Escape From Paradise

by Gwendolyn Field

  “Where is this man?” Colin asked.

  She swallowed and swayed on her heels, turning her bloodshot eyes away with a tight shrug. Fine. Colin moved to the next.

  This girl bit her lip and shot a glance past him to the two dealers who were inching closer.

  Fuck.

  He turned from the girl and strode to the two men, needing to get them off his tail.

  “What can I get for this?” Colin asked, flashing cash between his fingers. The men seemed to relax at the sight of the money. One pulled out a rather large bag of marijuana and a smaller pouch of cocaine. Colin took the coke and handed over the money. “Thank you. Now I just need a woman and I’m all set. I’m quite enjoying my time in Thailand.”

  One of them grinned with blackened teeth, probably relieved to think Colin was just a stupid tourist looking for a good time, and not a threat after all. They turned and left him alone. He’d flush the cocaine later.

  Going back to the girl, he held out the money and picture. She stared down at them for a moment before slowly reaching for the money and whispering a street name.

  “Kop kun,” he said. Thank you.

  She quickly turned away and he walked the two blocks to the street she’d given. He followed the sound of voices down an alley. He wished he could read the Thai signs hanging. When he came to the first doorway where a drunken man and woman stood, he asked, “Suorsdei?” He was fairly certain that meant “hotel.”

  The man pointed to the next entrance and Colin nodded. He walked to the open doorway and pushed a thick curtain aside. A thin man stood inside behind a desk, alert.

  Colin pulled out his cash, a universal sign of fucking peace, and said, “One room.”

  “How long?” the man asked.

  “One hour.” He nodded and they exchanged the money. The man gave him a room number, but no key, which Colin assumed meant no locks on the doors. Fan-fucking-tastic for him. He took his time down the hall, listening to the squeaking of beds and panting grunts sounding from inside. Two people fucked so hard in one room that the wall shook. The woman screamed. Colin tried the doorknob, peeking into the crack, but it was a Thai couple who didn’t even notice him. He closed the door and kept going.

  At the end of the hall he heard the muffled protests of a girl and low voice of a man without a Thai accent. He stepped closer to the door and his heart clenched at the sound of the girl’s crying followed by another stifled shout of her pain and his moan of ecstasy.

  With a glance down the hall, Colin pulled out his gun and cracked the door.

  Fuck, yes.

  There was that handsome face used to lure women, rutting against a girl from behind, shoving her face hard into the mattress to quiet her pleas. When Colin stepped in and closed the door with a kick of his heel, Fernando sat up on his knees with a look of shock. There was blood on his hands and stomach—on the girl’s back and ass. It turned Colin’s stomach and he pointed the gun at the bastard’s face. The girl flipped over and scuttled back.

  Fernando’s hands flew up and his eyes darted around the room. “Qué chingado! Quién es usted?” What the hell! Who are you?

  That, Colin could understand. “I’m the man who killed your father. And the man who’s going to kill you.”

  Fernando went deathly still for a moment, and then his wicked eyes lit up and he chuckled.

  “My papa lives.”

  Colin’s gut slickened with doubt. No. Was Marco alive? He couldn’t be. Fernando simply hadn’t heard the news yet.

  “He’s dead, and so are you.”

  Colin pulled the trigger and a light click sounded. He cursed. The fucking gun was faulty!

  Fernando took that opportunity to launch himself from the bed at Colin, making him drop the useless gun. Fernando may have gotten in the first punch to Colin’s jaw, but that was all he’d get. Colin’s fists met Fernando’s torso in a rapid succession of hits, making the man fall back with an oomph. In the next breath Colin was straddling his chest, beating that pretty face to a bloody pulp as Fernando struggled uselessly to get out from under him.

  All he could see was Angela’s face and all the other faceless women and families this man had haunted. He was glad the gun was broken. Killing him with his bare hands was far more satisfying.

  Colin stopped long enough to take Fernando by the throat and lean close. “How’s it feel to be on the receiving end of a beating?”

  The man arched his back and let out a pathetic, gurgled cry.

  “Please, please, por favor…”

  “Do you let women go when they beg you?” He squeezed tighter. “Do you? Because I know you didn’t give a fuck when Angela pleaded for you to get the fuck off her!”

  Fernando’s wild eyes cleared and he gripped Colin’s wrists. “Angela? The American whore?” He slowly smiled. “She wanted it, Señor. Trust me.”

  Colin punched the fucker’s mouth so hard he had to fling his hand to clear the sting. Fernando spit blood and a chipped tooth through his swollen lips, groaning pitifully.

  A gleam from the corner of Colin’s eye caused him to pull back and release Fernando’s neck. The Thai woman stood over her attacker, naked, bloodied, and shaking, with Colin’s gun in her hands. She pointed the gun, down, down, right at Fernando’s crotch. Colin leapt away.

  “No!” Fernando yelled, but this time, when the trigger was pulled the gun went off. She stumbled back with the light kick and Colin stared. Fernando’s mouth was wide and he gasped unsuccessfully for air. A primal keening wail was rising from the man’s throat.

  “Bloody hell,” Colin whispered. The woman whimpered, lowering her arms. He grabbed the gun from the her hand and shot Fernando in the forehead. He felt back with a thunk.

  Shouts rang out from down the hall. Colin slipped the gun into the back of his jeans, then pushed the bed in front of the door. He ran to the window and forced the creaky thing open.

  “Go,” he told her. “Go!”

  He helped the girl clamber out as fast as she could, and then followed. She ran into the maze of back alleyways, stark naked, and he ran for the open streets, ready to get the hell out of Thailand and back to Angela.

  I woke in the middle of the night with a splitting headache and rolling stomach. Mom was at my side the moment I sat up, thrusting a small bin under my face when the wracking dry heaves began. She rubbed my back. The combined tenderness of her care for me and the painful convulsing of my body forced moisture from my eyes. Just when I thought I was finished I remembered Mr. Douglas going to Asia to look for Fernando.

  “Is Mr. Douglas gone?”

  “Yes, dear. He left last night.”

  I covered my mouth and shut my eyes as the illness threatened again.

  “Poor, sweet thing,” Mom cooed, handing me a tissue which I used to wipe my face. “God forgive me, but I wanted to punch that woman in the face when she came at you with a needle.”

  I chuckled. The sound of it and the feel of it in my chest was shocking. Mom and I made eye contact and I chuckled again. Then she giggled, and we broke into a fit of laughter that had us gasping for breaths. Nothing was really funny. Nothing at all. But it was glorious to be able to just let loose again, and by the end we were hugging.

  “Oh, Angela. I’ve missed that sound. Your laugh. I missed you, baby.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “No.” She pulled back. “No more apologies. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  When she released me by body trembled.

  “My friends,” I said. “The ones I was in Mexico with…”

  “Yes?” Her voice and eyes were heavy.

  “Are they okay?”

  It took her a moment to answer. “They were upset, Angie. Very upset. All of their parents flew down with Daddy and I when we went. But they’re okay. I’m sure they’re okay.”“I wish I could tell them it wasn’t their fault,” I said.

  “Me too. But you can’t contact them. If the media finds out…”

  “I know.”

/>   “Maybe someday,” she whispered.

  “Maybe someday,” I repeated.

  Over the past two years I’d become so accustomed to being hungry that I stopped feeling any kind of pang. But at that moment, I could feel the painful twist of emptiness. My body needed food.

  I looked at Mom with those big, tired bags under her eyes. “You can go back to sleep, Mama. I’ll be okay now. I promise. I’m gonna grab some crackers and sleep the rest of the night.”

  “Are you sure? I can make you something.”

  I shook my head and she patted my hand. “Okay, then. Night, sweetie. I’ll see you in the morning. Let’s hope I don’t have to punch anyone.”

  I smiled as she left me.

  When Mom was back in her room I slipped out of bed and walked on weak legs to the kitchen. Just outside the entrance I heard a clatter that sounded like glass in a sink, followed by an unfamiliar male Scottish voice saying, “Bloody fucking hell!”

  I froze, all sorts of horrid scenarios running through my mind, certain someone had broken in.

  Then he grumbled, “Fucking Colin hiding my fucking alcohol.”

  Oh. It was the guy who lived here…Colin’s brother. I hadn’t met him yet, and I thought maybe he wasn’t even staying here at the moment. Curiosity urged me forward, and I peeked around the corner.

  He was tall like Colin, but thinner. His hair was longish, curly and brown. His clothes were black and loose, in a goth sort of way, and he wore black leather bands around his wrist. He must have felt me watching because his head snapped up and he jumped back, spilling the soda he’d been trying to pour.

  “Ah, fuck me,” he yelled, flinging his wet hand toward the sink.

  I slunk back into the doorway, whispering, “Sorry.” My heart was beating too fast.

  He’s not going to punish you. You’re not in trouble.

  I turned to leave but his voice called me back. “Nae, it’s all right then, lassie. Come back.”

  I moved slowly into the kitchen, feeling my body tucking inward as I stared at the floor.

  “Sorry,” I said again. “I…I was just looking for crackers or something. But I can go—”

  “Here.” He moved to a cupboard behind him and rummaged for a box, which he held out to me. “I was just making myself something, as well. We can share if you like.”

  “Okay,” I said. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I stood there in the middle of the kitchen holding the box, knowing I should choose to do something. Lean against the counter. Sit at the dinette. Something. Anything.

  The guy stopped and looked at me. His body seemed to go slack, arms falling to his side.

  “Aye. You must be Angela then.”

  My breathing skidded to a halt and picked back up in quick time. Had Colin told him about me? What had he said?

  I nodded, still not looking up.

  “Someone bought food. Sit here with me.” He led me to a chair and I sat obediently.

  He cut slices of sharp cheese and some sort of sausage and put them on a plate between us, then dumped crackers on the side.

  “Help yourself,” he said.

  After he’d taken, some I gingerly took one cracker with cheese and nibbled it. My stomach let out an obnoxious, embarrassing gurgle of happiness.

  “Eat up. Don’t be shy. I’m Graham, by the way.”

  My eyes flicked up and found him watching me. He was like a younger, punked out version of Colin, and I couldn’t help but stare as he shoved as cracker sandwich in his mouth. He seemed just as intense as his brother, never smiling, and it made me wonder what they’d been through.

  When we’d cleared the plate he slouched down and crossed his arms, bringing a thumb up to touch his lip ring. He stared at the shuttered window.

  “It’s strange isn’t it?” he asked. “Afterward? You know you should feel safe, but you don’t. You know you should be happy, but you aren’t.”

  I stared at him. How did he know? The way he sounded—the certainty and understanding in his voice made something vulnerable inside me crack open in a way that psych lady couldn’t dream of achieving.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “And I know I should want to be free, but…”

  “But you don’t know how anymore.”

  He looked at me now, and I felt a camaraderie like I felt with Josef. It made me miss him terribly.

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “Colin didn’t tell you?”

  My pulse sprinted and I shook my head.

  “He may not want you to know. He’s a secretive shit, but fuck it. I feel like, maybe…I dunno, maybe it might help or something.”

  He looked nervous and unsure now.

  “You can tell me,” I said, and not just because I was dying to know their story, but because it seemed like he needed to get it out, whatever it was. For himself and for me.

  He took a deep breath, and his hand shook as he raked it through his hair.

  “When I was a wee lad, only ten, and Colin was sixteen, our Mam and Dad were killed. I was kidnapped and sold into slavery. Colin wasn’t home.”

  Holy shit. My heart stalled. I couldn’t breath. I covered my mouth to hold back the sounds of shock and mourning my body wanted to release.

  “Seven years later he found me. Colin saved me, but I was a fucking disaster. Still am.” Graham grabbed his earlobe. “Fuck, I need a drink.”

  I don’t know what made me do it, but I reached across the table and took his hand. We both stilled, and then he gave my hand a squeeze.

  “Ever play video games?” he asked.

  “No.” I almost giggled.

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “Same as me,” he said. That would make Mr. Douglas twenty-eight. I felt myself warming all over at the thought of the older, rugged man.

  “If you’re having trouble sleeping you can hang with me,” Graham said.

  “Okay.”

  He had the master suite at the far end of the house. He brought us both sodas and we sat on funny gamer seats in front of the television. What I found was that Graham wanted to talk, but needed a distraction to cushion the intimacy it would require. While he killed zombies, he asked questions and I answered. Then he answered in return.

  How many masters did you have?

  What was your master like?

  Did he beat you? Drug you? Fuck you?

  Our question and answer session, with both our sets of eyes on the screen, felt oddly normal, though it was anything but. It wasn’t like talking to the psychologist. It was like talking to my friends from the villa because they’d lived the same life. Graham understood. The pain and fear that could have arisen from discussing it was tampered by the click of his fingers and thumbs across the controls, and the sounds of the bangs and pows coming from the game.

  After nearly two hours I must have fallen asleep because the silence of the game being turned off startled me and I jumped.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  I gave him a small smile. He searched my face before looking away.

  “Thank you, Graham.”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll see you later, right?”

  “Aye.” He pushed a hand through his locks, seeming nervous.

  “I won’t tell anyone what we talked about,” I promised. “I don’t really want everyone to know those things about me either.”

  This seemed to calm him. As I left the room and closed the door behind me, I heard some sort of heavy metal Celtic music being turned on. I didn’t even know there was such a thing.

  It took me forever to fall back asleep as puzzle pieces about Colin Douglas clicked into place. His roles of new master, savior, and now slavery-hater clashed like a total mind fuck in my foggy brain. I thought of all the things he’d had to do—the way he’d looked at me with a mixture of lust and something I couldn’t identify when I gave him that first blowjob. I knew now that the unfamiliar expression was regret—something nobody else felt at the villa.
Deep down he hadn’t really wanted me to do that. Just like he hadn’t really wanted to have anal sex, but I’d torn the covers away. Had he been thinking about his brother, and all he’d been through, comparing us and feeling guilty? A torrent of blame soaked me now. Was he ashamed?

  I wanted to talk to him. To tell him it was okay. He did what he had to do, and I was grateful. I wanted to properly thank him.

  I thought about how he’d punished me with his bare hand. And…yeah…that memory surged like a heatwave straight between my thighs. Lying in bed, in the dark, feeling aroused, brought back helpless feelings of fear. I wasn’t allowed to feel this way.

  Or was I?

  My heart thrummed faster. Nobody was watching. No video cameras. No one would come to punish me. Nobody would even know. I could do it. I could take back this small piece of my old life and make it mine again.

  I slipped a trembling, tentative hand into my underwear and found myself swollen, begging for attention. My breaths quickened as my fingers moved between my legs, rubbing all around that little sensitive spot. Faster and harder my fingers circled, kindling a fire deep in my belly.

  I moaned, too loudly. My free hand grabbled the pillow and pressed it over my face as my other hand worked between my thighs. I felt reckless and rebellious. A spark caught and my hips flew up, grinding against my hand as an explosion rocked my core and I panted into the pillow, barely containing the scream I wanted to make as my clit convulsed in rhythmic bliss.

  While my body came back down, pulsing with its residual release, I bit my lip and smiled, even let out a breathy laugh of triumph.

  Take that, Marco.

  Maybe I could do this. Maybe I could take back my life, one rebellious moment at a time.

  I woke the next morning to the sound of mom’s voice, stern. I poked my head out the door and heard her conversing with Agent MacDonald at the entrance of the house.

  “Yes, I understand and I agree it’s important, but she hasn’t even had a single day to rest and try to be normal.”