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“The movie plot follows a kidnap victim played by Collins,” the reporter said, “and it is believed that Stratford thought having the actress kidnapped in real life would add authenticity to a movie that has had a slew of unforgiving early reviews.”
“Unforgiving?” Belinda’s mother snorted. “They slaughtered him. And he deserved every word. You were the only thing in that whole mess worth watching, darling.”
Belinda wasn’t sure that was any consolation, but she flashed her mother a smile anyway. There was a commotion on the screen behind the reporter, and the doors to the L.A. police station opened. Ethan was escorted out, handcuffed between two cops. Reporters pressed in on them and were held back by more police. As the reporters shouted questions at the director, Belinda stared at his face.
There he was, the man behind it all. The person responsible for their suffering. The person who’d sold her to men who would rape her, and kill her and John. And for what? For a movie?
“Turn it off,” she said to Elle. “I’ve seen enough.”
The screen went black as Belinda pressed her face to John’s chest. The overwhelming feeling of betrayal, of being used to save someone else some money, was too much to bear.
“Don’t worry, my love,” her gran said. “That little skunk is going to jail. I’ve been in jail. It’s no picnic. And he isn’t as sturdy as I am. He’s a skinny little thing with no backbone. I give him two days before someone makes him their pet. And I totally mean that in an unwillingly sexual way.”
“Gran!” Julia said.
“What?” Gran said with genuine confusion. “We want him to suffer, don’t we?”
“That’s not the point,” Belinda’s mother said. “You aren’t helping. And you were only in a holding cell for two days. You’re hardly an expert.”
“I still have nightmares,” Gran said dramatically.
Belinda tuned her family out as she turned her face towards John; she was barely holding it together. “John,” she whispered, “can you make them leave now?”
“Sure, baby.” He kissed her hair. “Okay, everybody out. Belinda’s had enough, we’re done here.”
She could only imagine what his face must have looked like, because not a single person argued. Instead, there was the noise of people shuffling out of the room and then there was silence.
Belinda clung to John. “I’m so sorry,” she said as tears fell, wetting his shirt. “This was all my fault. You were kidnapped because of me. Because that man used us for a publicity stunt.”
John gently but firmly held her chin and lifted her face to him. “Don’t ever apologise to me for something somebody else did. You hear me?” There was fire in his eyes.
She nodded and then her bottom lip trembled. “I trusted him. I trusted my driver and my bodyguards. I trusted them and I was wrong. How do I know who to trust now?”
“You can trust me,” he said. “I’ll weed out the rest.”
She lifted her hand to his cheek as she stared into those intense, pale eyes of his. “I do trust you,” she whispered.
“Then trust this too, baby. Sometime in that jungle, I fell in love with you. Not the actress you give the world, but you. Belinda Collins.” He placed her palm flat over his heart. “You own this now. I will always stand between you and harm. Always. So, trust me. Trust me to look out for you. Trust me to love you. Trust me to stand with you no matter what life brings. Trust me.”
“John,” she whispered as tears fell. She lifted her face to his, wanting his lips, and he gave them to her. The kiss was soft, slow, gentle. Each touch of lips to lips was a word. A promise. A declaration of hope.
“I do trust you, John. Don’t you know I love you? How could I not? I don’t know what the future will bring for us, but I do know I don’t want to let you go. I love you, John Garcia. I love you.”
She gave him the words against his mouth and went willingly when he deepened the kiss. A lot had been taken from her during her time in the jungle, but what she’d gained far outweighed the loss. She’d come away with the greatest prize of all.
She’d come away with John.
Epilogue
It was wise to call John Garcia by his street name—Beast. Unless you were Belinda Collins—she could call him anything she liked.
“Honey?” She padded into the kitchen of their house on the south coast of England. She wore cut-off jean shorts and a pink I Heart NYC vest. Her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head. She was beautiful.
“What is it, baby?” He looked up from the notes Callum had sent over for their latest job. It seemed simple enough, but after a few jobs with Benson Security, he’d learned that could be deceptive. It was always best to check the information twice and be as prepared as possible. After years working on his own as a cage fighter, he thrived on being part of a team. Having his childhood friends around him didn’t hurt either.
“What was it you took from the guard’s pocket in the compound, can you remember?” Belinda said as she walked over to him and sat in his lap. She put her arms around his neck and nuzzled at his jaw.
She’d decided to take a year off from acting, movie promotion and TV appearances. She told her agent it was a year to come to terms with what she’d experienced and to reassess her direction. She’d told him that she needed time to get used to the fact that no matter what she did, for the rest of her life, every single story about her would include a sidebar detailing the kidnapping. The way to cope with that kind of infamy was to claim ownership of it—her words, not his. And she was doing that by writing a screenplay about their experience. She already had a studio interested in it, even though it was a fictionalised version of events and she had no intention of playing the lead in the movie.
