Secrets and Scars: A Gripping Psychological Thriller (Fatal Hearts Series Book 3) (8 page)

Whether he planned to kill or save us, we had no choice but to do as we were told.

“Faster,” he said, and we picked up pace.

We soon reached the group of huts we’d seen from a distance.

Three men sat on white plastic chairs in front of one of the huts, playing cards. They looked up as we approached. One of them, a bald, skinny man, rose to his full height. From where we stood, he looked taller than the hut. One of the sitting men handed him a rifle.

“Put it down,
Rodell,” our captor
instructed. The willowy man obeyed, sank back down. They stared at us for a moment and then went back to their cards.

The moment we came to a halt, close to an unlit fireplace, a woman exited one of the larger huts, followed by a little girl who looked about three years old. The woman was beautiful, with blonde hair in a long braid swept to one side of her neck. Around her slim figure she wore a brown wrap dress, and no shoes. The little girl was an exact replica of her. Some of the tension in my body melted away at the presence of another woman.

Be careful. Don’t forget what happened the last time you trusted another woman.

I ignored the little voice. These people could be our last shot.

I’d follow Owen’s lead. If he ended up trusting them, so would I.

“Who are these people?” the woman asked in a German accent as she hurried toward us. “Why are you pointing a gun at them?”

“I found them on the land. They say they need help.”

“And you want to help them by threatening them?” She went to stand between us and the gun, hands on her hips. The little girl ran to
Rodell
. He scooped her up and placed her on his lap.

Our captor lowered his gun and carried out a low conversation with the woman.

The woman dropped her hands to her sides and turned to look at us, her long eyelashes shading her dark eyes.

“My husband says you’re in danger? Is that true?”

I nodded. “My husband… He’s trying to kill me.” I wouldn’t tell them that the man we were running from might be dead—that had to wait until they trusted us enough to offer help. “He was holding me prisoner on his yacht for days. He abused me.”

“Mein Gott!!” She placed a hand on her chest. As her husband had done before, her gaze traveled up and down my body as though looking for signs of the torture.

She turned to her husband. “They don’t look dangerous to me. Follow me,” she said, turning back to us. Then she hurried away.

On instinct, my eyes went to her husband. I expected him to stop us.

“You heard her.” He swung the gun and followed his wife. The little girl disentangled herself from Rodell and ran after our captor.

They led us into one of the round huts, which looked much bigger on the inside.

“Have a seat.” The woman waved at six chairs that framed a long rectangular table with short, stumpy legs. “My name is Ingrid.” She touched the man’s arm. “This is my husband, Jeordi Lafontaine.” She stretched out her hand to shake ours. “You look like you haven’t eaten for days. Let’s get you some food, and then you can tell us exactly what happened.”

Tears clogged my throat as my hand touched hers. “My name is Chloe. We are so grateful for your help.”

Jeordi, who was looking a little friendlier than he had earlier, leaned forward and shook Owen’s hand. “You never know who to trust these days. Most strangers are not who they say they are.”

“I’m Owen. You can trust us.”

“My wife is a good judge of character. I hope she’s right about you.” He ran his fingers through the little girl’s thick curls. “This is our daughter, Anna.”

“Hello, Anna. I’m Owen.” Owen smiled at the child and then Jeordi. “I promise we won’t bring you any trouble.”

I silently prayed he was right.

Chapter Sixteen

Jeordi walked back into the hut carrying a clear jug of water and two chipped mugs. Ingrid followed with a bowl of rice buried in meat and vegetable sauce. The moment the aroma met my nostrils, my mouth watered.

While Jeordi poured each of us a mug of water, Ingrid handed us spoons and lowered the bowl to the table. It seemed we’d be eating straight from it.

“We’ll find a way to repay you one day.” Owen took a swig of his water.

“Don’t worry about anything.” Ingrid sat and crossed her legs. “Eat first. We can talk later.”

I smiled as I lifted my mug to my lips. The water was cool and refreshing on my tongue. My body felt like a flower, unfurling with life with each drop that slid down my throat. I tried to stop myself from drinking too fast, but my thirst was stronger than my willpower. Jeordi refilled our mugs, and I emptied mine again quickly. When I reached for the jug, ready for another refill, Jeordi let out a throaty chuckle.

“You might want to slow down.” He reached into his pockets, pulled out a strip of gum, and unwrapped it. “Leave some space in there for the food.” The gum disappeared into his mouth.

“You’re right.” Heat spread through my cheeks as I placed the mug next to the water jug. “We haven’t had anything for a while.”

“We want to hear your story.” Ingrid handed Owen the bowl of food. “But please, have something to eat.”

I dipped my spoon in the food and scooped up a healthy serving of the rice and meat.

The heavenly herbs, spices, and oil danced on my tongue. I closed my eyes briefly to better enjoy the flavors.

Jeordi placed a hand on his wife’s thigh while they both watched Anna drawing invisible shapes on the table. Their love came across as pure and strong. Watching them, feeling their love, brought a lump to my throat. I longed for what they had: a family, a child, a love that wasn’t poisonous. Would I ever have that? I looked back down at my food and continued to eat, swallowing past the lump. Owen’s eyes were on me. I could guess what he was thinking. But I couldn’t look up, couldn’t give him hope.

“There are three kinds of men I don’t like,” Jeordi said, after we had finished our food and had more to drink. He looked straight at Owen as he spoke. “Men who lie, men who beat women, and men who sleep with other men’s wives.”

Ingrid turned to Chloe. “What my husband wants to know is whether you are cheating on your husband with Owen. Is that what made your husband so angry, why he wants to kill you?”

I shook my head. “He was my fiancé when we got on the yacht. We had planned to elope. We did; we got married the same day. But that night,” I swallowed hard. “That night he became somebody else… a monster.” I folded my hands in my lap and looked down at them. A tear plopped onto my skin. I wanted to go on, but it was so hard to return to the yacht, even in my mind.

Pull yourself together. These people want to help you.

I lifted my gaze again and told them as much of the story as I could, leaving out some of the more gory details.

Most of my story focused on the present, but I
did
tell them a bit about my childhood encounters with Alvin, that he was punishing me now because of things I did to him in the past. I refrained from going into too much detail, though. The last thing I wanted was for them to decide it was my own damn fault—even if it was—and choose not to help. I told them the events that took place on the yacht: the torture, the rape, and my failed attempt to escape in Haiti. Owen interjected occasionally, helping me out when it got to be too much.

I ended the story with how I had pushed Alvin into the caldera.

“You didn’t marry a man.” Jeordi got to his feet. “You married a monster.”

“Yes,” Owen said. “And if he survived that fall into the caldera, he will not quit until he kills us both. I need help protecting Chloe.”

Ingrid, whose eyes had been closed the entire time I spoke, pulled Anna into her arms, a mother hen protecting her chick. “No woman deserves to be treated that way. Wir müssen helfen.”

“I apologize.” Jeordi sat back down. “My wife speaks German when something shocks her. She says we must help you.”

I rubbed my palms on my knees. “But we’ll respect your decision if you decide not to—”

“And live with your deaths on my conscience?” He picked up his rifle, rested it on his knee. “A man who hurts a woman is the devil himself.” He glanced at Owen. “You’re brave for stepping in to help her.”

Owen inched forward in his chair. He twisted his body to face me. “I’m not the type of man who tries to take another man’s wife. But I won’t lie to you. I love her; I’ve loved her since the first time we met. Saving her comes naturally to me.”

His words formed a delicate thread between us, strengthening our connection.

“You’ve been so kind to us. I feel bad asking for anything more than what you’ve already given. My yacht is not too far from here. We just need a little more food and water for our journey there.”

Jeordi leaned forward, his brow creased with worry. “This is what we’re going to do. I suggest you stay here tonight to get your energy back. You’re safe here.” He tightened his grip on the gun. “If he steps one foot on my land, he’s a dead man.” He chewed his gum silently for a moment. “If you are ready to continue tomorrow, I’ll personally escort you to the yacht. In the meantime, my men and I will go and have a look around to see if he’s still alive.”

“I don’t know what to say.” I pressed my palm to my chest. “You’re so kind. We’ll take your offer.”

Owen placed a hand on my knee. “Chloe, are you sure about this?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “We need a break. I don’t think I can go on without proper rest. Exhaustion makes us easy targets.” My stomach rolled at the thought of having to spend another night in the jungle. Jeordi and Ingrid were offering their help freely, expecting nothing in return, unlike Miera and her brother.

My gaze slid to Owen’s feet. “It’s not a bad idea to rest that ankle either.”

Jeordi cleared his throat. “Once you’re off my land, I’m afraid I won’t be able to protect you.”

Owen nodded. “The decision is made, then. We’re staying.”

Chapter Seventeen

An hour had passed since we accepted Jeordi and Ingrid’s kindness. After Jeordi and his men—except for Rodell, who stayed back to watch over us—left to look out for Alvin, Ingrid tended to our needs.

As promised, she provided us with water to wash ourselves inside the hut that served as a bathroom, and gave Owen a pair of Jeordi’s jeans and a faded t-shirt. He chose not to wear shoes, as Ingrid had bandaged his ankle.

The green-and-brown patterned wrap dress Ingrid gave me was more than just a cover. It was a new layer of safety and comfort.

Clean and refreshed, my newfound strength brought me closer to feeling normal again.

Ingrid had been horrified at the healing wounds on my back and spat out a string of German curse words as she helped me dress. I couldn’t hold back the tears when she asked me to tell her more about what had happened to me on the yacht. Her genuine kindness drew me in, and I told her more, going deeper into my childhood, tearing my invisible wounds open for her to see the extent of the damage. She did not judge, but simply drew me in a hug.

“You’ve paid enough for your mistakes. You’ve paid enough.”

***

Dusk fell, and Jeordi and his men still had not shown up. For a flicker of a moment, I worried that the same thing that had happened to me in Haiti would repeat itself, that Jeordi would show up with Alvin. Or worse, that Alvin had hurt them.

“I hope they’re okay,” I said as I helped Ingrid remove clothes from a clothesline.

“Don’t worry about them.” Ingrid dropped a bed sheet into a woven basket. “I’m sure they’ve stopped somewhere to play. Men can be like kids sometimes. And the farm is big, they could have gone far.”

Anna’s giggles floated on the wind and reached us. A smile tugged at my lips as I glanced at her, sitting at the entrance of the dining hut playing rock, paper, scissors with Owen. He’d make a great dad one day. My heart squeezed at the thought.

I returned my attention to Ingrid with a forced smile.

“How long have you had this farm for?” A few minutes ago, Owen had reminded me that we were not here to ask questions, but Ingrid was so kind and open, I couldn’t help but be open in return.

“A couple of years. We’re actually from Germany, although Jeordi is half German, half Jamaican. We only come to the farm several times a year to check on the plants.” She lifted the basket, motioned for me to follow her. “We grow the cannabis for research and medicinal purposes.”

“Oh.” It surprised me that she answered the question I had not dared to ask. “That’s interesting.”

I followed her into the hut I knew to be their bedroom. Like the dining hut, it, too, was sparsely furnished, with nothing but a single chair, a large mattress on the floor, and a small table covered with cosmetics. Since the sun was setting, the hut was a little dim, but not so dim we could not see.

“Please have a seat.” Ingrid started folding clothes but then suddenly stopped, scrunching one of Anna’s dresses in her grasp. “We had a son, Andy. He died when he was ten from Sudden Unexpected Death in Epilepsy.” She continued folding the clothes, her face turned away from me. “We found out later that cannabis could have helped cure his epilepsy.”

“I’m sorry.” I stood and went to place a hand on her back, returning the comfort she had given me earlier. “I’m so sorry.”

She gave a deep sigh, wiped her eyes on the clothes she had in her hands, and turned to me with a smile. “Since the death of our son, Jeordi changed his medical career from a medical doctor, to a doctor who believes in the healing powers of nature. We work with several research organizations around the world. Our son didn’t survive, but maybe we’ll be able to save someone else’s child.” She reached for a pillowcase. “Coming to the farm and living simply for a few weeks is always refreshing.”