Escape From Paradise (4 page)

The man’s eyes were sad. “She’s a bit shaken by all that’s happened, and she prefers to distance herself from the events.”

So his one living relative wouldn’t take him in? His own mother’s sister? Fucking cow.

“Where am I to stay?” he asked.

“We’re working to find you a home, but your life will be much different now. Whoever takes you in is not likely to be wealthy. This will help to keep you out of the public eye and under the radar. Your name will change. From now on you’re Colin Douglas. You’ll be homeschooled—”

“Fuck that!” This city was his home. It was all he knew. He couldn’t lose all his friends and his identity, too.

Conall tried to stand, but the man grasped his forearm. “It’s just a few years. And in the meantime we’re working alongside the SIS to search for your brother. Airports and all avenues of travel are being scouted as we speak. We will find him, and justice will be served for your parents.”

He felt the weight of it all forcing its way down on him, and for the first time since he was a wee bairn his eyes stung. He couldn’t hold back the sobs as they came, and he didn’t have the strength to push the man away when he took Conall’s neck and pulled it to his shoulder, roughly rubbing his back.

Every ounce of control he prided himself on slipped away, and he realized it was all a ruse—a childish facade. His family’s wealth had always backed him up, and knowing his parents would always be there for him had given him the safety net to live his life like a selfish prick. Now he had none of that, and it hurt. Who was he, really? He dappled on the dark side, equating those minor dangers with power, but he saw now it’d all been shite. Out there in the world was real danger. Fucked up people with no conscience.

How badly had the people he loved suffered at the hands of brutal madmen? Could he have fought and saved any of his family if he’d been there? Had his father fought? Somehow Conall couldn’t imagine that, which made him feel a moment of irrational anger toward his father, followed by guilt.

When Conall pulled himself together he said in a choked voice, “Tell me everything.”

Their Edinburgh estate had been methodically broken into. The overseer of the lands was taken captive and forced to disarm the alarms before being killed. Conall’s parents were not supposed to be home. They should have left for an event in Dublin; however, technical issues with their private jet caused a delay.

The thieves were taken off guard to find the owners home. Reports showed that a struggle had taken place. An antique vase in the foyer was broken, and Conall’s mother was found with flesh under her nails. His father had abrasions on his hands. Both his parents and the nanny were murdered, and the perpetrators left with the one thing they’d come for: his brother, Graham.

The authorities called it a kidnapping-for-ransom gone bad. They’d only expected the nanny and Graham to be home. And all the while Conall had been partying, just like every weekend. He couldn’t have been arsed to check-in with a fucking nanny.

Conall shook his head back and forth as an angry vengeance and self-loathing soaked into his blood. His future as he’d known it had been seized and choked. He knew he’d never be the same, because all his aspirations changed in that moment. He would never be the respectable business man his father had been. His one and only thought was to get his brother back, and then do whatever he had to do to find the people who’d done this to his family and destroy them.

“We’ll find these bastards, young McCray,” the officer told him.

And if you don’t,
Conall thought to himself,
I will.

I had a secret fantasy. Something I’d never told anybody because it was too shameful. For years I’d fantasized about being taken against my will—Stockholm Syndrome kind of stuff—rape fantasies. I imagined big, sexy men busting down my door, overcome with the desire to have me. In those visions I somehow knew they meant me no bodily harm. It was lust. They just wanted to momentarily own me. Those imaginings had been so hot. Being overpowered. Being brought reluctantly to orgasm.

But in real life there was nothing sexy about rape.

I felt the soft foundation underneath me rocking and heard the faint whir of an engine when I woke. My hands were tied behind my back, and my ankles were bound. A dull, distinct pain was present between my legs. My first instinct was to scream, but I stamped down the urge, forcing myself to sit up and take in my surroundings.

I was in a small, clean room on a twin bed. Through the rectangular window on the wall I could see the dim morning sky, or at least I assumed it was morning.

And I saw water. Lots of water.

My stomach turned and I heaved, leaning my head over the bed. Nothing came out, but my gut continued to convulse.

When I heard footsteps and murmured voices, I quickly laid down on my side, curling into a ball and letting my hair fall over my face. The door opened, and although I was panicking inside, my body went into some crazy, shocked self-preservation mode of calmness.

“She’s still passed out,” I heard Fernando say in Spanish. My stomach clenched.

A string of cuss words came from the mouth of a deeper-voiced man.

“Idiot! Why would you bring her to my boat?” the man yelled in Spanish.

“It wasn’t my plan. I was going to fuck her and dump her somewhere before we left this morning, but she said her parents were lawyers!”

“This is why you do not drug Americans! This is why I have told you time and time again, foolish asshole, not to fuck American girls!”

“I know! I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

The man sounded irate. “You were thinking with your cock! When will you learn self-control?”

The sound of rapid blows and Fernando hollering in pain made me ball up tighter. I hated Fernando, but the sounds of violence, even against him, made me ill.

“How many people saw you with her, son, eh?” he yelled.

“Only the people at your club, Papa!”

“She was alone?”

“She had…friends with her. But they were drunk!”

Another bestial sound of anger came from the man, presumably Fernando’s father.

“Did they see you leave with her?”

“No. They were in the pool room. No one was paying attention.”

“The girls have probably gone to the authorities by now. Their parents will be on the next plane to Mexico, and reporters will be crawling all over my club! People saw you together! This is the last straw, Fernando. When we stop to refuel in Cuba I’m sending you away. I am done with you.”

“Sending me where?” Fernando sounded like a pathetic little kid next to his father’s angry voice.

“I don’t know yet. Asia, maybe.”

“Asia! I don’t want to go to Asia!”

“And I don’t want this girl! Nor do I want a fucking police investigation. What I want is to have you out of my sight where you can’t cause me anymore trouble.”

Fernando didn’t argue. A beat of silence passed before the man spoke again, sounding closer, as if he were standing over me.

“What am I to do with her, Fernando? American captives do not make good slaves. They are too hard to break—too willful and entitled.”

“Men will pay good money to have her fight against them.”

“Stupid boy.” His father’s tone was scary calm. “Most men do not share your particular
tastes
. My patrons seek submissive women who enjoy sex, not women who scream and cry in terror when they’re fucked!”

Slaves? His patrons? Oh, my God. These guys were into sketchier shit than I first feared.

“I said I’m sorry!” Fernando sounded out of patience. “I’ll kill her and throw her overboard if you want.”

I whimpered involuntarily, and then held my breath.

“Does she know Spanish?” his father asked in a whisper.

“No.”

I realized this was in my favor. They had no idea I could understand every word of their conversation. I jolted when I felt a warm hand move the hair from my face.

“Are you awake?” the man whispered in English.

I thought he probably knew I was, so I slowly blinked my eyes open to see the man crouched next to me. He was an older, more distinguished version of Fernando, but he had a black mustache. He smiled at me.

“Tu sabes Español, nina linda?”
Do you know Spanish, pretty girl?

I didn’t respond, only stared up at him with big, frightened eyes.

“It’s okay,” he said in accented English. “I will speak your language. Tell me, pretty girl. What is your name?”

I tried to talk, but my throat was so dry nothing came out but a rasp. The man turned his head to Fernando and barked, “Agua!” Fernando left, returning a minute later with a bottle of water. I couldn’t look at Fernando. Just thinking about him made me want to dry heave again.

The man held the bottle to my lips and I drank three gulps to satisfy him. When he pulled the bottle away I whispered, “Angela.”

Something about his self-controlled kindness terrified me. Maybe the fact that he was not the kind of man you could try to bargain with or trick. He seemed too smart and cunning for that.

“Ah.” He smiled. “
The angel
. My name is Marco. I am sorry for what Fernando has done to you.”

He seemed so sincere that I couldn’t hold back a whimpered plea, and then I began to babble in desperation. “Please…please let me go. I swear I won’t tell anyone. I
swear
. I’ll say I wandered off and passed out or something. I just want to go home.”

He sighed. “I am afraid that is not possible, Angel. Are you hungry?”

I was, but I didn’t think I could actually eat, so I shook my head as tears began to fall and panic set in. “Please, let me go home. Please.”

“I know this is difficult, but it does not have to be bad. You must come to terms, pretty girl, with the knowledge that your life will never be the same. You will never return home. You belong to me now, and I will treat you well. But if I cannot trust you, I will have to dispose of you. Do you understand?”

Oh, God.
I felt edgy, panicky, because I understood perfectly. He’d kill me in a heartbeat. Why was this happening? How could this be my life?

The tears continued to stream. “Please don’t kill me. I’ll be good. I promise.”

I made the mistake of looking over at Fernando then. From the bulge in his pants I could see he was enjoying my crying, begging, tied-up scenario. Marco noticed, too.

“Fuera de aqui!” Marco shouted.

Fernando scowled at me and stomped out, slamming the door.

Marco shook his head and began untying my arms. Hope sprouted in my chest, until he pulled out a pair of handcuffs and handcuffed one of my wrists to the headboard.

“Please.” It came out as a sob, desperation flooding me. “I’ll do anything. Please let me go.”

He grasped my chin, making me to look into his dark, hard eyes. He spoke more forcefully than he had before. “I told you. That is not an option. You would do well to make the best of this situation.”

“What do you want me to do?” I couldn’t keep from whining.

“I want you to relax, and learn to trust me. And stop crying.” He reached down and wiped both my cheeks dry. “I will require your complete obedience at all times, or you will be punished. You will refer to me as Sir, and when the time is right you will refer to me as Master. Do you understand?”