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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When Miguel said that basic training would be tough, he totally downplayed it. Hell week couldn't be any worse, and having Tomás as drill instructor doesn't help. After we line up in front of him at four a.m. on the first day, he threatens that this training session won't end until at least one of us throws up. From the way he smirks, he's rooting for me.
By eight, the humidity is so pressing that my lungs sting as if I were breathing mud. Tomás makes us run around the compound again and again, and an hour later, he gets his wish when I'm about to collapse from dehydration. After making a fool out of myself by hurling into the bushes in front of everyone, I'm allowed a short break, during which he grins at me the entire time.
Another soldier, who couldn't be much older than fourteen, hands me a second bottle of water. "Don't let him get to you."
His smile is encouraging; I grit my teeth and push myself harder. My body is one bundle of sweat, my muscles screaming in protest as we carry our gear back and forth across the entire length of the yard. Although my legs are about to give out, I'm determined not to give Tomás the satisfaction of quitting or running to Miguel.
By noon, my arms and legs are numb and I can barely keep myself on my feet. I'm so drained that the prospect of cuddling up in bed and sulking is very tempting. A few girls have appeared to watch the training from underneath a tree, Raine, Shauna, and Bettina among them. The scornful looks I earn from Raine are enough to spur me on. I will show them that I can do this. A trophy girlfriend with nothing but time on my hands is not how I envision my future.
Lunch is a welcome treat, though I stick mostly to water and vegetable stew to keep my queasy stomach under control. About halfway through the meal, Miguel joins me. The kiss on my cheek is like a well-deserved reward for the sweat I spilled.
"How's it going, babe?"
I glance at Tomás; he has stopped eating and eyes us with interest.
"Fine." I keep my tone light. "Tomás is a great instructor. I'm learning loads."
The smirk on Tomás's lips is so wide, it has the potential of falling off his face.
Miguel's brows arch. "Well, that's good. Truthfully, I didn't think you would make it through the first day without complaining, but I guess Tomás proved me wrong after all. He said you were a born soldier."
I almost choke on my water. "He did?"
"Yes, I did." When Tomás's breath grazes my neck, I jump in my chair. "Now come along, princess. You'll love afternoon training."
Rolling my eyes, I'm convinced he was being facetious, but I'm proven wrong. We all move into the training center for weapons training, and while he might have sucked in the morning, his teaching skills on the weapons are superb. He is patient and takes his time with each soldier, explaining stance and accuracy when firing a gun. When he calls it quits in the late afternoon, my shoulder is about to tear apart, but my aim has improved significantly.
