“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 Espa?ol, 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.