Sold into Slavery (5 page)

This line of thought didn’t give her much comfort. Still, where there was life, there was hope, she told herself staunchly. But the really scary thing was, there wasn’t a soul who knew where she was.

Devin. Come save me!

He’d left her that lovely note. What would he think when she didn’t show up to meet him for dinner? Would he think she was just some fickle young American idiot who had stood him up?

No, surely he would realize something was wrong. After the amazing night they’d spent together, and the incredible promise of their time to come, he would know she’d have been there if she could. He would know something was very, very wrong.

Leah closed her eyes against the darkness, letting the image of Devin fill her mind’s eye. “Please,” she whispered aloud, “Find me, Devin. Rescue me from this nightmare.”

Chapter 3

Devin drummed his fingers on the bar impatiently. Where was Leah? Though it was good to be finally closing the deal for some prime beachfront property for his firm, the last place he had wanted to be was in stuffy offices signing endless piles of paperwork, or politely sipping tea with Thai businessmen. Not when he’d had to leave a beautiful, naked woman in his bed.

He was glad he’d told her seven, though he’d hoped to escape sooner. As it was, he’d barely had time to shower and shave before racing down to the bar to meet Leah and, hopefully, pick up where they’d left off. He looked at his watch again. 7:16. Damn it, where was she? He’d have to give her a nice, hard spanking for being late.

The thought made him smile, and his cock nudged in his pants at the idea of putting her over his knee and swatting that luscious little bottom until it was cherry red. But then, she would like that, wouldn’t she? Yes, of course she would, but that just made it all the sweeter.

“Hello, handsome. Waiting for someone?” A petite woman with long, dark glossy black hair and too much makeup on her teenage face sidled onto the stool beside him. She smiled coquettishly, thrusting her small, barely concealed breasts toward him. “I can make you very happy, please, sir. I am a good girl. I do anything you say.”

Devin glanced at the young prostitute and shook his head. The sex trade was still huge business in Pattaya, despite the local government’s effort to clean things up and create a more family-friendly image for the beach town.

“I’m sorry,” Devin said to the smiling young woman who was now pressing her tiny breasts against his arm. He pulled his arm away. “I
am
waiting for someone.”

The girl’s smile vanished and she turned from him, moving down the bar toward another man hunched over his beer. Devin heard her chirp, “Hello, handsome. Waiting for someone?”

Devin reached for his beer and took a long pull. Why hadn't he gotten Leah’s mobile number? Or even asked what room she was staying in? Truth was, he’d been so eager to tumble into bed with her, he had behaved like a teenager, thinking only in the moment.

Now he was stuck in this damn bar, and Leah was twenty minutes late. 

Surely she hadn't changed her mind? Not after the amazing night they’d spent together? No. Something must have come up to detain her. He needed to chill. In a moment she’d come though the large doorway that led to the hotel’s lobby, her golden hair flying, her cheeks kissed by the sun. Breathlessly she’d explain why she was late, and Devin knew he would forgive her instantly.

He turned toward the doorway, as if he could conjure her there by sheer will. After a minute he turned back, signaling to the bartender for another beer.

Damn it, Leah. Where are you?

Devin watched the group of tourists enter the bar. They were talking loudly in American accents as they settled in one of the booths and gestured for a waitress. Leah had mentioned she was traveling with a tour group. Taking a chance these were her companions, Devin rose and approached them.

It was now 8:00 and he was deeply worried. “Excuse me,” he ventured. “I’ve been waiting for an American young lady by the name of Leah Jacobs. She was supposed to meet me at seven. I confess I’m rather worried about her. Would any of you happen to know her?”

A red-headed woman in her early thirties looked up at Devin. “Are you Devin Lyons?”

Hope flared in Devin’s chest. “Why, yes. I take it you know Leah? Have you seen her today?”

“Yes, she’s with our tour group. I saw her early this afternoon. She mentioned she’d met you. She was, uh, quite enthusiastic about you.” The woman smiled knowingly. “She wouldn’t go down to the beach with me. Said she had to go shopping for something new to wear for your dinner date.” The woman frowned, looking around the bar as if Leah were hiding somewhere. “She’s not here?”

”I wouldn’t worry about it.” A man in his forties, overweight with graying sandy-blond hair and the rosy complexion of a heavy drinker, smirked at Devin. “Leah’s just a kid. No offense, buddy, but she probably found something better to do. A wild party, a chance to hang out with someone famous—coulda been anything with that one.”

The redhead seemed to ponder this. “Hmm, it is possible, I suppose. Leah has been known to go off on her own for a day or two.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully, her eyes moving appraisingly over Devin as she slowly shook her head. “Though Leah isn’t one to kiss and tell, it was pretty obvious she couldn’t wait to see you again. I don’t see her not showing.” She frowned and reached into her handbag, pulling out her mobile phone. “I’ll just text her real quick. She’s pretty good about texting back.”

Devin nodded gratefully, glad someone at the table was taking him seriously. “Thanks. That would be great.”

The other woman in the booth, a fifty-something buxom blond with too much makeup, smiled brightly at Devin and then waved her hand rather dismissively at the redhead. “Don’t listen to her. Kara’s just a worrywart. Leah will resurface eventually. She always does. By the way, I just
love
your accent.” She scooted closer to the man beside her and patted the seat. “Why don’t you join us? My name’s Beth. That’s Kara texting your would-be girlfriend. This here’s Jack.” She gestured toward the man she’d pushed closer to the wall. He was also in his fifties, Devin guessed, with salt and pepper hair and a prominent nose. She pointed at the smirking man beside Kara. “And that’s Frank.”

“Yeah, have a seat. Looks like you could use a refill.” Frank lifted a pitcher of beer, using it to gesture toward the nearly empty beer mug in Devin’s hand.

Devin hesitated. He didn’t really feel like joining the Americans but they were his only link to Leah. “All right,” he said. “Thank you.”

He looked anxiously toward  Kara, who was staring down at her phone. She met his eyes, shaking her head. “Nothing yet. Maybe they’re right. She might be at a club or something. Let’s give her a few minutes.”

Devin nodded, but his earlier sense of foreboding increased. He waited another twenty minutes, answering the questions put forward by the Americans in a distracted way, asking Kara every few minutes if she’d heard back from Leah.

Eventually Kara put her hand over Devin’s, her expression kind. “Look, I don’t usually give out another woman’s phone number, but I think Leah will forgive me this time.”

She gave Devin Leah’s number, which he punched into his mobile and saved in his contacts. “Leah’s in the room next to mine—room 232. I’m sure we’ll hear from her by morning,” she added. “This is probably just Leah being Leah.”

Thanking the Americans, Devin left the bar and went to the elevators. He got off at the second floor, scanning the numbers until he found Leah’s door. He knocked and waited a few seconds, and then knocked again, louder this time. “Leah!” he called. “It’s Devin. Please open the door.”

Silence. He rattled the knob and then pulled out his card key, swiping it through the slot, though of course that did no good. He called her mobile, which went straight to an automated voicemail. He left a message, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. “Hey, Leah. It’s Devin. I thought we had a date at seven. It’s nearly nine. Call and let me know you’re all right.”

Returning to the lobby, he approached the check-in counter. A thin young Thai man smiled politely at him. “May I help you, sir?”

“Yes,” Devin said tersely. “I need to speak with the occupant of room 232, Leah Jacobs. Could you ring the room please?”

“Certainly, sir.” The man lifted a phone receiver and punched in a few numbers. He listened a few seconds, and then shook his head. “I am sorry, sir. There is no answer. Can I help you in some other way?”

Devin shoved his hands into his pockets and pondered what to do next. Should he just wait in his room for her to show up? What if the Americans were wrong and she was out there somewhere, lost or in trouble? She was a young woman alone in a strange country. He didn’t care how savvy a traveler she claimed to be, it was a dangerous world out there. He couldn’t just sit idly by while Leah might be in trouble.

Pulling his hands from his pockets, he pressed them flat against the counter. “Yes. You can direct me to nearest police station.”

~*~

Leah awoke with a start. It took her several moments to realize where she was. She was lying on her left side, curled tightly into a fetal ball. Her shoulder ached from when they’d thrown her into the trunk and the skin on her back, ass and legs felt tender and sore.

Thirsty. Water. I need water.
Leah’s tongue felt thick and her lips were dry and chapped. There was still a bitter, metallic taste in the back of her throat, no doubt left over from the drugged coffee. She knew she should have been hungry—she’d had nothing since breakfast, which was who knew how long ago. But her stomach was bunched into a hard, cold knot, the anxiety filling her belly leaving no room for food.

As she lay there, her mind still fogged from fear and exhaustion, she became aware of her full bladder. She rolled carefully onto her back in an effort to ease the pressure. In her initial blind exploration of the cramped space she hadn't felt anything like a toilet, or even a bucket placed there for the purpose. What did they expect her to do?

When she couldn’t take the ache in her bladder any longer, she forced herself to her hands and knees and began moving carefully over the dusty, hard flooring. Her hand closed over a bit of fabric, and she realized they must have tossed the makeshift gag in with her. She kept it as she moved slowly along the floorboards.

Based on the padlock on the small door, and Khalil’s command to put her under the stairs, Leah surmised she wasn’t the first woman to be imprisoned in this cupboard. Other poor women had probably spent time here, and probably had to pee. What had they done?

Leah had squatted over her share of holes in the ground in her travels. She moved her hands in light, sweeping arcs over the floor, looking for a crack big enough to use as a latrine. In one of the corners she found what she’d been looking for—an actual hole in the planks, a circle probably cut for the purpose. If it wasn’t meant for that, too damn bad—she was going to explode if she didn’t pee.

Positioning herself carefully in the dark, she squatted over the hole, sighing with relief as she emptied her bladder. Using the gag, she wiped herself as best she could, and then left the soiled cotton about a foot away from the makeshift latrine.

She moved to the far side of the space and again lay down on her side, her mind racing. The first thing she had to do was get out of this little space. She thought about crawling over to the door and banging. She could beg to be let out, but she knew even as she thought about this that it would do no good.

That crazy Arab bastard had some kind of god complex, and apparently those he kept around him shared the view, or at least were paid enough to pretend to. He had those henchmen to do his bidding, and he’d been very clear about his
slave girls
not speaking out of turn. That’s what had landed her in this prison under the stairs in the first place. She wouldn’t compound her troubles by doing it again. She’d stay quiet, biding her time while she figured out what to do next.

For the first time since she’d taken her leave of absence from law school the year before, she wished she’d listened to her parents and stayed put in the States, finishing her degree. Instead of finding herself naked and locked in some madman’s home in Thailand, she could be surrounded by a pile of books in a nice, safe library, pouring over tort law and case studies.

When her grandmother had died two years before, Leah had been as surprised as anyone to discover the old woman had owned a life insurance policy for $750,000, every penny of which she had bequeathed to Leah, her only grandchild.

“Life’s short, baby,” she used to say to Leah. “See the world! Take risks, experience life. People grow old too fast. Live a little!” Leah’s grandmother didn’t share her parents’ view that adulthood meant buckling down and earning a living. Leah’s uncles had no children, so Leah had been her grandmother’s favorite by default. An oft-repeated motto of her grandmother’s had been:
Life is short—eat dessert first
. When she’d died at the age of eighty-two, at least she’d had plenty of dessert, Leah thought with a sad smile.

Leah’s grandfather, by contrast, had been a dour man who didn’t like to travel to the next state, much less another country. He’d died of a massive heart attack when Leah was fifteen. Her grandmother had begun to travel only after his death. She had taken Leah on trips to Europe and Asia on several occasions, awakening in Leah the same wanderlust, which had apparently skipped a generation.

Her grandmother hadn’t been able to travel since her stroke, but continued to encourage Leah to do so on her own. Leah had done some volunteer work in Nepal and Nigeria in the summer before law school, but “real life”, as her parents called it, had intervened, putting her dreams of continued world travel on a backburner. When she found herself suddenly with a fortune at her command, she’d decided to take a breather and take her grandmother’s advice.

Truth to tell, though she hadn't admitted it to her parents, who were both attorneys themselves and dead set on Leah following in their footsteps, she had hated law school, every mind numbing, boring second of it. She’d chosen environmental law as her career goal, thinking this sounded sexier and more socially redeeming than the corporate law both her parents practiced. She was still forced to sit through seminars and lectures in which she would suddenly be called on to hold forth on some esoteric topic, pretending she knew what she was talking about and praying she wasn’t making a total ass out of herself. She spent every night slogging through endless case studies, trying to stay awake and figure out the salient points, or cramming for exams.