Pulling my head to the side by the short strands, he exposes my neck and growls in my ear, “Don’t try anything. It’ll be fun for me. Not so much for you.”
I don’t doubt that for a second.
When he moves me forward, I trip again, but he effortlessly keeps me upright, maneuvering me as if I’m nothing but a puppet on strings. I suppress an ingrained urge to fight back. Without a weapon, I don’t stand a chance, not against Yan. He’s too skilled. None of my hand-to-hand combat moves will catch him by surprise. If I’m to escape, I have to use my head.
We move through the semi-darkness toward a poorly insulated door. It’s fitted with a deadbolt as well as a chain and lock, and daylight shines through the cracks between the frame and the wooden walls. When Yan pushes it open, the outside air doesn’t bring relief. The hot humidity is worse than the somber shade inside. I blink a few times for my eyes to adjust to the brightness.
Two guards turn when we exit, and I catalogue them swiftly. Black combat gear. AK-47s. Male, with Hispanic features and bronze complexions. Their dark eyes fix on my face before skipping down to my white tank top. My body is soaked with sweat, and the thin cotton isn’t enough protection against their invasive gazes. With both of my arms drawn back, my breasts are on display, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Groping hands and fists that won’t stop. Jeering voices. Helpless fury.
Fuck, no. Suppressing the old memory, I narrow my eyes at the men visually dissecting my body, but that only invites their smirks.
“Que pasa?” the tallest one asks.
“Get lost,” Yan snaps in English. He must speak several languages, same as I do.
“We have orders,” the other guard replies with a strong Spanish accent.
“Then I hope you can execute them blind,” Yan says in a tone so boldly sadistic it makes me shudder, “because you’re about to have your eyes ripped out.”
I have no doubt he means the threat in the most literal sense. Neither do the guards, because the tall one looks away and tilts his head toward a compound in the distance before addressing his friend.
“Vamonos.”
The one who speaks English averts his eyes. Together they walk toward the white buildings, not looking at me as they pass.
I take stock of the environment. We’re surrounded by lush vegetation. Most of the plants are unfamiliar to me, but I recognize the toucan beak flowers and Yopo trees with their beaded seed pods from pictures I’ve seen. A good distance away from the compound, a guard tower is visible above the treetops on the left. Two more are on my right. And if there are watchtowers, the property will be fenced.
My spirits sink. Escape seems more unlikely by the second.
A buzzing noise sounds overhead, and I look up.
A drone.
Dammit, we’re being watched as well. Even if I get away, I won’t get far.
Yan turns me in the direction of the jungle and gives me a little shove. “Walk, princess.” He’s back to speaking Russian.
I stumble a step before managing to right myself. Walking to where Yan is pushing me, I squint up at the scorching sun. My lips are parched, but I force myself not to think about my thirst.
Tracing the cut on my throbbing lower lip with my tongue, I ask, “What time is it?”
“Does it matter?” he asks with a note of cynical humor.
“Just wondering for how long I’ve been out.”
He chuckles, not buying my nonchalance, but surprisingly, he answers. “It’s past two.”
I make a rough calculation of where north should be by using the position of the sun.
After crossing the small clearing that runs around the shed, we enter the dense flora. The drone hovers at the fringe, unable to follow. Yan steers me deeper into the shady jungle until we’re completely out of the drone’s scope of visibility.
Twirling me around, he pushes me against a tree. My back hits the trunk with a thump, the rough bark pressing into my palms as he stares down at me with that new chill in his eyes. I’m the enemy now. He hates me. He believes I lied to him. And I did, but only about not understanding Russian, and he knew I was lying about that. No, the quiet fury emanating from him is evidence that he still thinks I was spying on him, and nothing I say will convince him otherwise.
He reaches for the button of my jeans, and I swallow. My throat feels like sandpaper. I could ask him to untie me, but it would be a waste of words. That will never happen. The button pops free, and the zipper makes a scratching sound as he slowly pulls it down, all the while holding my gaze.
Those other men, the guards, they frightened me. I’ve seen what men at war can do to a woman. If not for Gergo, I would’ve been infinitely more familiar with those sinister intentions. Yet I’m not frightened of Yan. Not like that. I’m terrified he’ll kill me, but not that he’ll force me. He kidnapped me in Budapest and carried me off to his place. If he wanted to, he could’ve done anything to me. But despite the twisted situation back then, I felt safe in his bed. Secure. A rare feeling for me to have with a man.
He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my jeans and slips them under the elastic of my cotton panties. My face heats like I’m an inexperienced teenager, not only at the intimacy of our situation, but also at the memory of how he devoured me, and how I devoured him back.
His lips curve with the self-assurance of a man who knows the effect he has on a woman, but his eyes remain as frosty as the northern lights, mocking me, despising me, as he pushes my jeans and underwear over my hips and thighs to my knees. Goosebumps
