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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The night is even more amazing than the afternoon. The restaurant Miguel takes me to has a private dining terrace just for us and the cook prepares a special meal of anything we like. Since I don't really know much about South American cuisine, I go with Miguel's suggestions. The steak is soft, like butter, with just the right amount of garlic, cooked medium rare the way I like it, and melts on my tongue. Miguel keeps the red wine flowing; by the time I finish dessert, I'm tipsy and have a hiccup.
Stumbling down the path to the Jeep, I lean into him. Giggles bubble out of me until my breath fails me. It makes Miguel laugh. Everything jumps at me through a fuzzy fog and the swishing blood in my ears echoes hollowly in my head. The Jeep starts to roll and the world swims out of focus; then everything turns black. When I awake in the morning, I have no idea how I got back to my room. My mouth and tongue are laced with a foul taste. The pain in my head is even worse, my brain ready to explode at any second.
To my surprise, Miguel has taken up camp in Raine's old bed. He looks distressed as he fights with the blanket in his sleep, his torso covered in sweat. I lower myself next to him and stroke his shoulder. He wakes up with a startle. For a moment, he blinks at me with distant eyes before his gaze becomes more focused.
"Bad dream?" I try not to speak in his direction because of possible morning breath.
He smooths his tousled hair with his fingertips, his gaze avoiding mine. "I'm used to it." Jumping out of bed, he pulls his shirt over his head.
I briefly catch sight of his scars. "What happened to your back?"
He clenches his jaw so tightly I'm afraid it will break but still manages to force a smile on his lips. "It's nothing." When I frown, he catches my hands and pulls them to his lips. "It was a long time ago and I don't like to talk about it."
Fair enough. The source of those scars must be a horrific memory, and I'm not eager to start off the day on the wrong foot.
He glances at the clock hanging above the door. "We should get some breakfast."
My stomach is tight and I'm nauseous, the thought of food almost making me gag. "I think I had too much to drink last night."
"Yeah, I guess that last bottle was a little much. I don't feel so hot myself." His smile is a little sheepish. "The cook up at the mansion makes a killer hangover breakfast. We should go there."
I like the idea. When I first arrived, the mansion had fascinated me, and I wouldn't mind exploring it some more. Maybe we could even use the pool. "Should I bring my bathing suit?"
"Not today. I have some business up in the mountains and want to show you the countryside. Maybe we can stop by my nana's."
"Your nana?"
"My grandma." He gives me a playful smack on my behind. "Get ready and don't forget your sunscreen lotion. Otherwise, you'll burn up in the mountains."
I'm looking forward to the day and slip into shorts and a tank top, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. My bathroom break takes less than ten minutes, mostly to brush my teeth and get the nasty taste of alcohol out of my mouth. When I get back to my room, Miguel is on the phone, his forehead wrinkled in tension as he yells something into the receiver.
