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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Miguel, let's have this Irish whiskey here instead. I've always wanted to try that with a good Cuban cigar."
The stranger's words provide the respite I need. I release my breath. Another skip of my heart and the door closes again. The key turns in the lock.
"It's really good stuff." Miguel's voice moves away from the door. "Naiara stopped in Dublin on her way from London and picked it up. It's only sold in Ireland."
He's now with the stranger in the living room and glasses clink before the door to the terrace slides open. When it closes again, I sigh with relief. My whole body shakes under a thin layer of cold sweat. After I wiggle free from under the desk, I stuff the laptop back into the bag. This was such a close call. Returning the cable, I ensure that everything is in its original place. One more scan of the area confirms that there's no sign of my intrusion anywhere.
I slowly open the side door and peek outside. The living room is quiet. Without losing another second, I slip out of Miguel's study. As I tiptoe in the direction of the hallway, the cuckoo clock chimes on the wall and I jump. My wobbly knees make me stumble and I crash against the cabinet. The thud is magnified in the silent room.
"Stacy, are you okay?"
I snap my head around at Miguel's question. "Y–Yes." As he studies me with a slight frown, my fingertips turn to ice. "I just got woozy."
"Did you eat and drink enough?" He closes the gap between us, the back of his hand grazing my forehead. "You're all sweaty. Maybe I should call the doctor."
"It's fine." I force a smile on my lips. "I'll have some water and lie down. It was an exhausting day."
"Okay." He finally returns the smile. "But before you go, let me introduce you to a friend of mine. We met at Harvard."
He grabs my hand and pulls me onto the terrace. A guy is seated in the lounge chair by the pool under the umbrella, whiskey glass in hand. As I approach, his dark eyes pierce me. Though his face is friendly, his intense stare gives me the creeps. His skin is unnaturally dark for a white guy, his black hair reminding me of the bristles of a paint brush. I suspect he's about Miguel's age, but with his double chin and the extra weight he packs around his waist, it's hard to tell.
"Veseo, this is my wife, Stacy."
He gives me a thin smile. "Hello, Stacy. I've heard a lot about you."
I can't say the same about him. "Hi."
Awkward silence falls while he studies me. At the end of his inspection, an approving grin spreads on his lips.
Miguel squeezes my hand. "Stacy was just about to lie down. She isn't feeling well."
It's my cue to get out of there.
"Well, I hope you'll feel better soon." Veseo's voice is flat, his face impassive.
"Thanks." I rise on my tiptoes and peck Miguel's cheek. "See you in a little while."
