Chapter 15 #3
The men believed her to be totally weak and terrified, especially since she’d been so sick for the entire trip. She didn’t feel great still, but seasickness wasn’t going to keep her from doing everything in her power to get away from these assholes. She’d swim back to the States if she had to.
Okay, no she wouldn’t. She wasn’t the strongest swimmer in the world.
Raised voices outside had her heart beating faster still.
This was it. They were docking. For a moment, Bree panicked.
Who did she think she was? She wasn’t Superwoman.
She couldn’t fight off three men, that much was obvious, given what had already happened.
She didn’t have her plastic knife anymore to use against anyone, and her ribs hurt like hell.
She probably couldn’t even walk after being cooped up in this cage for who knew how many days.
And with little caloric intake, she’d probably fall on her face as soon as she tried to take a step.
Then she pictured Smiley. Him grinning at her. Telling her how strong she was. How proud he was of her. Then scowling and telling her to stop fucking feeling sorry for herself and to do what needed to be done.
That did the trick. She wanted Smiley to be proud of her, and if she had to rescue her damn self, that’s what she’d do.
Before long, one of the men who’d gleefully beaten her back in Ensenada entered the small area of the boat she was being held in. Without a word, he reached for the padlock on her cage.
Bree’s heart was racing so fast, she felt light-headed as adrenaline coursed through her body, enough to make her shaky. He reached into her cage and yanked her out as if he were handling an inanimate object.
She stumbled, but locked her knees to stay on her feet.
She was dragged out of the small cabin into a star-filled night, and the first breath of fresh air in days invigorated Bree.
The man hauled her to the side of the boat, then handed her off to another, someone she’d never seen before.
As this new guy force-marched her toward the shore, Bree looked back to see the three men preparing the boat to leave again.
Internally, she smiled. She had no idea what her captors had told this new guy, but hopefully he would underestimate her. She looked like shit, she knew she did. Bree could only hope he didn’t think she was any kind of threat.
Looking around as he walked her down a long pier toward a van, Bree’s mind spun. This was it. Her one and only chance. If he got her in that van, it was over.
Wishing she had shoes, or even a freaking shirt, Bree winced as she stepped on something sharp.
While she was wishing for things, she might as well wish that Smiley would step out from behind the wall of the small building up ahead and shoot this asshole holding her in the forehead.
With every step toward the end of the pier, Bree’s pulse kicked up a notch. It had to be in the danger zone by now. Her vision narrowed as she went over and over the best way to yank her arm out of this guy’s grasp.
When they reached the end of the pier and stepped into the parking lot, once again, Bree’s foot landed on something sharp. She gasped and instinctively stopped, reaching down to her foot to dislodge whatever she’d stepped on.
To her surprise, the man holding her stopped too.
And now she was leaning over—and her head was level with his crotch.
She hadn’t planned things this way, but her body was moving before her brain had given the command. Her fist flew and she punched the man’s dick as hard as she could.
Her knuckles throbbed, but to her amazement, it worked. The man howled and brought both hands between his legs.
She couldn’t believe punching a guy in the nuts had worked a second time!
And Bree was off and running. She had no idea where she was running to, her only goal was to get away from that fucking van. It signified a slow, painful, humiliating death, and she wasn’t ready to die yet.
She didn’t feel the pain of the rocks and glass in the parking lot under her feet. She didn’t feel the throbbing of her side as her ribs were jostled as she ran. She simply acted like a cornered animal, desperate to get away.
Luck was on her side, as the port wasn’t well lit and there was no one around that she could see.
She had no idea if it was night or early morning, but it didn’t matter.
Her captors thought to use the cover of darkness to hide their despicable deals and illegal cargo, and she would use it to her advantage.
The man shouted from behind her, but Bree didn’t stop. She ran as if her life depended on it—and it did. Weaving in and out of cars parked in the lot and ducking behind shacks made out of tin and wood, Bree never stopped. It felt as if she ran forever.
And before she could stop herself, she careened headlong into another freaking chain-link fence.
Cursing, she looked to her right, then left. There was fence as far as she could see. Which admittedly wasn’t very far, since it was dark out.
Fucking fences! This was the second time a fence was keeping her from escaping.
Despair hit hard and fast. It didn’t look as if she could crawl under the thing, and she couldn’t go up and over either, because the top had a spiral of nasty, sharp-looking concertina wire. The kind of deterrent prisons used to keep people from climbing out…or in, for that matter.
Holding back a sob, Bree turned left. There had to be an opening somewhere. A place for cars to come and go from the port. But the longer she ran, the more worried she got. Just how big was this place anyway?
She could still hear shouts behind her, and it sounded like there were several men after her now. Shit! She wasn’t going back. No way in hell.
As her initial adrenaline waned, she felt pain now with every step. It was difficult to breathe and every inhalation felt as if she were swallowing nails. Her limbs were shaking and it was only a matter of time before her body failed her.
No! She couldn’t get this close only to break now.
But her mind could no longer overpower her body. Bree fell to her knees, hard. A squeak of pain escaped her lips as she scraped the hell out of her legs. She stayed there a beat, on her hands and knees, panting.
She was so tired. She’d tried so hard. And it looked as if she was going to fail after all. And that sucked! She considered getting up and running some more, but even as she gave her body the order, her limbs refused to move.
With a last-ditch will to live, to escape, Bree dragged herself toward a large pile of debris. It was rocks, leaves, and dirt, piled up as if moved by a bulldozer or something. Maybe she could hide herself behind it.
As she neared it, the male voices got louder. They were right on her tail.
To her surprise, the pile was pliant. Crumbly. Turning so her legs were toward the pile, she crawled backward. Her legs were quickly swallowed up by the debris.
Wiggling and squirming, Bree franticly tried to cover as much of her body as she could. To push her way inside the pile. She was able to get all but her head and shoulders into the dirt.
It occurred to her that she was basically burying herself alive. That she was making it easier for the men searching for her to conk her on the head, then use the pile as her actual grave, hiding their misdeed from the authorities and anyone who might come looking for her.
And that made her think about Smiley once more.
Determined to do whatever she could to help herself, grave or not, Bree scooped up some of the dirt around her and rubbed it into her hair and shoulders, trying to blend in more with the dark pile of dirt and rubble.
Then when the voices were perilously close, just on the other side of her hiding place, she lowered her forehead to the ground and held her breath, praying she was sufficiently hidden and her pursuers would walk right by.