Escape From Paradise

by Gwendolyn Field

  “If anyone were to ever find out,” Marco said. “I don’t know you. We have never met.”

  Colin gave the man a slow, understanding nod.

  Was this really happening? Was Marco considering selling her? Fuck, maybe that’d been his plan all along when he found out she was Colin’s “muse.” Did he hope to rid himself of the burden of the American girl? After all he’d been through that week, he wanted to laugh.

  “I will take our association to the grave, Mr. Ruiz.”

  Marco nodded. “I believe that about you.”

  “Name your price,” Colin said. “A muse like Angela will cause my business to boom…”

  Marco tensed and his eyes went hard. Colin was slow to realize his mistake.

  He’d called her Angela. Marco had never referred to her as anything but Angel.

  From the corner of his eye he saw Luis going for his gun. Colin embraced the burst of adrenaline that came with the following moments of chaos. Colin launched himself from his seat toward the bodyguard, shoving him against the stern of the boat. He heard Marco shout, maybe calling for the captain. Momentarily distracted, Colin took a jab to the abdomen before head-butting the bodyguard, kneeing him in the gut, and hearing his gun clatter to their feet and slide across the deck.

  Colin blocked Luis’s sloppy throws, relishing the sound of the man’s pained grunts each time his fists landed, quick and hard, pushing him toward the stern. From the corner of his eye he saw Marco reaching for the fallen gun at their feet. Colin kicked him in the jaw and watched the fucker fly back. It landed him a punch to the skull, but it was worth it.

  Luis’s knuckle split, gaping, from his punch, and he howled. Stupid fuck. Never hit a man’s head with your bare knuckles. Colin ran at him, ramming his shoulder upward into Luis’s gut and lifting him off his feet. In a clean sweep, the bodyguard flew over the stern, grasping at the rail and yelling as he looked down at the wash of water caused by the giant propellers. Colin leaned over and snatched the second gun from the man’s waist, and then slammed the butt down on Luis’s fingers.

  The man fell, his garbled holler swallowed up as the rush of water sucked him in with a series of sickening thuds.

  Colin turned to take care of Marco and found himself too late. The other man had managed to get his hands on the gun, and he was scrambling backward, trying to point the thing at him.

  Colin dove into the near hallway, hearing the bang and whir of a shot fired past him. From the ground, he took aim and fired, celebrating internally when he heard Marco yell, throwing his head back and grabbing his shattered knee with one hand.

  “Drop the fucking gun or you’re dead,” Colin said.

  The bloody bastard shot again, clipping Colin’s shoulder. Fuck, that stung, and now he was livid. He pumped two more rounds from his awkward angle, shooting Marco in the shoulder and arm.

  Marco dropped the gun and fumbled to hold his shoulder and leg. Colin jumped to his feet and stood over the man, kicking the second gun away.

  “Señor Ruiz?” called a male voice over a speaker.

  Shite. The captain.

  “Tell him you’re okay!” Colin whisper-hissed to Marco, the gun barrel at his temple. “In English.”

  Through panting breaths, Marco called out, “I am fine.”

  A sense of calming resolve seemed to have settled over the man as he stared up at Colin. “FBI?”

  “I work alone.” Colin’s gun never wavered from Marco’s face.

  “It’s not too late,” Marco said. “Whoever sent you…whoever paid you…they never have to know. They can think you died, and the girl can be yours.”

  For the briefest moment Colin allowed himself to imagine it. Marco’s eyes were shining with the knowledge that he was calling forth another man’s demons.

  Colin punched him in the jaw, throwing the man’s head to the side and causing him to go even more limp.

  “Don’t you fucking look at me like that.”

  Even with all Colin had been through, he’d never been much for murder—he’d injured many, but only killed when the only other option was to be killed himself. He hadn’t wished for a person’s death and suffering this badly since he’d hunted his family’s murderers and Graham’s kidnappers. His finger tightened on the trigger just as a shrill scream pierced the air.

  Colin turned his head to see Perla at the top of the steps, covering her mouth with a shaking hand. Angela peeked around her side with gaping eyes.

  “Master!” A choking sob tumbled from Perla as she took in the sight of Marco’s bloodied body and Colin’s gun. Her eyes darted around, probably searching for Luis, and when she didn’t find him she yelled in panic again. Colin looked back at the man at his feet.

  “Tell her to shut her fucking mouth,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Silencio, Perla,” Marco commanded, his breaths coming short.

  She continued to cry, she and Angela gripping one another by the arms.

  Colin ignored them and spoke quietly. “I’m here to take back what was never yours to begin with. The girl is going to disappear. And so am I.”

  Marco’s voice was a weak, but wicked rasp. “My people…will hunt you.”

  Colin’s shoved the barrel against Marco’s forehead. “If any of your fucking goons come near her, I will be the one hunting them and slicing off their worthless balls while they sleep. Then I’ll burn your palace to the fucking ground. Your reign is over.”

  “Don’t kill him!” Perla wailed. “Por favor! No, no, no.”

  “Shh,” Angela pulled her close, staring at Colin in fearful confusion.

  Ah, fuck. He had no time for crying women.

  Marco chuckled at Colin’s hesitation to finish him off, or perhaps it was simply madness from blood loss since there was a nice pool of crimson around him. But his laughter turned into a choking sound as the man fought to breathe.

  It was time to end this.

  When Marco had told us to leave, I thought I’d tumble down the stairs, but Perla grasped my shaking hand. I was near tears by the time she pulled me into a bedroom and took my face.

  “Will he let him buy me?” I whispered in Spanish. I couldn’t help the way a sound of hope rose in my voice.

  “Listen to me,” Perla said, more serious than I’d ever heard her. “And listen well. It is good and acceptable for a slave to love their master, but you must know, Angel. Your master will never love you in the same way. Never. You heard what Master said. Señor Douglas will share you with other men, just as he did today. He will take other slaves and women in front of you, just as he did today. You must prepare your heart and mind for all of this. There will come a day when you are aging, and he replaces you with another. Do you understand?”

  Her words hit me like a steamroller as I imagined it. Was that how Perla felt every day of her life?

  “Do you love Master?” I whispered.

  Her eyes flitted closed and her words were a breath of fervent emotion. “He is my first and only love. Everything I do is to please him. And each day he takes me to his bed I am thankful.”

  My heart hurt. Could I be like Perla? A loving, loyal slave who took each day, moment by moment, knowing it could never last? Could I take her advice and not become bitter in the process? I didn’t know if I could. I wasn’t wired that way.

  A banging sound like something hitting the side of the boat and yells came from above. Perla grabbed my arm and we watched each other, becoming still.

  What the hell was going on up there?

  Another yell, sounded like Luis. I sucked in a breath and felt my eyes widen with the rush of fear coursing through me. A feeling of danger punctuated the air.

  Oh, my God…was this turning into a business deal gone bad? Were they going to kill Mr. Douglas? A panicked dread spread its fingers through me, and like a lovesick fool I made a move for the stairs. Perla’s fingers dug into my arm, holding me in a vise grip.

  “You cannot interrupt!”

  And then a gunshot ra
ng out, making us both jump. More shots followed, and I heard Marco yell in anguish. Now it was Perla’s turn to gasp and run to the stairs. I took off after her, my heart banging in my throat.

  What I saw at the top made the world seem to stop. Marco, shot and bleeding on the white deck, his blood a crimson shock to my eyes. Mr. Douglas standing over him with a gun pointed at his head. Luis nowhere in sight.

  Holy fucking shit. He was really going to kill him.

  I didn’t know how to feel. Mr. Douglas could be a psychopath for all I knew, though deep down I didn’t really believe that, but it was hard to know what feelings to trust. When Perla cried out, begging for Marco’s life, the indecisive look of regret in Mr. Douglas’s eyes made all of my distrust for him fall away.

  And still, for some reason, the thought of watching Marco be killed sickened me. I thought about how angry he’d been at his son for raping me and kidnapping me. How he’d pampered me and only punished me when I broke serious rules. How he’d protected me in many ways, never forcing me to be his lover until today, and only as a way to “teach” Mr. Douglas.

  “No.” It left me as a whimper.

  Mr. Douglas swung his head toward me, a look of astonished surprise on his face. “After all he’s done, you don’t want to see him dead?”

  “I…” Do I? “No.” But he made you a slave. “I don’t know!”

  “No, no!” Perla begged. “Por favor, tell him no!” She fell into my arms and hid her face.

  Marco would die. Even now his eyes were rolling back, and his hold against his wound was loosening. If left unattended he would bleed to death like an animal. I couldn’t help the pity I felt at seeing this man of power brought so low.

  Mr. Douglas raised his arm and slammed the butt of the gun against the side of Marco’s head, knocking him out cold. Perla and I jumped, and she wailed.

  Mr. Douglas grabbed Marco by the ankles, dragging him across the deck and down the stairs. Perla wouldn’t leave his side, so she ended up cuffed to a bed next to Marco, gagged.

  Mr. Douglas turned to me and I shrunk back, shaking my head. I didn’t want to be handcuffed or tied up and locked away. He gave me a shake of his head and gripped my arm, pulling me out of the room.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, little lassie. Come on.”

  He sounded genuine enough, but my insides still slithered with fear as he pulled me up the stairs and commanded me to sit. I was too scared to ask questions. He worked fast. I watched as he grabbed rope, keeping a gun in one hand. He made his way down the small hall to the navigational area. The captain threw his hands up, backing away.

  “Take us to the nearest port,” Mr. Douglas said. “Now. You will not use your radio for any reason. When we arrive you will be tied. I won’t kill you unless I have to. One wrong move and you’re dead. Comprende?”

  The frightened man nodded his head. Mr. Douglas motioned to the panel, telling the man to hurry. I sat against the wall, my legs pulled up to my chest.

  “Do you have clothes to change into?” Mr. Douglas called to me.

  “N-no, Señor.”

  He cursed.

  He watched the captain closely as he navigated us to land, and I sat there bombarded with thoughts.

  How quickly life could change.

  That morning I’d been beyond thrilled when Perla told me we were going out to sea with Marco and Mr. Douglas. It’d been years since I was allowed to enjoy the sun and fresh air. All of my anger and negativity from the night before shed from me like a heavy coat. I wanted to hug Marco and thank him.

  The sun had felt glorious on my skin. After everything I’d been through the past two years, it was ridiculous to think of a boat ride as a vacation, but that’s how it felt. Being fed fruit at the hand of Mr. Douglas had been a wonderful start. Without looking up, I’d caught glances of his legs and hips, his forearms and fingers. And I imagined how well he’d used all of them on me last night.

  Only he’d sent me away, hadn’t he?

  I didn’t want to think about that. I didn’t want to think at all. All I wanted to was to enjoy the moments of pleasure as they presented themselves. In that moment on the boat, with the bright sun and warm wind, I hadn’t a single worry or complaint.

  I was usually good at drowning out business conversations. They were a bore. But I found myself paying attention to everything where Mr. Douglas was concerned. When he brought up buying a slave I was consumed with jealousy. On the verge of throwing-up. Then the way Marco talked about us, like training dogs or circus animals. That was what I’d become. An entertaining animal. The conversation rolled through me, churning my stomach with sadness and regret for all that was lost.

  That quickly, all of my happy feelings disappeared as I realized how easily replaceable I was to men like Marco and Mr. Douglas. My life would have been so much easier if I could get rid of that deep nagging voice that told me I could be special to someone.

  I wasn’t special.

  That’s something mothers and fathers told their children when they thought they were safe. When they had free will and open futures. Just another fairy tale from a previous life.

  And then. I couldn’t believe my ears. My heart rammed so hard in my chest I could hardly hear the rest over the whooshing in my ears.

  He wanted to buy me.

  He wanted me.

  Me.

  That desperation to be needed and wanted sprouted and grew vibrant petals. I should have felt pathetic for my gratefulness in that moment—disgusted at the way these men discussed my life like a transaction—but I couldn’t help it. I was so happy. A life as Mr. Douglas’s slave would be different. I wanted to please him in a way I’d never cared about pleasing anyone at the villa. For the first time since I’d been taken captive, I felt a desire to embrace my role because I wanted to, not out of fear. Was this how Perla and the others felt?

  And once again, Marco’s ability to shock was like a sting across my chest when he told Perla to pleasure Mr. Douglas, and for me to watch.

  I wanted to grab Perla by the hair and tear her away. I wanted to rain down a series of vicious slaps upon Marco for making this happen. And I wanted to cry that Mr. Douglas was able to get it up for her.

  I know. Stupid. I was so stupid to feel any of those things. I wished so badly that I could be a proper slave. But I was a bad slave. Life would be so much easier if I just didn’t care. If I could be numb.

  I was lost to these thoughts when Mr. Douglas had taken me by the neck and made me look at him. He was so strong—intense and sexy. My body reacted for him, softening, though the explosion of emotion in my chest was far from soft.

  “Do you wish for me to own you, Angel?” he’d asked.

  Yes. God, yes. I wanted him to own me in every way. But only me.

  And then, when I thought the torture was finally over, Marco called me over to service him, talking about “sharing.” I’d never touched him intimately before. For some reason the prospect upset me on multi-levels, and once I began to tremble I couldn’t stop. It’s just oral sex, I tried to tell myself, but it felt like so much more than that. Marco’s hold over me—his role in my life—had become skewed and complicated. I felt as nervous and sick as I would if I had to blow my own uncle or the Texas senator. It just felt wrong. The moment my shaking hand went around him, and my mouth touched his flesh, his ownership over me became complete. I was not my own, or even Mr. Douglas’s, unless Marco wanted me to be.

  And now he was below deck, dying. Maybe dead by now. I should have been far happier about that.

  When we got to the port and docked the boat, Mr. Douglas gagged the captain and tied him on the floor. The knots looked tight enough to hurt. He then reached his hand into the man’s pocket and removed a cell phone, slipping it into his own pocket. He reached toward me and I flinched in fear as his hands wrapped around my neck, then I stared in astonishment as he tossed my collar over the side of the boat into the water. I stood at his impatient motioning, my nerves completely shot, knees
trembling.

  This was it. He was going to take me. I was scared of my unknown future with him, but I didn’t want to look back at my wretched past, either. My life was in Mr. Douglas’s hands now, for better or for worse.

  Together, we hurried off the yacht.

  Mr. Douglas took my hand, twining our fingers together and holding tight.

  “Pretend we’re a couple.”

  His strides were long, and I walked briskly in my high heels, still trembling on the inside. I was sweating under the stupid wig and hat. I wished I could rip them off. People on the small port street were starting to look. Did they recognize us or something?

  “Nos están mirando,” I said under my breath.

  He gave me a funny look, and I remembered he wasn’t great with Spanish.

  “They’re staring,” I whispered. It felt strange to speak English.

  “Of course they are,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re a beautiful woman walking down the street in a fucking bathing suit and spike heels.”

  Oh. I’d forgotten that kind of thing wasn’t normal.

  He pulled out the captain’s cell phone and dialed, holding the phone to his ear. We never stopped moving. “I’ve got the girl. We’ll need a plane stat. Contact Graham and tell him we’ll all meet as his place temporarily. It’s most secure. Begin the process of liquidating my assets and selling the land. I’ll sign when I get there.”

  Who was he talking to? And why was he talking about how he’d gotten me, as if it had been a prearranged thing? He glanced around and gave our location to the person on the phone. I still had no idea what was going on, but that feather of hope that had buried itself deep inside me so long ago seemed to unfurl and spread open like tentative, atrophied wings.

  We entered a busy shopping street, and Mr. Douglas steered me into a boutique on the corner.