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She danced around the area, picking up fruit and storing it in the sling she’d made across her body. If she lived to be one hundred, she would never look at a banana the same again. In fact, she might get one dipped in bronze and keep it on her mantel.
As she bent and reached for another bunch, the jungle went suddenly quiet and an icy chill swept through her. Slowly, Belinda stood, scanning the treeline.
But it was too late.
A hand clasped her throat as a knife pricked her side and she found herself pulled back against a hard body.
“I knew I would find you,” a male voice said in heavily accented English. “You could not escape me, my English whore.”
Miguel.
The guard who’d promised to rape her.
Panic assaulted Belinda, and she struggled, kicking back at him, scratching at his arm. The hold on her throat tightened until she was clawing for air.
“Keep fighting,” he said against her ear. “I like it when they fight.”
Belinda stilled, making him bark out a guttural laugh.
“I’m going to enjoy you,” he told her. “You have spirit. Breaking it will be my pleasure. Where is your friend? Did he abandon you?”
Belinda’s gaze shot to the tree where John was slumped over. If you didn’t know he was there, you wouldn’t have spotted him. He was in no state to help her. He wasn’t even conscious. Miguel would kill him for sure.
“Yes,” she said.
“Excellent.” His hand tighte
ned further, and dots danced in front of her eyes.
She was losing consciousness. He was killing her. She clawed at his arm, trying to pull it away from her throat, and he yanked her up onto her tiptoes.
“If you don’t behave, I will make you bleed.” He ran the flat of his tongue up her cheek as Belinda began to feel lightheaded. She fought, struggling against him, desperate not to pass out.
“Maybe I will make you bleed anyway,” he said. “I like blood. It can make things much more interesting.”
The blackness of oblivion closed in on Belinda. Her hands and feet tingled, and she lost the energy to fight. She was dying. He was killing her. John. Who would look out for John?
Abruptly, he let go of her throat and her legs gave way. She gasped for breath as his arm circled her waist. He held her in place with a punishing grip on her breast. His fingers dug in tight, and she knew there would be marks. He pressed her back into his body, rubbing his hips against her, letting her feel the threat of his erection. Letting her know what her future held.
Belinda gasped for breath as her vision cleared. Her throat was aching and tender, and she knew there was no way she’d be able to scream—even if John was awake to hear her.
Miguel took a handful of the sheet between her breasts and ripped it from her. It fell to the ground, along with the sling full of fruit. She lurched forward, taking advantage of the second he wasn’t holding her to try to escape. A hand twisted in her hair and pulled her back. The knife moved to her breast, the tip against her nipple. She felt a sting and whimpered. Blood ran down her breast and dripped to the forest floor.
“Beautiful. The red against your pale skin is beautiful.” He ground his hips against her, yanking her back with her hair until her scalp felt like it was going to rip from her head. “Maybe I will make red lines all over your body and carve my own pattern into the famous skin of Belinda Collins.”
“No, please. Please don’t cut me.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, forced from a throat that ached with each laboured word.
“See, I knew you would beg. They all beg. Eventually.” He pushed her forward with such force that she tripped and landed hard. Her knee hit one of the tree roots, which jutted out all over the ground. A sharp, hot streak of pain made her gag, and she knew she was badly injured.
Running was now impossible.
A sob escaped. She couldn’t hold it back.
Miguel chuckled at the sound. He grabbed her hair, yanked her to her feet and threw her over the same fallen tree John had asked her to bend over the day before. Another pained sob escaped. Her knee barely held her weight. Her throat was on fire. Blood trickled from her breast. And still, she fought. She struggled against him, clawing at his arms, kicking back at him with her good leg. She managed to turn until she faced him and scratched at his face, drawing blood.
“Bitch!” With one almighty backhand, he struck her across the cheek and sent her back to the ground.
She hit her head on the log and her world tilted. For a second, she no longer knew where she was or what was happening. And then she felt a hand tangle in her hair and he yanked her back to her feet. Her knee gave out under her, and he held her up with her hair. It felt as though her scalp was being ripped from her skull. Belinda sobbed, barely able to see through the tears filling her eyes.
