submissive? Or perhaps a handsome man? I do have one.”

  Now Colin grinned in full. He knew Marco was baiting him for the old all-artists-are-gay-stereotype. “A submissive woman.”

  Marco seemed pleased by this. Both men took a bite of their meals, thinking, savoring.

  “If I may be so bold, Mr. Douglas…what are your fantasies?”

  Shite. That was a personal question he’d never been asked before.

  Colin felt himself warming as the sun crept high over the cliff and bathed the veranda. His fantasies? Well, fuck. He had a hunch Marco Ruiz could smell bullshit from miles away. It was unlike Colin to open up and expose himself in any way. The thought of talking about sex, in detail, with this stranger, was off putting. But it would be the fastest way to gain his trust. So, he’d be honest.

  “Ah, well, let’s see. Believe it or not, I’ve never tied a woman up…”

  A hint of a smile crested Marco’s lips and he nodded for Colin to go on.

  “I like to be in control. To do anything I wish to a woman without complaint, and have her enjoy it as much as me. I’ve always held back when truly I want to push a woman to her limits of pain—see how far we can take it.” He took a breath and pushed himself to keep going. “I like to fuck outdoors where we might be seen. I love a good blowjob, especially if she swallows. I’m always up for anal sex, though most women aren’t, considering I don’t want a relationship. And, aye, most of all I love the smell and taste of a woman…and I’m happy when they’re keen to fuck me and then leave me the hell alone.”

  Damn, he’d never put it all out there like that before. And his pants seemed to be tightening. Marco glanced down, then back up with a look of approval. Everything Colin had said had probably been tame in comparison with what some of the people came here wanted, but he’d been honest and passionate, which was all he could do.

  Again, they both took a bite. Colin was thankful when the swelling between his legs began to go down.

  “Any particular look you prefer?” Marco asked.

  “I ken it’s hard to come by in these parts, but I prefer blondes.” Colin swore Marco’s eyes darkened a fraction, but he forged ahead. “I’ve enjoyed my time in Spain, and the women are gorgeous, but I admit I’m often homesick for light haired lassies.”

  “That’s understandable,” Marco said. “And as far as body type?”

  Colin shrugged. “Fit. Natural.”

  Marco nodded. “I’ll see what I can do to find you a muse, Mr. Douglas. We do what we can here to turn fantasy into reality. I assure you everything that happens at my estate stays here, and I mean that with the utmost seriousness. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay and make yourself at home. My servant will show you to your room.”

  “Thank you. Gracias.”

  Both men stood and placed their napkins on the table. The small servant who’d taken his bags was standing nearby with his hands clasped. He nodded at Colin to follow.

  The villa was immaculate down to the last detail of the light salsa music playing overhead. In his room he moved his sunglasses to the top of his head and stared at the four poster, tall King bed. It reminded him with a pang of the bedroom suit his parents shared. Except theirs hadn’t had cuffs attached
by chain at various places of the headboard and posts. Colin had to wonder what kind of kinky fuckery took place in this room’s lifetime. If it weren’t for the villa’s unfortunate circumstances he could really get down with the idea.

  He adjusted himself, feeling that familiar and unwelcome tightening in his boxer briefs again. To take his mind off it, he went to the windows and stretched the curtains wide, revealing a set of French doors. He opened them and stepped onto the columned balcony into the salted sea breeze. Colin closed his eyes and breathed.

  He was in. Nearly a year and a half of undercover work had led to this one week. No doubt, this would be the most difficult assignment he’d ever been on. To get the girl from this stronghold, alive, would be no small feat. He’d have to play the unknown factors as they surfaced and come up with a detailed plan as the week progressed.

  But one single thought plagued his mind. What would he have to do to keep up his charade here? After all the shite he’d seen—the dirty brothels and slave quarters around the world, and what his brother’d been through—Colin did not want to have sex with any slaves. The very idea of it set his teeth on edge. But his motto had always been to do as they do. When the drug dealers were sampling the goods to make sure it was pure, Colin sampled the shite with them. When they fought, he fought. When they got plastered in pubs and picked up manky women, he was right there, drinking slightly less, and doubling up on the condoms. He’d always done what he had to to gain the trust of the goons he was attempting to bag.

  But this was different. He didn’t want to take advantage of people stuck in slavery. It felt wrong to his very core. Marco could put a fancy face on it, disguising his brothel as a paradise, but Colin saw it for what it was. He wanted to torch the place and kill every cunt bastard who thought entrapping humans was acceptable.

  He had no idea if he’d be able to get out of having sex while at the villa, and he had to prepare his mind for the possibility of anything. So many hidden variables, the largest being how the fuck he’d be able to escape this stronghold with a piece of their human property?

  If she was even here.

  Colin rubbed his scalp roughly before going back inside his room. He began setting up his easel, his eyes scanning the room at intervals, searching for cameras. There were none he could see on the high ceilings, but the room held many places where cameras could hide. He didn’t want to be obvious, so when his items were put away he crossed his arms and pretended to give a shite about the art around the room. An Asian vase. A painting of sailboats that was missing so much proper shading he could hardly look at the damn thing.

  In the base of an ornate lamp he saw a minuscule hole. There was one camera. He didn’t doubt there were more. A minted man like Marco wasn’t about to let anyone have absolute free reign and privacy under his roof.

  A knock sounded on the door and Colin opened it. A thin, older man bustled in without invitation, carrying a small kit.

  What the hell?

  The man set everything on the oversized dark dresser and turned to Colin, bowing his head. “Hola, Señor Douglas. You speak Spanish?”

  “Ah, only pequeño.”

  The man nodded. “Lo siento. My English no es very good. Señor Ruiz send me to all new patrons to make blood.”

  Shock rippled through Colin and he narrowed his dark eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

  “We have clean establishment. No disease. No worry, yes?”

  Colin glared at the needles and vials. After a moment of thought he wondered what it would hurt to let them have a small sample. He’d shed more blood than that for less important missions.

  “Fine,” he said.

  After the blood draw, the doctor man bustled out as quickly as he’d come in. And then there was another knock at the door. This one softer.

  For fuck’s sake.

  He opened it and found a wee petite Asian girl in a bikini with tits that didn’t quite fit her body. She wore a collar around her neck. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of him, and then she seemed to catch herself and look down.

  “Hola, Señor. You are invited to the pool area for cocktails if you so wish.”

  “Thank you,” he said. For an awkward moment he wondered if he was supposed to do something—how he was supposed to act toward her, but he made no move.

  The girl’s eyes skipped up his frame one last, quick time, then she turned in her platform heels and walked away, swaying her thin hips. The entire sight was so strange he couldn’t be aroused by it. Was she a slave? She didn’t fit his image of a slave. Graham’s deadened eyes came to mind. His drugged, dirty state. Colin’s hands fisted in revulsion.

  But this place wasn’t like that, was it? They took people’s fucking blood for God’s sake, and he was sure that if any diseased bastard came through those doors he wasn’t getting any arse.

  Colin decided he’d take Señor Ruiz up on his offer to make himself at home. He left his room to explore, and hopefully catch sight of Angela.

  Armed men stood in every entrance and exit of the vast home. He met their stares with nods as he passed. Most of the rooms were empty until he came to an outdoor veranda where voices carried on the breeze. People were outside. He took one step out of the grand arched doorway and swiped his eyes across the scene, taking in every detail. All the exposed skin.

  Ah, shite. He probably shouldn’t have come out here, but he’d look like a pansy if he turned and left now.

  Live music played next to a bar area. Two men with guitars harmonized a quick rhythm of Latin roots. Distant sounds of crashing waves drifted up from below.

  The pool was surrounded by tropical flowers and a rock wall that spilled a waterfall into the depths. The end of the pool came up to the cliff’s edge and seemed to drop right off. Surrounding the pool were lounging chairs and umbrellas. Half dressed women delivered drinks to paunchy men in speedos, sprawled out in comfort. Colin’s heart spiked when he spotted a blonde head kneeling next to one of the men, rubbing oil on his legs. But her face was too round, and her eyes an icy blue instead of brown—she appeared of European decent.

  Colin saw the pretty Asian girl who came to his room sitting on a bald man’s lap and running a finger down his hairy chest. In the hot tub was an older couple with a younger man who wore a collar like the Asian girl. This must be the male slave Marco had mentioned. The older man watched as the slave kissed the woman, his hands and their bodies moving under the water. Colin couldn’t imagine sharing one’s wife and watching. Fuck, he couldn’t even imagine having a wife.

  He heard light footsteps coming out behind him and turned to see Marco and two collared women. One of them stayed close behind him at his shoulder. In a black string bikini with a floppy black sunhat and heels, she was the embodiment of Spanish perfection—all straight lines and curves in the right places, with dark caramel skin. The other woman had smooth straight hair and wore a black bodice, strung tightly, and thigh high boots. Her tits were spilling out. She carried a riding crop and passed Colin with a nod.

  He nodded back. Not his type, but impressive all the same. He watched as she approached a man laying face down on a lounge chair. The man yelped when she smacked his arse with the crop and pointed to the toe of her boot. He scrambled to the ground, kissed her foot, and allowed himself to be leashed around the neck and led inside the house on his hands and knees.

  Now, there’s something you didn’t see every day.

  Marco chuckled and patted Colin’s shoulder. “Come, Señor Douglas. Have a drink with me.”

  A warm breeze kicked up as Colin and Marco took their places under a wide umbrella. The slave woman knelt beside Marco with her hands on her knees. She looked healthy, if not a bit thin, and content. In fact, the villa had a way of making the taboo seem almost normal. Acceptable. Which might’ve been the case if slavery weren’t involved. To each his own, and all that. But when unwilling participants were forced to comply, that was a different situation, no matter what kind of happy mask they wore.

  A se
rvant was immediately at their table, and Colin asked for a scotch on the rocks. Marco ordered the same.

  “What do you think of my quaint villa, Señor Douglas?”

  Quaint? Was he fucking kidding?

  “I’m mesmerized by it, Señor Ruiz. Already feeling more relaxed.” The second bit was a lie, but Marco seemed to buy it as their drinks were delivered and they clinked the lips of their glasses. Naturally, the scotch was top notch and smooth. Colin drank it all in one go, and another appeared thirty seconds later.

  “Señor Douglas, I’d like you to meet Perla.” Marco nodded his head to the slave on the ground by his side. She raised her eyes long enough to catch Colin’s and nod, then dropped them again. “She’s not blonde, but she’s a master of her trade.” He removed the woman’s hat and set it on the table, her brown waves blowing away from her shoulders. She sat up taller, causing her full breasts to jut out further. Colin felt a stir of lust.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  “She’s gorgeous,” Colin said. “Not my fantasy, but she’d definitely do.” He gave Marco a wink and drank half his second glass. He needed to make the man think he’d take her. And unfortunately, if he had to, he would. To reject such an offer from a man like Marco would only raise suspicion and distrust.

  Marco’s head cocked and he ran an index finger back and forth over his chin.

  “One of my patrons owns a blonde girl.” Marco inclined his head toward the European woman, whose mouth was now as busy as her hands. “I’m certain I could work a trade.”

  Bloody fucking hell. Was Angela truly not here, or was Marco hiding her because he was a Westerner who might’ve heard of her? Was Colin going to have to fuck one of these slaves to prove himself? The thought repulsed him, though his traitorous body was more than willing.

  Colin forced a grin. “Aye, pal. That’d be brilliant.”