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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I stare out of the window of Miguel's office with vacant eyes, brooding over how to pass a message to Devon, just like I've done during any spare minute over the past five days. Miguel has been sticking to me like glue, crushing my hope that my days of confinement and restrictions were over.
In the mornings, he drags me to the compound, where we spend most of our day in his office. We eat together, train jointly at the shooting range, and in the evening, we have dinner together before we retire for the night. My days have turned into precise routines, except that I have no more breathing space at all. He smothers me and I'm waiting for the moment when he insists on accompanying me to the bathroom.
On top of that, my other commitments have been canceled indefinitely. That means no more trips to the orphanage with Naiara. Instead, Miguel has been feeding me little pieces of information about his organization, consisting mostly of spreadsheets and charts that almost put me to sleep. The rest of the time, I'm forced to watch him while he talks on the phone in Spanish or pecks away at his laptop.
A beaming smile is constantly on his lips and when we are alone at home, his hands are all over me. The number of times we've had sex must be a new record. As the days dribble away in slow motion, my inner unrest grows with every passing hour. I keep eyeing the calendar—the Coyote's strike is just a few days away. Time is running out.
"So do you think your parents will change their mind?"
Miguel's question tears me from my sullen thoughts. I blink, my mind refocusing on the here and now. "I doubt it."
When I had asked her to visit Malaguay with the whole family, my mom flat out refused. "You know there's a travel warning for Malaguay, honey. Why don't you just bring Miguel over to America?"
I had no answer to her question. My genius father had surfed the internet and had actually found a news report about the wedding, so she was miffed that I had tied the knot without informing her. When she started to cry, the conversation went downhill from there. Miguel stood right next to me and I could hardly warn her about the upcoming terrorist attack. My only hope now is to get them to safety with Devon's help.
"Let's go over the spreadsheets again," Miguel suggests.
I almost groan. The numbers make no sense and I don't buy his claim that he's only a very small fish in the big sea of global drug trade, flying under the radar of most law enforcement agencies. Neither the CIA nor the DEA would send designated agents to Malaguay to crack open a mom-and-pop operation.
"Can't we take a break?" Anything is better than staring at those spreadsheets. "Maybe we could go to the shooting range."
"I really need to finish this."
"Then can I go alone?" When his body tenses, I flash him a sweet smile.
"Just give me a few more minutes." The smile he returns is just as sweet. "I only have to write a couple of more emails. Thirty minutes tops, I promise." His focus returns to the monitor in front of him.
