31. Gia

In all theplaces that I've been kidnapped lately, this one is definitely my least favorite.

It's so fucking hot that I think I'm going to explode.

True to form, though, as Dr. O'Malley predicted, the severe morning sickness is diminishing. I can actually function, get around, and after about a day, Benicio's doctor who has been taking care of me takes me off of the IV fluids.

It's great.

What's not so great, however, is the fact that I'm a prisoner in this giant, hot house with no air conditioning.

Benicio hasn't been here since my arrival. I've seen the doctor twice, then after the IV ended, I haven't seen him either.

Since then, for the last few days, I've been completely alone.

Someday, I'm going to get kidnapped in New York City, or Los Angeles, or somewhere cool.

Bora Bora.

Tahiti.

Somewhere that I'm not so miserably bored the entire time.

The house is clearly set up for captivity.

There's food that shows up every day. The house gets cleaned, except for the room that the doctor showed me to after he released me from the hospital bed that's in yet another room.

It's on the third day, during a shower, that something catches my eye.

There's a hair in the shower that's not mine.

I lean closer, picking it up off the bottom of the wall next to the floor. I hold it up like it's some kind of evidence and I'm at a crime scene, and I look at it in the light.

Despite the fact that it's super weird, and that I normally would be completely grossed out at the fact that someone else's hair is in the shower with me, this time, I'm a little excited about it.

Because it means something really important.

I'm not alone. Well, I'm less alone than I was before. Because while I knew about the guards, and I knew about the doctor and Benicio himself, there's an element that I didn't know about in the beginning.

There's another woman here.

Someone who might be sympathetic to my cause.

Someone who might be able to help me get the hell out of here.

I shut the shower off and grab a towel. I wrap the towel around myself, getting out of the shower.

This is definitely someone else's hair. It's way longer than mine and stick straight, but dark brown, maybe even black.

I've never been so happy to see someone else's hair in the shower.

I dress quickly in some of the clothes provided for me, wondering if these also belong to the other woman.

It's highly possible. If that's true, she's somewhere around my height, with curves similar to mine.

I try to not pay attention, though, to the way that the pants stretch across my stomach.

There's definitely a baby in there. And it's about to get harder and harder to hide that.

I have got to get the fuck out of here.

But how can I find this other person? Is she a prisoner like I am?

Or is she in on it? She's voluntarily here?

Ugh.

I can't count on any of those things.

I've been in Brazil for about a week when the pattern of the people around me becomes clear.

The guards switch at three-hour intervals. They watch a bunch of telenovelas in Brazilian Portuguese, for several hours.

They are truly terrible guards.

Which makes me think that we're probably in some kind of remote area.

If they're not worried about someone coming up to the house and have the time to lay around and not do anything but watch telenovelas, then there's some other security involved.

I don't think there's an army posted around us. I think we're probably on some kind of estate in Brasilia.

That would explain the security lapse.

Meals all come in on a truck, delivered from what I assume is a catering company. That's probably my best bet for escape.

The meal truck is my ticket out of here.

Other than the guards, I don't see another soul. Haven't all week.

But there's another woman here.

Step one, find her.

Step two, convince her that I'm just a run of the mill pregnant lady, and I need some goddamn help to get out of here.

Step three…

Escape.

Today, after I've dressed and I'm ready to go on my usual wander, I wander around the house, eying it for weaknesses or places that I've missed in terms of assessing the structure for possible ways to escape. I have renewed interest in this now because I feel like I can finally see a light at the end of the tunnel.

Except, in order to achieve step three of my plan, I need to find a way out. Poking around the house, that's what I'm looking for.

To my knowledge… yeah. There's nothing. No hidden escape routes

Except, there's a hint of perfume in the hallway.

Hmm.

After lunch, I go back to the room that I've been sleeping in. I grab a piece of toilet paper and an eyeliner, which appears unused (I will not be putting it on my eyes though… gross) and I scribble down as much as I can. I write my name. I write that I'm a prisoner.

I write that I want someone to help me leave.

I write it in English and Spanish because I figure somewhere between those two languages, I'll hit something that looks accurate to someone.

Then, I leave it on the sink.

To my knowledge, no one has cleaned this bathroom except me.

To my knowledge.

I take another walk around the house. After about an hour, when the guards are switching their shifts, I head back to the room.

The scrap of toilet paper on the sink is gone.

* * *

The next day at breakfast,I smell that perfume again. It lingers in the dining room, something deep and floral. Rouses and oud, maybe. Just something that smells halfway between something my grandmother would wear, and some kind of classic floral smell.

I have to say, being pregnant and having a super nose is partly really cool, and partly God awful. Identifying scents on the first try? Cool.

Realizing that an entire country smells like fish and you never want to go there again?

Let's just say, Greenland has been well and truly ruined for me, forevermore.

Take that one off of the tourism list.

But the perfume encourages me. She's here.

Somewhere.

I just have to find her.

The day progresses as normal. I move through the house. The guards watch their telenovelas. I eat food. I pretend I'm not pregnant.

I pretend that I'm fine being here, trapped in Benicio's house.

Right before dinner, I go to take another shower. At this point, the showers are the only thing that are keeping me from going nuts because they're just something to do with my day.

I open the closet, ready to grab the stupid sweatpants and shirt that just keep appearing for me in there when I freeze.

There's a woman looking at me. From the closet.

If it wasn't something that I've been hoping for, this would be literally the stuff of nightmares.

I do everything I can to hold my shit together. I stare at her.

She stares at me.

She's definitely my height. She's curvy, like me, but with the sheet of dark, straight hair that hangs down her back in a glossy wave. Her eyes are brown, her skin is dark brown, and she has full lips and high cheekbones.

She's very pretty.

I narrow my eyes at her. "You?"

She nods. "My name is Marisol. You're a captive of my father, no?"

"I am," I say quietly. "I'm Gia." Her accent is barely there, but I can still tell that she's probably from somewhere local. Her English is good though, so I'm sure she's spent some time in the States as well.

Marisol gives me a quick up and down before she continues. "And you're pregnant."

How the fuck… do I just broadcast this information on a freaking billboard every time I walk into a room?

"How did you know?"

"Hard to hide it now," she gives me a meaningful glance. "Those sweatpants were the only ones that fit me back when I was pregnant with my twins."

Pregnant with…

My eyes widen. "Holy shit," I murmur. "You're Dino's girl?"

The name makes her whole body transform. First, an unmistakable longing crosses her face. I know in a split second that Dino is definitely the father of the twins she referenced a minute ago.

Then, her face hardens, and her eyes flash.

I know then that while Dino has something of a special place in her heart, she's also not going to be begging him back anytime soon.

"How did you know about Dino?" she says with a hiss.

I raise my eyebrows. This is a calculated risk that I'm about to take.

"You're not going to believe this," I say with a small grin. "But I'm kind of his sister-in-law."

Marisol's eyes get big. Her fingers clench.

This is going to go one of two ways. Either she's going to hate Dino so much that she's going to completely betray me and tell the guards that I've been trying to get loose.

Or she's going to help me get out of here so that she can find Dino herself, and rip into him.

I have a feeling that she isn't going to betray me.

Marisol looks at me for another minute. She narrows her eyes. "You really know Dino?"

There's a touch of longing in her voice, that makes my own heart echo in response.

"I do."

"If we get out of here, can you take me and my kids to him?"

The kids? Shit.

"I'll do my best. Where are they now?"

"With my mother."

"And is she on good terms with your father?"

"She shot him in the chest. She's the reason he has to use a machine to help him sleep at night, to inflate his lungs while he's resting."

I tilt my head. "I appreciate how your mother solves problems."

"As do I." Marisol grins.

"‘Kay. So. Kids are secured. You want to talk to Dino?"

Marisol nods. "I have some things to say to him."

I love a woman hell bent on vengeance.

"Cool. So. We getting out of here or what?"

She deflates slightly. "I've been trying for months," Marisol admits. "I am also being held here."

"By your own father?"

She nods.

"Why?"

"I… have disobeyed his wishes," she manages to grit out.

I wrinkle my nose. "Well. I suppose that's a problem that does come with having a father."

"Sorry."

I wave my hand. "It's fine. Old news. More to the point, we need a way to get the hell out of here."

Marisol shrugs. "Like what?"

I feel positively feral when I look at her.

"Can you drive one of those food trucks?"

* * *

We makeour move the next day.

The guards watch their stupid telenovela. They don't think we can do anything important. Clearly, someone's taught them that women are not to be concerned with.

They're clearly fucking stupid.

One of the things that Marisol and I do is put something special in their afternoon coffee. Marisol showed me the little greenhouse that's attached to the house, and there's something in there, taking advantage of the sweltering heat.

Aloe Vera plants.

Which make a great laxative.

We put enough in the afternoon coffee of the guards and the food delivery workers, to make them more than a bit uncomfortable. Marisol delivers the coffees, as she is always supposed to do, apparently, and she makes sure that every single one of the six men around us drinks their coffee to the fullest.

It's not a sedative.

But…

It's enough of a distraction.

When the last guard leaves, clutching his stomach, that's when we make our move.

"Come on." I grab Marisol's hand.

She's more than happy to comply.

We sprint for the little pickup truck connected to the kitchen via a doorway. The door is still open, and we book it straight through.

Climbing in the truck, Marisol starts it.

It roars to life, and she throws it in gear.

We rumble away.

"Does this thing go any faster?" I look back out the back window. We probably have about ten minutes before they notice we're gone.

Maybe more. It's not like they did a great job of checking on either of us during the day.

"No," Marisol says. "The estate is on seven hundred acres of land…"

"Seven hundred! I thought we were in a city?"

"Brasilia is kind of like Washington DC. It's a district and a city and also contains a lot of wildlife parks, because, you know. We protect our forests," she adds.

I raise my eyebrows. "Is that true?"

"I'm not about to get into the politics of Brazil with you, white girl."

"I'm Italian, if that helps."

"Doesn't help me," she says with a snort.

I smile. "I like you, Marisol."

"You just need to trust me, Gia. We're going to get out of here. You don't have to like me one bit."

"Guess it's a bit of a bonus then," I say, slamming into the side of the truck as she whips around a curve.

The next curve, she takes slower.

But unfortunately, there's gunshots that ring out over us as we trundle around.

"Shit," I say looking back. "They found us. Put this into high gear," I look at the truck.

"It is in high gear," Marisol grits.

We both duck as more bullets rain down on the truck's roof.

"Shit, Marisol. Maybe we could take like a side…"

There's someone coming up the road at us.

Three ATVs. Three men in helmets.

Three men with giant, semiautomatic rifles strapped to their chests.

"Fuck!" I snap.

Marisol turns the wheel, and the truck screams, turning slowly. For a second, I think we're going to tip over, and I brace myself to roll.

But the truck, heavy, tips back. Instead, we come screeching to a halt.

My heart is in my throat. We're dead. We're caught.

One of the men with a helmet lifts his rifle. He points it toward us.

"Get down!" I yell at Marisol, shoving her forward.

I wait for the round to puncture the truck.

I hear the gun go off. I wait for it to shatter my world.

Nothing happens.

Cautiously, I lift my head.

The guys on the ATVs aren't shooting at us.

They're shooting at the guards, racing down the trail at us.

Who the hell…?

One of the riders pulls his helmet off. He looks straight at us.

My ears ring.

My eyes feel like they can't focus on anything. There's something surreal about this.

Because the man in front of me, beautiful and bloody, his eyes staring into mine.

That man is Sal De Luca.

He came for me.