Trafficked -- Beaten -- Trapped
When eighteen-year-old Stacy Degray sets off to visit Felipe, a charming guy she met on the internet, she has no idea that she is being lured to his home country Malaguay to be auctioned off as a soldier's bride. All...
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A fuse in the ancient air conditioner has blown again, allowing the hot, stale air in the small room to stifle its occupants. Leaning back in his chair, Felipe wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. A sweltering draft floats through the cracks in the broken window frame.
Hijo de puta.
Why does Miguel make him use the computer in the main compound? Felipe could be sitting by the pool at the mansion with the laptop, enjoying a cold drink, but of course that's not acceptable to his cousin. No clue why Miguel consistently seems pissed off at him, although it has always been that way.
Across the desk, Ramon lights a cigarette and takes a deep drag, letting the smoke escape through the corners of his mouth. "How is it going?"
"I've got three possibilities, two Americans and one German. How 'bout you?" Felipe grabs the pack of Camels off the table and sticks a cigarette between his lips. Striking the match on the sole of his shoe, he holds the flame under the cigarette tip. As he inhales, the nicotine lulls his mind and takes the edge off his frazzled nerves.
Ramon grins. "I just got shots of a redhead in a bikini. Come check her out."
He doesn't have to ask twice; soon, both men are huddled over the computer screen.
"Wow, she's hot." Felipe clears his throat to distract himself from the pull in his pants. "Where's she from?"
"Ireland." Ramon takes another drag. "She's coming over next month."
A small whistle escapes Felipe. "Congrats, mano. She your first recruit?"
"Yep." The smoke from the cigarettes hangs over the musty room, robbing it of the last bit of oxygen. Ramon coughs into his fist. "She's being matched with Tomás. He's a lucky dog."
Felipe smirks. Lucky us. As is his best friend, Tomás and he have always shared their possessions. The redhead looks promising. In times like these, he loves his job. Recruiting foreign girls to match them with high-ranking soldiers sure beats dodging the bullets that fly around in active battle.
Ramon extinguishes the cigarette and cups his hands behind his head. "When do you think I'll be matched?"
"No clue. Talk to Miguel."
Ramon's lips twist as if he just swallowed something nasty. "You know how moody he is. I don't want to get on his nerves by asking him when I finally get to score."
Felipe nudges his shoulder. "I'll ask him for you."
"Thanks, mano." The usual easy-going grin is back on Ramon's face.
