Fernando shakes his head slowly. “There is only one more rule, Mr. Garrett, and it’s a simple one to follow. I do not allow anybody in this household to interact with my daughter on a romantic, flirtatious or sexual level. She is a brilliant and smart woman, but she is not worldly wise. She does not realize people here would take advantage of her given half the chance. This is why I must insist that you only speak with her if Ocho is present, or some other member of the household staff.”
Damn. No speaking to Natalia without a chaperone? I mean, he’s filled this bizarre mansion out in the middle of the forest with twenty to thirty sexual deviants and criminals. He needs to warn them off his daughter, especially when those motherfuckers are the kind of guys to take what they want without asking. I get that. But she’s a grown-ass woman. She’s twenty-six or twenty-seven. She should be able to make her own decisions for herself. This is my liberal American brain talking, though. And Natalia has not grown up in a liberal American environment.
“I won’t talk to her without someone present,” I tell him.
“Good. And try not to curse in front of her, Mr. Garrett. The last man who used profanity in front of Natalia was severely punished.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I cut out his tongue with a blunt knife. Now he can never make that mistake again.”
On the other side of the open office door, Ocho shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. So that explains that, then.
“My men will be by your room later on this evening to collect your fifty-thousand-dollar collateral, if that is convenient with you? I would be grateful if you would please remain in your assigned room until that time, please? A number of players from the blue room are being released this afternoon, and I would hate for any of William’s friends to run into you in the hallways. Just as I have not punished you for your indiscretions, Mr. Garrett, it would also be very hard for me to punish them for theirs should they decide to follow in your footsteps.”
“And Plato?”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Garrett. You will see Plato again soon, I am sure of it.”
******
My bedroom is luxurious and way more than I was expecting. Dark, slate-gray drapes hang from high windows, and the bedclothes, also slate-gray, match the thick, rich rug that covers the polished floorboards. I have an en suite bathroom—clean towels, and tiny little bottles of body wash and shampoo stacked in a glass bowl beside a huge shower. I’ve stayed in plenty of five star hotel rooms that weren’t anywhere near as nice.
Five star hotel rooms don’t generally come with video surveillance, though. I spend an hour going over the place with a fine-tooth comb, searching every piece of furniture and picture frame, the light fittings and the air vents until I’m satisfied that there’s nothing in here. Looks like Fernando only watches over the common areas of the house, along with the party room. At least I can keep my own privacy here.
I kick off my boots and my clothes, stretching, revelling in the freedom of being naked. It’s three thirty in the afternoon—quite an eventful day thus far. I take a long, blisteringly hot shower, scrubbing the dirt from my body, and once I’m done I dry myself off and crash out on the massive bed that takes up a considerable portion of the room. I don’t mean to sleep. I don’t even mean to close my eyes, but the next thing I know, it’s dark out of the windows overlooking the rear of the property, and a weird, cold sensation is prickling across my still-bare skin.
My heart steps up the pace, sending my pulse skyrocketing upward. Something isn’t right. It’s dark, but I can feel it—eyes on me, eyes traveling over my body. There’s someone in the fucking room with me. I sit up at the same time they strike.
“Get his legs! Get his fucking legs!”
Hands claw and grab at me; I can’t tell how many men are in the room with me, but there are more than I can fight off. And they’re fucking strong. I’m surrounded by American accents, which is weird. I try to wrestle myself free from the men that are holding onto my arms, thrashing my legs to prevent more of them from taking hold of me by the ankles, but it’s a futile struggle. It feels like there are two guys per limb, holding me down, and I can’t fight against those odds. Not naked and unprepared as I am. I still give it a fucking good try, though.
“Goddamn. Fuck! He kicked me in the balls.”
“Quit fucking around, Art. Just get the fucking job done already.”
“I’m trying! Ahh, Jesus, I’m gonna throw up.”
I lash out, trying to connect with someone else, with something vital and delicate, but they’ve got me now. “What the fuck are you doing?” I snarl. “Get your fucking hands off me.”
A light switches on in the bathroom, followed by a small lamp on the table beside the bed, and a soft, warm glow fills the room. Not much light, but enough that I can make out the crowd of men kneeling on my bed, holding me down. I can see plainly enough the tall, redheaded guy standing in the doorway, wearing a black suit with a white button-down underneath, surveying the scene with distaste. He steps inside my bedroom, pulling the door closed behind him.
“Well, this is messy,” he says. “I thought I said ask him if you could search his belongings?”