Cash
I make sure she is safely settled in and she isn’t even aware of my surveillance. I am already regretting my decision to have her stay at the doctor’s home but there is really no way around it. The only way she is going to be able to be my eyes and ears is to be in that house. No one is going to think anything of an American being there for language classes. It’s a good plan but I still miss having her in my arms.
The thought of cornering her in some alley and fucking her brains out when she least expects it brings a smile to my face. I settle in to read her journal. If I can’t have her, I’ll settle for the next best thing—her thoughts in the form of words.
Rhonda would get a job in a club and it never failed that the owner would fall in love with her. Beauty was the only thing that my Mother had given us and the only thing that she ever would. Until the day of her death, her life left a wake of destruction. She never gave back and everything that she touched, she ruined. Had it not been for the grace of God, she would have all but consumed me. In the end, she did consume my sister. Rhonda would never overcome the trauma that she had endured as a child and it would literally be the death of her.
From the time Rhonda woke up in the morning, until she passed out at night, she was drugged in one way or another. Nothing helped though. No matter how many drugs she did, nothing erased the pain of what my Mother had allowed to happen to her. The pedophile had left his mark and my Mother had ensured it scarred even deeper when she didn’t believe Rhonda. My sister had gone to her and told her what he was doing, expecting protection only to be turned away. It was the ultimate betrayal and Rhonda would never recover from it. She carried the pain of what had happened to her from the first time she suffered, as well as the second, third, fourth and so on.
Her thoughts jump around in a choppy mishmash and I know enough to deduce the entries are from different dates. I also know that, at the time Johnnie wrote these entries, her brain was more than likely a jumbled mass of confusion. It’s enough; I don’t need organization. I need to get in her psyche and the journal is enabling me to do so. I continue reading.
I could hear Bucky’s tirade in the bedroom as he screamed at his wife, smashing an ashtray against the wall and shattering it.
“What the hell do you mean she doesn’t want to turn a trick,” he screamed at his wife. “Where is the damn john?”
“He is in the bedroom, putting his clothes on to leave,” she answered him.
I was scared but I can have a sarcastic streak and I thought, ‘Well I guess I killed the mood.’ I knew I was in trouble with Bucky but I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t bring myself to sleep with that man for money. I have always been an open book and faking it is not in my nature. The man had seen the disgust in my face and said, “You don’t want to do this. I can tell and you are no turn on for me.” Once again, my sarcastic nature and my big mouth had gotten me in trouble. “You are damn straight I don’t want to,” I said as I made my way out the door. Well, needless to say, that was when the proverbial shit hit the fan. I stood in the hallway and looked at the door, debating escape options as I listened to Bucky’s insulting tirade continue. ‘This is not good. Oh shit, this is not good,’ I thought. To this day, I still cannot tell you how I steered clear of an ass whipping that night, but I did. Little did I know I would pay the very next day.
We all went to work the next night as if nothing happened. It was when we got home that Bucky blindsided me.
“Sit down, Johnnie.” He motioned toward a chair at the dining room table. As soon as I sat down, the doorbell rang and Bucky’s wife went to answer it. A man walked in and seated himself at the table. He introduced himself as the bail bondsman that Bucky had used to get me out of jail when a raid hit one of the bars where we worked. Yes, you heard me right. I had been locked up at 13 years old. I used Rhonda’s old license as ID to get out of jail but in Bucky’s eyes, he had paid for it. I don’t quite see things the way that others do at times and I am very quick to let them know.
“Well, how do you figure you paid for it, Bucky, when I give you every dime I make working?” I ask. I have always been willful, had a tad of a temper, and definitely had some fight in me. Right now, those attributes were overriding any fear that I might have felt.
Bucky leaned in with clenched teeth and hissed, “Let me tell you something, little girl. The money that you make doesn’t even begin to cover what I spend to keep you up.”
Suddenly, the bail bondsman pulled out a gun and pointed it at me.
‘Oh shit,’ I thought, ‘This changes things.’
“That was my money that was put up and don’t even think about skipping town!” the bondsman hissed in my direction.
Bucky looked at me with a sly look. “I want you here so I guess that means you are staying, little girl.”
I know that it sounds strange but Bucky and I bonded that night. Nobody had ever wanted me that bad and even though it was a threat, I knew that a part of him loved me and was not going to let me leave…
I could feel myself shaking I was so pissed. This guy, Bucky was nothing more than a fucking pedophile. I promised myself right then and there that if I ever got my hands on him, I’d kill him for doing that to my woman.
There was another emotion I was feeling and I couldn’t shake it. I was jealous. I was jealous that she openly admitted she had bonded with that monster. I hated him for deceiving her and I hated him for the fact that he misled her into believing she had bonded with him.
This new information only confirmed what I already knew… she wasn’t able to bond with people under normal circumstances. I had done the right thing when I forced her into my home. I knew I would need to keep an eye on her not only for her physical safety, but for her emotional safety as well. I’ll be damned if I am ever going to let her bond with another man. I want her in my arms and I damn sure miss her being in my bed. I can’t ever remember a time I have missed any woman but I sure as hell miss her. My arms ache for her. We have barely started and I already want this job to be over so I can have her back in my bed where she belongs.
I jump up and throw on some jogging pants and a t-shirt. I feel the need to go and make sure she’s okay. I also feel the need to pin her ass down to take her body and why wait? I don’t want to fucking wait anymore. I miss her and I need to have her now.
Johnnie
My eyes snap open, instantly terrified when I can’t breathe. Cash stands over me with a sinister look in his eyes. He leans down and whispers in my ear, “Breath play? I own the very air you breathe. Now, be a good girl and don’t scream when I take my hand away.”
I frantically nod my head. I need to breathe. As soon as his hand lifts, my slap stings his five o’ clock shadowed face. One corner of his lip lifts in amusement as he leers at me. He quickly pulls me to the end of the bed by my ankles and removes my underwear from beneath my gown. He tears at the jogging pants he’s wearing, pulling them down roughly. I watch as his hard cock springs free in a threatening manner. My resistance is turning him on and I am turned on fighting him.
“From now on, you better wear fucking pants to bed. I don’t want anyone seeing that tight ass, little body of yours but me. Oh, and don’t sleep with your window open.”
He slams his cock into my opening, which causes my upper body to jolt up off the bed in a mixture of pain and pleasure.
“Oh fuck, Cash.”
He slows his movements and stares into my face like he’s pissed at me for some unknown reason. His words confirm how angry and possessive he’s feeling tonight. “You’re mine and I’ll be damned if you’ll be bonding to anyone but me.”
“I don’t want anyone else.”
His fingers pluck through the gown I’m wearing at my nipples, pulling, pinching and tweaking. My attempt to place my hands between my legs and stimulate my clit makes him slap my hand away. He pops his hand over my clit, smacking at it hard. The pain causes my core to clench as an orgasm begins to build.
“You aren’t
allowed to touch yourself without my permission anymore. Your orgasms belong to me now.”
“Please let me come. Fuck, I’m going to explode.”
“Give it to me, girl. I want to watch that beautiful face of yours in ecstasy.”
My pussy locks around his throbbing cock as we both go over the edge together. He lies down beside me and strokes the hair from my face as he speaks.
“I miss you.”
“I miss you too, baby. Let’s get done with this job and go back home so we can be together.”
I am doing something I have never been able to do up until now. I am bonding with the man who had taken me captive for the sole purpose of saving me from myself.
Chapter Eleven
Johnnie
I wake up the next morning with thoughts of Cash and him sneaking in my window the night before on my mind. One thing’s for sure, he’s damn good at his job. I was starting to wonder if he was even in Guatemala. His movements were so stealth, I hadn’t even been sure of his presence until last night.
I jump up from the bed and make my way into the shower. I have plans to go to the mercado with Marisol this morning. I quickly finish and get out, throw on jeans and a t-shirt, and leave my curly blonde hair wet with just mousse to tame it. I purposely avoid putting on make-up. I’m going to draw enough attention with my light features and I don’t want to make it worse and risk attracting the wrong kind.
Marisol’s knock on the door informs me that I’m ready right on time. I go to open the door, unsurprised to find it locked from the night before. Cash thought of everything; he always does. The thought brings another smile to my face. Yes, I am definitely bonding with the crazy son of a bitch.
As we leave the house to go into the city of Antigua, I note that it doesn’t have the atmosphere of a city at all. It’s more like a small town or a pueblo. I take in everything, trying to absorb all of the details. I want to experience not only the sights and sounds, but the smells and the energy of it all too. We finally enter into the mercado, the market. It is a lot like a large flea market in the states but with much more color and flair. ‘Los Indigos,’ an Indian tribe from the mountain region, has set up with verduras y las frutas (vegetables and fruits). Things are not set on tables, but rather in baskets and on blankets that have been spread out on the ground. Women carry babies on their backs tied in brightly colored tapestries. Children run, weaving in and out of the crowds, with no fear of traffic or human predators. I push thoughts of my own troubled childhood from my mind. There seems to be unity here, a common purpose to love and care for all children. It reminds me the proverb, “It takes a village to raise a child.” That is definitely the case here in Antigua.
I am jolted from my observations when a little boy runs into me yelling, “Rubia, hola. ¿Cómo se llama?” He smiles, asking me my name.
I answer him with a question of my own, knowing he would continue calling me Rubia, the nickname in Spanish for blondie, regardless of whether he knows my name or not. “What is your name, little boy?”
The little boy stands straight, trying to make himself appear taller. “Mi nombre is Juan.”
“Mucho gusto, Juan.”
“Mucho gusto,” he returns and as quickly as he appeared, he was gone. I rejoin Marisol as she shops through the trinkets at a nearby stand.
“Well, I can’t lose you,” Marisol chuckles, “you stick out like a sore thumb here, Juanita.”
We enter a covered area with set up booths and tables that have ropa (clothes), zapatos (shoes), y joyas (jewelry).
“Adelante, come in, come in.” Cries seem to call out from every booth. It is all about making money on market day. In this part of the world, this is their livelihood, their bread and butter. I enter into a booth with brightly colored clothing. There’s a dress that’s hanging high above us that has caught my eye. It’s red with bright flowers all over it. It’s very tropical and reminds me of the area in San Juan where I grew up. It stays true to the Latin culture but has a contemporary style.
The man eyes me as he grabs the long wooden tool that enables him to reach the highly hung dress. “Veinte dólares.”
I had long ago learned how to barter with the locals. I know they start high and work their way down. Honestly, I think twenty dollars is a good deal but I can get him to go lower. I scrunch my nose and reply, “quince dólares, fifteen dollars.”
“Dieciocho,” he counters and we have a deal at eighteen dollars.
I reach into my pocket, pulled out the dinero (money), and give it to the man. As he wraps up my purchase, he goes on and on about what a good deal I’m getting. I know it’s all part of the game. Marisol makes her own purchase—a small pair of earrings. They’re tiny rosebuds with cubic zirconias in the center. They make a small statement and have a dainty beauty, much like Marisol herself.
I make my way through the crowd to the sections that have food for sale. I had made up my mind that I wouldn’t return to the doctor’s house empty handed. I don’t want to be a burden and even though I’m paying for my lodging, meals, and tutoring, I still feel it would be a nice gesture to return with some things for the lady of the house. I purchase homemade bread, coffee, fruits, vegetables, and a small candle as a gift.
We finish our shopping and head back to the house so I can get started with my Spanish classes. I find myself hoping this job will wrap up quickly so that Cash and I can go back home. I already miss the states and, even more than that, I miss Cash.
I just want to get through the day and be one day closer to being back with the man who was crazy enough to drug me and take me back to his home, crazy enough to save me from my self-destructive ways.
Chapter Twelve
Johnnie
I toss and turn after a full day of studying. I feel like my brain has been stretched to its maximum capacity. Though I am fluent in Spanish, apparently I’m not consistent in the sense of always conjugating verbs correctly. Spanish on paper and Spanish in the streets are two different things.
I kick off the covers that are wrapped around my legs and sit with my head in my hands on the edge of the bed. The night air blows through the open window. The sheer curtain sways with a gentle wind and it’s as if the cool breeze is inviting me to go outside.
Though I know Cash will have a fit if he finds out I’m going for an evening stroll, I still give into the temptation and get up, throwing on my jeans and t-shirt from earlier. I grab a baseball cap this time and tuck in my hair, pulling it low over my face. If people think that I’m a guy, they will be less likely to harass me.
I don’t bother going out the front door; I just climb through the window that originally beckoned me. I don’t want to take a chance that I’ll wake anyone.
I let my mind wander as I make my way through the quiet streets. I have been watching the inhabitants of the doctor’s home but as of yet, I haven’t been able to uncover any illegal activity. They operate like any normal family. I haven’t even observed any patients coming to the house for appointments. I am beginning to wonder if there’s any validity to Cash’s information. Then again, I can’t imagine him following through on a mission as big as a black market baby ring without having checked all the facts first.
I look up to find myself in unknown territory. I had allowed myself to get distracted daydreaming and now I’ve veered off course. This is not good. I have no idea where I am or how to get back to the doctor’s home. I can see a man making his way towards me and it’s obvious he’s been drinking. I move over to allow him room to pass by me but he doesn’t and, instead, starts to harass me for money.
“You American?” he drawls as he leers at me. He completely catches me off guard when he rips the ball cap from my head and his fist rips through the air. It connects solidly with my jaw and knocks me out. The last thing I remember is being caught in his arms right before black overtakes my vision. I fucked up. I’ve done the worst thing I could possibly do; I have underestimated the enemy.
Chapter Thirteen
Cash
I jolt awake as soon as I hear it—the beep that informs me my partner and lover is out of the restricted area I keyed into her tracking device. I tagged her shoulder for just this reason; it lets me know if she attempts to run from me or is taken by the enemy. God help her if either one has happened.
I jump from the bed and throw on a shirt to go with the jeans I fell asleep wearing. The holstered gun, that I had yet to wear up to this point, will be worn and used tonight if I find out she has been harmed in any way. I grab my phone and dial a longtime friend who is a Colombian official stationed here in Guatemala. Ricardo Ramirez will know what’s going on long before I do. He is priceless when it comes to Intel. He doesn’t answer so, out of courtesy, I leave him a message to let him know that I’m in his territory and give him some details about the black market baby ring. If the shit hits the fan, I’m sure he’ll know all about it soon enough anyway.
Rage courses through my veins as I think about her being subjected to some underworld drug lord, or worse yet, a human trafficker. If I allowed her to be sold to someone online, I run the risk of never seeing her again and losing the one woman I have ever loved. I have no intentions of allowing that to happen. I will kill someone before I ever lose her.
Johnnie
My whole face hurts as I open my eyes, trying to adjust to the dim lighting in a place that looks much like a cell. I jerk at the chain that holds me to the concrete wall as I try to touch the spot that’s throbbing on my jawline. I don’t think my head could hurt any worse and I don’t remember much. I don’t think I was subjected to chloroform or roofies but, apparently, getting knocked out by a full-grown man’s fist has the same result.
A moan coming from the corner of the room grabs my attention and makes me take a closer look at my surroundings. A very pregnant woman, in obvious distress, lies in the corner and is moving around as if the pain of labor has taken over her body. It hits me; whoever is in charge of this black market baby operation is probably the one who abducted me.
Shattered Pieces (Undercover Elite Book 1) Page 6
