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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After the wedding, Miguel doesn't mention our honeymoon once and I grow more anxious with every passing day. My longing for my family skyrockets. As I sulk around the house, boredom settles in quickly; I have nothing to do and most of my day is spent counting down the minutes until I can go back to sleep.
Naiara is off to London for another shopping trip and I have no one to talk to other than Miguel when he returns home from the compound in the evenings. Most nights, he chokes down a quick meal with clenched teeth, his eyes clouded over as if he's in another world. I can't shake the feeling that something is seriously wrong with his business. The permanent stress etched on his face causes me to keep my distance. An inevitable outburst is looming; once he explodes, I'd rather not be in his close proximity.
One afternoon, when I trudge back into the living room from the pool to use the bathroom, I catch a glimpse of his problems. The door to Miguel's study is ajar and loud angry voices drift through the crack of the door.
I tiptoe over and peek inside the room, just to shy back at the sight. Miguel is on his knees, his father shouting in his face. General Varela stands next to him, his fist clutching a nightstick.
"Creías que no lo averiguaría?" Santino yells.
Miguel doesn't respond.
"Contéstale."
With that, General Varela raises his stick and whacks Miguel across the back.
Miguel doesn't even flinch but gazes calmly at his father. The silence in the room is filled with so much tension that a match could set off an explosion.
"You've got rats."
With one hard shove, I'm propelled into the room, almost losing my footing. Tomás grins at me and takes up position next to General Varela. He folds his arms across his chest. All four men glare at me.
"How much did you hear, Stacy?" Santino asks.
"You know I don't speak Spanish." I glance at Miguel, barely able to hold in the tears. "What are you doing to him?"
"Do us all a favor and don't involve yourself in men's business. It's not your place." Santino doesn't look away once from my face. "Tomás, take her upstairs to her bedroom and lock her in. I don't want her snooping around while I have a conversation with my son."
"Yes, sir." Tomás grabs my arm. "Come on, Stacy."
The tears push to the surface. "Miguel . . ." As his wife, I can't just abandon him while his father beats him.
He smiles. "It's okay. Just go with Tomás." The calmness in his eyes soothes the turmoil inside me. Maybe it's not as bad as it looks.
With slumped shoulders, I follow Tomás, just as General Varela delivers a new blow. Air escapes Miguel's gritted teeth, but he still doesn't make a sound.
