Prologue
Hunter
An internal prison can be worse than a physical one. Outer proof of the shackles doesn't exist. And the thief of your freedom doesn't always appear to the world as a monster. Oftentimes, they are loved and glorified in the spotlight.
But all around you, there are people whose freedom has been stolen. They are right under your nose. But most individuals never look close enough or have the courage to unlock the gates of hell for others.
She's a prisoner in plain sight.
And they all know it. Everyone in that house is aware and does nothing.
For almost two months, I've watched her through the windows of his fortress. The silhouette of her body gives me both comfort and an urgent, desperate feeling that crawls across my flesh and electrifies my bones. During the day, she sits on the balcony, staring out, as if she can see me.
But she can't.
Her prison is glamorous and stately but isolated from the main part of town. Men guard it with machine guns. And the warden who possesses her comes and goes as he pleases. More often these days, he takes her with him to adorn his arm like a prize he wants to show off.
And the entire nation watches as he fusses over her and plays the role of the dutiful fiancé in love.
Fiancé. My stomach pitches. The upcoming nuptials are all over the internet, and every time I see a picture with her standing next to him, and the emptiness in her eyes, my rage bubbles. I have to hold myself back from storming his house.
Rescuing her isn't going to be easy. She's guarded at all times. To the public, it looks like a normal political person's security. But it's not.
His deception may fool the outside world, but I know the truth. Love doesn't involve what he does to her.
He captured and took full possession of her. It was my fault for not protecting her. I let my guard down for one second and that's all it took for me to lose her. I should have listened to my gut. My mistake put her back in a situation she should never have had to go back to.
In the past, she received his mighty blows. Thoughts of what he might have done to her since she's been back with him create a nightmare that spins all day long in my head. And every moment she stays in his control puts her in further danger.
The wrath of his hand resulted in bruises and wounds she hid well in the past. So much could have happened to her, and she silently suffers. There's no one there for her to run to. Not one person who will go against him to help save her. They are all her enemies. Last time, she didn't know it. But the error of her judgement was a lesson she told me she would never forget. We were together in the jungle when she disclosed what happened, and that was the moment I knew that I would someday kill Carlos Garcia.
Some days, she sits on the balcony with tears flowing freely down her cheeks, softly sobbing. Witnessing her distress causes a sharp pain to reverberate in my heart.
I'm coming to get you, Flower, I tell her in my mind every night as she stands for hours, looking out into the dark sky.
But tonight is the last night I'll promise her that. Tomorrow, she'll wake up, and there will no doubt be a team of people fussing over her. Her hair and makeup will be done to perfection. They will help her put on the wedding dress designed for her and sewn at record speed.
Anyone of importance in Belize will attend the ceremony. They will all be ready to celebrate the joining of two souls in a prominent, Roman Catholic wedding.
Except he has no soul, and hers will never be his. He may have physical possession of her, but her soul is entwined with mine. And after tonight, his time on this earth will end.
The gates of hell are full of fire and ready to welcome him. If I could watch him burn for eternity, I would.
After tonight, she will once again be mine.
1
Vanessa
Three Months Earlier
Chains dig deep into my wrists and ankles. The scabs and bruises I have never go away. One area begins to heal only as another one develops.
How long have I been with them?
When the guerrillas first captured me, I counted the nights.
But then they transported me, and my head was covered. The journey seemed to last forever. So I lost track sometime after day sixty. Was I traveling for three days or five? I couldn't be sure, and the one time I asked, I paid the price with a swift slap to my face. After that, I never asked another question.
The irony of that blow was that I knew better. The men hold the same beliefs as my fiancé, Carlos Garcia.
He's not my fiancé because I want to marry him. He's my fiancé because I have no other choice.
Now that I'm with the guerrillas, that's one issue I don't have to worry about. Guess there is always a bright side to everything.
Until he finds me.
I shudder at the thought of going back to Carlos. My current reality of prison is much better than being under his thumb. With the guerrillas, at least it's clear to all that I am not free, even if it is only with the ruthless men who use me as a tool against Carlos.
Months have passed. Has it been a year or longer?
Is anyone besides Carlos looking for me? He surely is, but what about the others?
There are no more others. Carlos made sure that every person close to me was cast out of my life.
I blink away the tears of my reality and stare at my battered wrists.
In the first few weeks of my capture, my body ached from the pain of the chains and the rough conditions of the jungle. But after a while, my body grew used to the harsh conditions. The numbing pain where I'm shackled comes and goes now. Sometimes, I'm so used to wearing them I forget they are there.
I've learned how to move around in them out of necessity. When the guerrillas say we're moving to a new camp, we sometimes walk for hours through the dense jungle. My skin, once like porcelain, is now full of scratches and caked in dirt.
When I'm allowed to bathe, I always feel better after. But the process of being unclothed by the men and stared at while naked creates anxiety within me.
But I control my anxiety better than when I was with Carlos.
They've not sexually forced themselves on me. Every day, I fear they will. Several of the men give me looks that make my skin crawl, whether I'm clothed or not, but the same three men take turns guarding me. For whatever reason, they don't allow anyone to come too close. It's a false feeling of protection they give me. I mentally know it, but it still gives me a sense of safety from the others, whom I fear the most.
The rut I've fallen in is a new normal for me. I realize how fully I've allowed myself to acclimate to my new environment when the loud rumble of an approaching engine pulls my attention toward the area where the leaders of the guerrillas reside.
Twisting in my stomach tightens into knots. I'm not sure why. But I can't shake the dread that something terrible is going to happen.
Three men get out of the vehicle.
Time seems to move slowly. I sit on the ground and stare at the men. They aren't guerrillas. At least, I don't think they are. They don't wear the same military-style uniform the guerrillas do.
There's a conversation going on and an exchange of something. I believe it's money.
The leader of the guerrillas shouts in Spanish, "Bring her!"
Chills fill my body even though the sun is so hot I'm sweating.