Cristiano feels years away. Me in the house on the island, in that cell, and then upstairs. At his table, in his bed. Noah. Cerberus wagging his tail, so happy to see me. It’s like none of that exists now.
“Who are you?” a creaky voice asks in the darkness.
I blink, look around to locate the woman speaking. I find her on the opposite end of the mattress nearest me. There are three others sleeping between us.
“Why can’t they touch you?” she asks, and I hear resentment in her words.
“I…” how do I answer?
“He called you a cartel whore. I heard him. Are you with them? The Cartel?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Then why didn’t he touch you? You don’t have the mark.”
“What mark?”
She lifts the wrist of one of the sleeping girls. A younger one. She shows me the mark made by what looks to be a black sharpie. Just an X.
“What is it?”
She drops the girl’s wrist. “Virgin. They get more for the virgins. Crew can’t fuck the virgins but the rest of us are fair game.”
“They’ll sell them?”
“What did you think they’d do?”
That was a stupid question now that I think about it.
“And they’ll sell us. All of us. Well, maybe not you.”
I try to ignore the hate in her voice. I can’t blame her. “When? How?”
“You tell me, Cartel girl.”
“I don’t know. I’m not with them.” I feel like Peter denying that he knows Jesus. “Didn’t you see what he did to me?”
“Show me your wrists.”
“I can’t.” I turn a little so she can see my arms are bound even though she already knows.
She turns her face and spits. “I know there’s no mark. You’re one of them. You did something to the Italian but what they do to us is still worse.”
I know it is. I don’t say anything but lower my gaze.
“Who are you?” she asks again.
“I’m no one.”
There’s a sound then, an engine. Both of our gazes flick to the window where a light shines in, waking some of the others before it’s gone again.
Someone hoots and the sound of men’s boots on the deck grows louder. I hear muffled words. This man is loud, though. He speaks first in Spanish then English. I can tell he’s talking to Marcus, because Marcus doesn’t speak Spanish. He didn’t pick up a single word in all the years he worked with my brothers. Refused to because he’s an arrogant fuck.
“Just fucking found it. I’m going to kill that old man,” he says, and he sounds pissed.
“Get the girls,” another man says as our door opens.
The women who were somehow still sleeping are startled awake now. There’s an audible gasp as men enter the room.
“Let’s go,” the big one says, grabbing the arm of the woman closest to him and hauling her roughly to her feet.
Other men follow him in. The women don’t move fast enough apparently because most have to be dragged out. I don’t see Marcus at first, but I can hear him outside still talking to the other man in English.
The girl beside me lets the jacket slip as she stands. Guilt twists my belly when she meets my eyes only momentarily. I can’t tell if the look is embarrassed or accusing. I have no words to comfort her either way, so I remain silent.
I’m trying to stand but the boat is rocking with all the movement. Between the rocking, the pain of Marcus’s punishment, and my arms bound behind me, I can’t get up without help.
Lou leers at me when he comes to haul me up. I can see he’s hard again. I wonder if it’s the memory of Marcus’s assault on the girl or my beating that’s got him aroused.
“Get off me!” I twist free as soon as I’m up. When he tries to grab me again, I smash my head into his nose. I know he’ll hurt me for it, but I can’t not fight. I can’t let him take me and all these women like this.
“Fucking whore,” he says, his grip still too tight even as he’s dazed.
“Let’s go,” Marcus yells. When he sees it’s only us in the room, he stops. “Is she giving you trouble, Lou?”
“I think the fucking bitch broke my nose.”
“Not the first time it’s been broken from the look of you,” I say. It is bleeding but I don’t think it’s actually broken. Too bad.
Lou turns, raising his arm to strike.
“Whoa,” Marcus catches his wrist, eyes locked on mine. “I got her,” he says. “Go make sure the others don’t give our men any trouble.”
“Fine.”
Marcus keeps hold of me as Lou walks out of the room.
“You know, sea is pretty rough. Could be you hit your head against the wall in transport,” he says, taking me by the back of my hair and rushing me toward the wall.
He smashes my head against the metal wall of the room and for a moment, I see stars. But he tugs me upright again, my ears still ringing.
“Or maybe you fall fucking overboard,” he threatens as he walks me to the door.
“He’ll kill you,” I warn but I don’t know who he is or if he would.
Marcus stops just outside and turns to me. “Maybe it’ll be worth it.”
I see the lights in the distance before he does. I don’t hear anything though because the screams of women as they’re forced from one boat to another as the rocky sea looms beneath them, muffles the sound of its approach.
But Marcus sees my face and turns to look in the same direction.
“Fuck!”
He shifts his grip to my arm and drags me across the deck toward the other boat. We’re running but it’s slippery and I’m resisting as much as I can.
He doesn’t seem to care though. If he has to drag my body along the deck of the boat, he will, and I know it.
The fast-approaching boat shines a huge light on us. We stop and I squint my eyes against the light. I see the glint of metal in Marcus’s hand as he raises his arm to shield his eyes.
“Marcus! Let’s fucking go!” someone calls out from the other boat as our boat rocks with the weight of men coming on board. I can’t see who they are for the spotlight, but I hear them speaking Italian.
“Rinaldi!” comes Cristiano’s thunderous voice and for a moment, it’s like time stops. Like we’re frozen in time as he comes into view. The light too bright behind him, showing only his outline. Making him look like a giant. An angel. A god.
“Fucking boyfriend is stupid as fuck,” Marcus says calmly to me.
My relief is short-lived. I know I’m not rescued just yet.
Not when Marcus presses the pistol to my temple.
5
Cristiano
“Not who you expected to see?” Marcus Rinaldi asks but the words don’t make sense.
The crew found the tracker not fifteen minutes ago. I know because the signal went dead, but we followed the dimly bobbing light in the distance.
It’s the first time I’ve seen Marcus Rinaldi in person since the night he murdered my family.
He’s older now. A little softer around the middle, a little more worn, but by no means not a threat.