Escape From Paradise (31 page)

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.

“Thank fuck,” he whispered.

“Hola,” said the shop clerk girl in greeting.

“Uh, yes. Hola. We’ll take one of these.” He ripped a multicolored maxi dress from a hanger and thrust it at me. “Go put it on in the dressing room.”

The woman’s eyes widened.

On the inside I felt frantic and thoroughly confused, I didn’t want any attention drawn that might lead Marco’s men to us. I couldn’t go back there, and I couldn’t watch them kill Mr. Douglas, even if he was just another bad guy. All I wanted was to get far, far away from here.

I cleared my throat and tried to smile at the girl, though I couldn’t keep the slight shake from my voice. “Estamos en nuestra luna de miel y vamos tarde para nuestro barco.”

“Ahh…” Her eyes softened in understanding, but Mr. Douglas looked alarmed, which ratcheted my pulse. Did he think I would turn on him? I needed him to know I was loyal.

“I told her we’re on our honeymoon and we’re late for our boat,” I whispered. He let out a breath. Maybe it was crazy, because I knew nothing about this man, but there was nobody else I’d rather be with in that moment. Even in my terrified state, I felt more secure at his side than I’d ever felt with Marco. When he touched the small of my back in a gently possessive way, I shivered with peace.

The girl cut the tag from the dress to ring it up while I rushed to the dressing room to slip it on. I discarded the hat, but kept the wig on.

They must have called a cab, too, because when I came out Mr. Douglas grasped my hand once again and we ran from the store, all but diving into the back seat.

“Aeropuerto,” Mr. Douglas told the cabbie.

He leaned down and scanned all around the taxi as it drove through the port town. He still hadn’t let go of my hand.

I stared up at him in confusion and wonder. His eyes skipped past my face and came skidding back, blue-gray eyes latching onto mine as his whole body seemed to relax a fraction.

The way he looked at me, searching deep, made my body feel like it was somersaulting. What was it about this man? My new master. I suddenly dropped my eyes, feeling like I’d taken liberties that could get me in trouble. His hand went beneath my chin and lifted my face to his again.

“I’ll explain everything soon, Angela,” he whispered.

My breath stuck in my lungs as he squeezed my hand in his, and went back to surveying our surroundings.

He’d called me Angela. Not Angel.

Angela…

Was he a good guy?

I was afraid to even think it. Afraid to jinx myself. Was it possible? Had this man been sent for me? Despite my inner urges not to jump to any conclusions, the wings of hope opened inside me and soared off a precarious edge.

Flying. Free.

But I had no idea how terrifying a free fall could be. I didn’t know how to land without crashing. My heart flailed, with no sense of direction, and suddenly I no longer wanted this flight of freedom. It was too scary. Oh, God…what was happening to me?

He didn’t know if he’d ever been more relieved in his life than he was when they boarded that small jet and it took to the sky for Scotland. His heart was still beating too hard, and he wished he’d shot Marco Ruiz in the head while he had the chance, to see the man die for himself. Colin was good at disappearing, but it was more than just his own self he had to keep hidden in case Marco’s men tried to find him. The Birch family was not his responsibility, and yet, as he looked down at Angela in the seat next to him, he knew he’d never be able to leave her or her parents vulnerable to those kind of powerful, evil men.

He’d make certain they found somewhere safe to rest their heads. He’d watch over them as long as they’d let him. A moment of guilt seized his gut when he thought of all he’d done to Angela at the villa. Colin wouldn’t blame the girl if she wanted nothing more to do with him. And if her parents found out, they’d probably want to kill him.

He was certain they wouldn’t want him around after he delivered her, and he’d have to respect that.

The problem was, he wanted to stay near her. In fact, the idea of her possible hatred toward him was fucking depressing.

He looked down at Angela again, at her perfectly manicured hands gripping the armrest. Her delicate chin pointed down to her chest. Her closed eyes. Without thought, Colin pulled the black wig from her head, causing her eyes to open wide and look up at him. Her blonde hair was a matted mess underneath, held up by bronze pins. He plucked one out. Angela reached up with trembling hands and helped him. Together they took out all the pins until her hair fell around her shoulders. Her cheeks were still pink from the excitement.

She was beautiful. Colin wanted to say so, but he didn’t feel he had the right. Instead he just stared. When her eyes dropped he realized he was probably making her uncomfortable. But fuck, he couldn’t seem to help himself. He wanted to say something, but the words were a right fucking jumble in his brain.

She saved him the trouble when she whispered down at her hands in her lap. “Maestro?”

She’d called him master. It made his abdomen tighten with a myriad of emotions because he loved and hated the sound of it.

“No, Angela. I’m not your master. You can look at me. And you may speak in English.”

Her head was slow to tilt up, a look of fear and confusion in her eyes.

“But…then, who is my master?”

God, she sounded lost. He reached out and touched her cheek, cupped it in his hand. She didn’t pull away as he feared she might.

“You are your own master now.”