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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The moving curtains awake me. I wiggle out of Miguel's tight embrace, my toes curling on the cold floor. A fresh breeze drifts through the open balcony door; the next gust of wind almost tears the fluttering curtains off the rod.
What a stormy night.
I hug myself to fight the rising goosebumps and scurry over to the balcony doors to close them. Dark clouds chase across the sky, only offering a rare glimpse of the moon. Rain is imminent.
When I hear a scraping noise right outside the bedroom door, a prickling sensation spreads from the nape of my neck all the way to the bottom of my spine. I spin around. My gaze wanders to the silhouette on the bed; Miguel lies perfectly still, the even rising and falling of his chest proof that he's deep asleep.
Pricking my ears, I listen for any further sound, but the house is shrouded in silence. It could've been a mouse or that darn cat wandering about. At my request, Miguel had banished him from the bedroom, which the creature took as an opportunity to cause all kinds of mischief in the rest of the house. Oddly enough, everyone else, including Miguel, loves him to pieces.
All of a sudden, I'm in need of fresh air. I open the balcony door a crack and squeeze outside. Tension has a firm grip on me, an inner unrest turning my insides out. I clutch the rail and inhale a mouthful. The air is cool and crisp, the slight headache I battled during dinner vanished. It's peaceful out here. When I look at the few scattered lights in the distance, the violence and despair that roams the streets during the day has faded into the darkness. It's an illusion, but it's all I have to hold onto.
A shadow crosses the lawn and I squint for a better look. Is that a person? I'm about to scream an alarm when the sound of machine-gun fire breaks through the night. I drop to the ground and take cover behind the balustrade. The mansion is hidden from view, but there's always a chance that a sniper could break through the defenses.
Loud shouts echo through the house, but the Spanish words hammer down on me so quickly that my brain can't comprehend their meaning. The cold wind adds to my irritation and my teeth chatter violently. I need to get inside; out here, I'm a sitting duck.
I leap forward, rolling over my left shoulder to get back to my feet the way Tomás taught us in basic training. The bed is now empty, the bedroom door wide open. Rattling of automatic weapons booms in my ears. A war is raging on the ground floor.
My first instinct demands I hide, but then I decide that escaping is my most viable option for survival. I could get to safety through the secret passage in the basement that Tomás showed me. If this is a rebel raid, who knows what they'll do to me if they capture me. As Miguel's wife, I could become a pawn in the war.
When I step into the hallway, I duck down next to the big oak closet to assess the situation. My heart beats so fast that it causes havoc in my chest. Up here, all is quiet, the fighting going on three flights below. I dart across the landing to get to the stairs and almost collide with a dark figure. Out of reflex, I raise my fists, barely able to silence a shriek. Before I can attack him, a flashlight illuminates his face. It's Santino.
