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"The hair color is fake. Anyone can be a blond," the older voice said.
"It's not fake. It's real, which is rare and in high demand."
"How do you know that it's real?"
Margo wanted to know that, too. Had Alberto checked her pubic hair?
"It's obvious. She has no dark roots, and the shade is not one that can be achieved with artificial coloring. Just look at it. It looks like spun gold."
"She's too old," the one Alberto called señor said. "But she is passable. I can gift her to Carlos. He likes blonds."
Someone exhaled a relieved breath, and she heard a door open and close, but she was still afraid to open her eyes. Heck, she was afraid to breathe.
Listening intently, Margo heard breathing that didn't belong to her and wondered whether Alberto was still in the room. It wouldn't be señor because he had sounded impatient and pissed.
Long moments passed as she listened to every sound and registered every sensation. She was swaying, but she wasn't sure whether it was her bed or her head. Was she on a water mattress? It kept moving.
Finally, after what seemed forever, she cracked her eyelids open just a little and peered at the ceiling. When no one said anything and no one moved, she dared to turn her head slightly and look at the room.
The first thing Margo noticed was that there was another woman sleeping on a bed only a few feet away. She was lying on her side with her back facing Margo, but given the black hair spilling from behind her and the hourglass outline of her body, that was Jasmine.
Above her was an oddly shaped window, and Margo tried to figure out what it reminded her of, but her mind was fuzzy. It was dark outside, so it was still night, and she could see the stars and the moon, but they were also swaying.
It finally dawned on her where she was.
The stars and the moon weren't moving, but she was because she was on a boat, and the swaying she'd felt meant that it was moving.
Great. How the hell was she going to escape from a boat in the open sea? Did yachts have lifeboats that she could steal?
Groaning, she forced herself to sit up, then lowered her feet to the floor. She was still wearing the same clothes she had on yesterday, but someone had removed her shoes.
Thank goodness for small mercies. No one had removed her clothing, so she hadn't been violated while she was asleep.
Not asleep.
She'd been drugged.
That's why her head felt so heavy and why her eyelids were not fully cooperating with her brain's demands.
Trying to stand up was a no-go, and she resorted to dropping down to her knees and walking on all fours toward Jasmine's bed.
There couldn't have been more than six feet separating the beds, but she was so badly uncoordinated that it took her several tries until she made it across.
"Jasmine," she whispered while shaking her friend's shoulder. "Wake up, Jaz. We are in big trouble."
She got a groan in response, but that was it. Jasmine must have been even more out of it than she was, and there was no waking her up.
Margo was on her own.
Sitting on the floor by Jasmine's bed, she tried to reconstruct the events that had landed her in this crappy situation.
The second bottle of wine must have been laced with something. Was it the infamous date-rape drug?
Jaz had drunk more than she had, so maybe that's why she seemed more out of it. Margo remembered Alberto filling up his glass from the bottle and lifting it to his lips, but he must have only pretended to drink.
What the hell was she going to do?
Taking another look around the room, or rather cabin, she saw her purse on top of the dresser and almost cried with relief. Her phone was in there. If they weren't too far away from shore, maybe she could call for help.
