Escape From Paradise (18 page)

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 call 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.

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.”