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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Since my training is complete, I start to patrol the streets. As newbie, I get stuck with the early six a.m. round, but Miguel makes it a point to get up with me to show his support. We have breakfast in the mansion's large kitchen, right at the counter, and I actually appreciate the silence of the early hour. A chilly nip, leftover from last night's storm, wakes me up during the ride in the open Jeep; by the time we reach the compound, I'm ready to roll.
My troop consists of young soldiers, most of them barely teenagers. Some I recognize from basic training. Tomás introduces me to Emilien, who will be my translator and second-in-command. He looks about sixteen, his lively gaze darting around with curiosity. Dark, unruly bangs keep falling in his eyes, and every time he pushes them away, he laughs boyishly.
"Emilien grew up in the orphanage and is fluent in English," Tomás says. "He has worked patrol for close to two years, so even though you're technically in charge, I would go with his advice."
Miguel closes the straps of my bulletproof vest. When he bends forward and kisses the tip of my nose, his forehead is creased with concern. "Be careful. And keep close to Emilien. He knows what he's doing."
"I'm a fully trained soldier. It'll be fine."
"As my girlfriend, you're a target." He turns to Emilien with a sullen face. "If I find a scratch on her, you'll have to answer to me."
Emilien salutes. "Understood, sir."
For a moment, Miguel's gaze rests upon me, his lips twisted as if he's about to call the whole morning patrol off. Letting out a sigh, he finally releases my arm. "Just don't forget you mean the world to me."
Heat prickles in my cheeks; I'm well aware that everyone's ears are pricked to follow our conversation. "Please, Miguel. This is not a big deal. All I'm doing is going to work."
"I suppose."
When I climb onto the truck, his forehead is still wrinkled with worry. I give the signal for the driver to move out and his figure grows smaller until it's only a dot in the distance. I exhale deeply, every nerve end in my body tingling. Excitement mixes with fear and twists my stomach into a pretzel, but the one feeling that dominates in the end is stronger than any caution or anticipation. It's the pure sense of intoxicating power as I run my fingers over the grip of my gun. I'm the one in charge and no one can take this away from me.
~~~~
I quickly figure out that morning patrol is beyond boring. Most people are still tucked away in their houses and the few early risers who roam the streets go into hiding when the trucks turn the corner. The capital has never been a lively place and Emilien confirms that any action doesn't start until the nine o'clock shift. No wonder Tomás wasn't at all worried to send me without any supervision.
After the first week, I grow tired of just riding through the empty streets and grab a cup of coffee at a small bodega whose owner is still busy polishing the counters and glasses from the night before. The rest of my troop is combing the streets after Emilien barked at them that they should report back any unusual activity. As I slurp my coffee, my gaze is fixed on the pictures on the wall. Most of them show Santino in his soldier uniform, though a few depict Miguel during official functions.
