by Linda Barlow
It was so dark. And I was afraid to be alone. I sobbed until my throat was raw; I dug at the dirt until my fingers were bleeding and numb. The air around me had been dank and musty, but soon it was thin and dry. Soon I felt dizzy and my lungs protested as they gasped for air. I was a child, but old enough to know I was facing death. I was already in my grave...locked up in airless darkness, writhing, scraping, and screaming to get out.
I jolted upright in bed, where I must have fallen asleep. Was I dreaming? Fuck. I wasn't sure exactly where I was. All I knew was that I had to escape. I rolled off the bed and crawled across the floor, pressing my fingers wildly along the wall until I felt the vertical crack that marked the door. I knew it was locked. I'd pounded on it earlier, attempted to spring the lock with a nail file, all to no avail. I located the handle and clung to it. But it was locked, locked. I pressed my face to the cold metal of the door and wept.
Chapter 23
NICK
I was drinking raki with Metin and staring belligerently at the sea. "Fuck all women," I ranted. "Do you have a woman, my friend?"
"Not at present. And you shouldn't use that language about Ellie."
"You've defended her from the start, haven't you?" I swilled the milky white liquid in my glass, and then gulped a swallow that burned all the way down. "I should have let you take her. You're closer to her own age, at least."
"I'm older than I look. And I would have been happy to take her, had she had eyes for anyone besides you."
I scowled at him over the raki glass. Metin flushed slightly and looked away. He played with his own glass for several moments before adding, "I don't think you should have left her alone tonight."
"She's better off alone," I said, tormented by violent images of all the things I wanted to do to her. I yearned to punish her for lying to me. I could think of all sorts of delicious ways to torment my disobedient slave.
"I don't think she's safe," Metin said.
"None of the men would dare bother her."
"One would."
I stared at him over the rim of my glass.
"He boarded the yacht and messed with the electronics. He tried to sabotage the radio," Metin reminded me. "He hates you. I think he would dare anything. I'm not saying anything will happen. Just that you shouldn't give him the opportunity."
I sipped again, staring over the water toward the boat. Max's boat. A memory came to me, vivid and shattering: my best friend Max pale and shaking with a combination of grief and anger as he told me what Nigel had cruelly admitted about his rape of Max's girlfriend. Max had been accused of that crime because he and the girl had been together. He'd left her alone for a short time, and Nigel, vengeful because the girl had dumped him for Max, had followed them and raped her. He had blindfolded her first so she wasn't sure who he was.
A few years later, it had been my girl Elizabeth whom Nigel had pursued. He'd eventually succeeded in snaking Elizabeth away. They'd been together for a while, but he had abused her. I'd never learned exactly what Nigel had done, but it had ruined her. And cost her her life.
Elizabeth had hanged herself a few years later. She'd left a note blaming Nigel for the trauma she couldn't seem to escape.
Nigel was going to pay for that. Soon, very soon.
If I didn't fuck things up.
I only had a few days left before Hepburn moved in.
Hepburn, the dude who had married Elizabeth after Nigel had broken her.
Hepburn, the man who had vowed vengeance for the death of his wife.
Who the fuck is Hepburn? Ellie had asked. I'd assumed she knew, but now I wasn't so sure. Maybe she was exactly who she had always claimed to be—Ellie Heath, innocent bystander with a camera who had gone camping on the Aegean coast of Turkey and walked straight into my own special hell.
Rob Hepburn was the spook behind this whole scam. He worked for some cloak and dagger federal agency. He was determined to get Nigel and he didn't give a fuck who else he took down in the process.
I'd been fine with that in the beginning. I wanted to destroy Nigel just as much as Rob did. The dirtbag had tormented me for most of my life.
I didn't know Rob too well. I'd met him once or twice when he'd been married to Elizabeth, but it wasn't as if we were friends. After she'd left me for Nigel, Elizabeth hadn't had much to say to me, and I'd had less to say to her. But when I'd heard she was dead...fuck. I'd been amazed how much that hurt.
He'd come to me last fall, as a courtesy, he'd said. That was when I'd first found out about my grandfather's slide into thievery. I hadn't even believed it until Hepburn had shown me his proof—stolen artifacts, an astonishing number of them. And my foolish Granddad in it up to his scrawny neck.
"Nigel's dirty," Rob Hepburn had told me. "We believe he's involved in all sorts of things—drug smuggling, illegal weapons trading, maybe even terrorism along with the art theft."
"So arrest him."
"I want more than an arrest. I want to put him away in a Turkish prison. And you're going to help me do it."
"I love the thought of Nigel rotting in a Turkish prison, but why the fuck do you need my help?"
"I don't. But Sir Avery does. If we take Nigel down for this, your grandfather will be implicated too. I shouldn't care about that, but I met the old guy a couple of times. Beth loved him, as I'm sure you know."
I'd heard that Hepburn had gone a little crazy since Elizabeth's death; or at least, that he'd been fucked up enough by losing her that he'd been putting the screws to everybody he knew. I got the impression that the guy was hanging on by his fingertips. It made me edgy, but I could empathize. I'd been like that too, when I'd lost her.
"I need someone on the inside. But your cousin is shrewd, which is how he has stayed out of reach of the authorities for so many years. He trusts nobody who hasn't been working with him for years."
"However much he might distrust one of your guys, he distrusts me even more."
"We can set you up with a cover story that will fool Nigel."
"Nigel will never believe I'm involved in antiquities theft."
"So maybe it's not your true calling. Maybe you're just helping your grandfather out while pursuing other goals."
"What other goals?"
When he'd suggested the human trafficking angle, I'd wondered whether Hepburn and his intelligence agency friends had been spying on me. Probably. Not that I knew a damn thing about human trafficking. But I did know about master/slave relationships of the kinky, consensual type. Hell, I'd been a deviant for years.
Nigel was aware of this. We'd been boys reading porn together. Adolescents fantasizing about all the chicks we were going to fuck. Since I'd always been fond of a woman on her knees in the bedroom, preferably with her hands bound and her mouth ready to service me, it would be no great leap for Nigel to believe that I'd progressed to human trafficking, like a weed smoker to heroin or crack cocaine.
Not only would he believe it, he would be intrigued. And he'd probably want to get in on the action.
So the plan took root. My old friend Max, who had suffered at Nigel's hands years ago in high school, had provided the funding. Max had started a software company and become a billionaire in his 20s. Voyager was Max's own private yacht.
I was the fool on the ground. Taking point. Most likely to be screwed. Metin was my loyal Sancho Panza, the amateur whom I hoped wouldn't get screwed. And Ellie? Who was Ellie? I wish I knew.
I remembered something Hepburn had said at the start: "Don't even think about crossing me. I might put a man on you to make sure that you don't."
A man. Or a woman?
"What's the matter?" Metin asked. He had been watching me, I guess, while I reminisced.
I put down my glass. "I think I'll take your advice and go back to Voyager."
"Good. I have some other advice for you, if you will listen."
"Well?" I glared at him, wondering what he'd meant by "I'm older than I look." The kid did look older than the twenty-one he'd admitted to
when I'd hired him. It struck me that I didn't really know much about Metin. He came from a family of fishermen in the town of Kusadasi, near Izmir; he had a better education than many of his friends and he was interested in antiquities. That was all I knew about his background. Metin was frank and friendly, but he didn't talk much about himself.
"I think we should get Ellie and your grandfather out of here tomorrow. I know you said the fifteenth, and it's a bit early, but things are getting out of hand."
"I intend to get them out as soon as possible."
"By force, if necessary."
"You're prepared to use force?"
"Of course," Metin said with a shrug. "Why not? He is old and she is a woman. It is our responsibility as men to take what actions we must to preserve their lives."
Life is simple in Turkey, I thought a few minutes later as I rowed back to the yacht. No confusion of values, of identity, of sex roles. Protect your woman. Use force if necessary.
I'd already used force against Ellie. Several times. Not rape, not yet. But, damn, I had never been so tempted to ravage a woman as I was when I was around her. Maybe it would never be rape with her, though. Every time I touched her, she was hot for me. I could scarcely believe it, but it seemed that fate had thrown a girl into my path who was not appalled by the things I wanted to do to her. She was strong and she fought me, but she had that gleam in her eye. And that wetness between her legs.
It made me hard just thinking about her. Part of me didn't care who she was or how she had come into my hands. She made my blood boil every time I was near her. My heart was pounding now because the boat was right there and she was on it, and soon I would have her at my mercy again.
Except I didn't. Because when I got on board and made my way down to the cabin where I'd left her, I was shocked to find her crouched on the floor in the darkness, whimpering and shaking all over. Holy fuck. I dropped to my knees beside her, terrified that she was ill or injured. Had I freaked her out with that little jerking off performance? That had been so fucking crude.
She flinched from the beam of my flashlight and covered her face with both her arms.
"Ellie? Good God, Ellie, what's wrong?"
"You promised." Her voice was so faint I could barely hear her. "You promised never to leave me alone in the dark."
Understanding flashed through me. The lights left burning at night, the open curtains that let the moonlight enter, her absolute refusal to enter the cave. I also remembered the drunken promise to which I'd paid so little attention.
I understood, and felt once again the bitter guilt from which there was no hiding place.
I was one sick fuck, all right. Nigel had nothing on me.
Chapter 24
ELLIE
He grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around me, then lifted me into his arms and carried me out on deck. Overhead the clouds were clearing and a light dusting of stars was visible. The moon was also rising low over the horizon, dissipating the blackness. And with it, my terror.
"Ellie?" He sank down on the bench seat in the stern and cradled me across his lap. "I've got you. You're gonna be okay."
My limbs were vibrating fiercely, a reaction to the havoc wreaked upon my body by the panic. The shaking was annoying, but I didn't try to fight it. I welcomed it, knowing from experience that it signaled the end of the attack. I pressed my face against his warm chest, absorbing his calm, his strength, his comfort. His arms were firm around me; his thighs beneath my own trembling legs supported me wholly, bearing my weight without stress or strain. He felt good. Strong. He would protect me.
"Ellie, I'm so sorry." He bent his face down toward mine. Not to kiss or caress me, but to soothe me. "You're claustrophobic? I should have realized." He was stroking my hair gently. "I'm an idiot. Fuck me—I should have known."
I was beginning to feel better already. Just being close to him helped so much. I don't know what it was about him—it didn't even make sense. But there was a part of me that trusted him. Even though he'd treated me roughly from the start, it had never seemed as if that was the whole story. Every now and then, a gleam of light would shine from him, like the flash from a distant lighthouse through the fog.
That gleam was there now. Steady, bright.
"How could you know? I was trying to hide it from you. I'm terrified of small rooms and of the dark."
"I forgot about the power being out on the boat. Damn. I shouldn't have left you alone for so long anyway."
"It's stupid. A weakness. It's not even rational."
"That's why you refused to enter the cavern. I should have guessed—you'd given me enough hints."
"I'm okay now that I'm out of there." I reached up and feathered the gold hair around his ears. "If you hadn't come back when you did, though, I think I might have died of fright right there on your floor."
He caught my fingers in one hand and kissed them. Each finger separately, and then my thumb. I felt a tingle deep inside. I guess my hormones were getting back to normal.
"How long have you suffered from this? All your life?"
"Only for the past few years. I started having anxiety attacks when I was in college."
"Have you tried to figure out what they stem from?"
"I think I was in a cave-in when I was little. In a small pyramid with my Mom. It freaked me out. My memories are vague, but I have nightmares about it sometimes."
"I'm sorry," he said again.
I turned my face against his throat, breathing in the subtle, masculine scent of him. "It wasn't your fault. I hate feeling like such a coward. It's embarrassing to have an attack like that. There wasn't even a good reason to panic. It's not as if I haven't spent a lot of time in that cabin. It's not as if anything bad has ever happened to me there."
He stiffened. Oops. Wrong thing to blurt out. I tried to cover it by plunging on: "How could you dream I might be an undercover agent? Nerves of steel are required for that profession. I clearly don't have those."
He laughed shortly, but I could feel his tension. "I'm sorry for everything I've done to you in that cabin. I just—there was a reason for it. Well, not for all of it. Some of it was just me being a fucking animal." He shook his head. "I'd say I'm not really like that, but I'd be lying. There's a monster inside me that's decided you're its natural prey."
"What do you mean, there was a reason for it?"
He hesitated. "I still can't tell you that. Anyway, it's not as though there's a bad guy on one side and a good guy on the other. It's a fucking snake pit you tumbled into that morning."
"But you're not going to sell me?"
"No. God no. I'm kinky as fuck, but I agree with you that human trafficking is a despicable crime, worse than antiquities smuggling, worse than just about anything. I'm capable of a lot of nasty things, but I'm not capable of that."
"I just...you're so hard to read, Nick."
"Well, I try to be hard to read. But it's a lie, a trap for my cousin. I wanted him to believe it because, it's the sort of thing he would believe. But I could never... I don't blame you for doubting me, but sex trafficking—that's not something I could ever do."
"Okay," I said.
"Okay?"
"I believe you. Even though you told Nigel you were going to get more money for me because of my anal virginity."
He groaned. "Shit. You understood that."
"You nearly exceeded my Turkish vocabulary with that one, but yeah, I figured it out. Although where you were coming from on that, I can't imagine. How do you even know?"
He began to laugh. It was so unusual to see him laugh, that I started laughing too. "For all you know," I continued, a little punchy now, "I could be a regular virgin. Just think how much I'd be worth then."
"Please don't tell me you're a regular virgin or I'm going to feel even more perverted that I already do."
"Relax. I haven't been a regular virgin since the night of my senior prom."
He shook his head. "Why aren't you mad at me?"
"It comes
and goes," I admitted. In the light of the rising moon, I could make out the bemused expression in his eyes. The shaking had stopped. I felt warm and safe. As we looked at each other, communicating with our eyes, something changed in the mood between us, and I felt a new and different kind of tension in my throat, in my breasts, my sex.
I hadn't died of fright. I was brimful with life.
I wanted to celebrate life with the man who, like Apollo, had brought light into my darkness. Here on Homer's wine-dark sea it seemed as if I could feel the breath of the god.
"Nick."
"Ellie." He bent his head and kissed my mouth. Sweet, sweet. Cuddling closer, I opened my lips to the invasive questing of his tongue, and then advanced my own. When our tongues touched, fire ran through me. I reached up and touched his cheek, which was rough with golden whiskers. I rubbed my palm there and imagined that roughness against my breasts, belly, and thighs.
I kissed him more aggressively, licking, biting, giving myself up to pleasure.
"You must be feeling better."
"Much."
I felt his hand on my body, molding my breasts. His fingers plucked my nipples through the cotton of my shirt. They hardened. My breasts seemed to swell; there was congestion in my belly, a liquid, fiery ache. He bared my breasts and plucked again and again. His hands were magical. He stroked my nipples with the pad of his thumb until they felt like berries about to burst.
"You're perfect," he whispered. "Silky and firm and just the right size. I bet not even the original Helen of Troy had prettier breasts, hayatim."
"So I'm Helen now, am I? The most beautiful woman in the world?"
"The face that launched a thousand ships," he said solemnly.
"I need someone to compare you with—some hero of old, some glorious, golden-haired youth. Let's see—how about Achilles, the great invincible hero, the champion of the Greeks?"
"You'll have to do better than that. Achilles wasn't fond of women."
"Hector, then? He was noble and heroic. I always preferred him to Achilles, actually."
