Allison Brennan - Fatal Secrets

Twenty-one Years Ago

Sonia was thirteen the first time she killed a man.

She and Izzy were prisoners in a filthy basement, the sound of men stomping above making Sonia jump when dust rained on her. Izzy cowered in the far corner on a foul-smelling, stained mattress atop the hard-packed dirt floor. The older girl spoke with an odd Spanish dialect that Sonia barely understood-that is, when Izzy spoke at all. During the hours they’d been imprisoned together, Sonia had learned her name, but not much else.

Sonia’s father had taught her a variety of languages and dialects over the years. The importance of establishing a rapport with the villagers required being a quick study of both verbal and physical language. She’d eagerly participated in the lessons because she’d wanted to earn her father’s rare praise. If only she’d known the truth.

If you’d known the truth, you’d be dead .

For ten days, through fear and anger and guilt so foul-tasting she could barely eat even when allowed a stale meal, she mourned all she’d lost. Her innocence, her father-her very identity.

Sonia drew in a sharp breath, swallowing the tears she could no longer afford to shed. If she wanted to survive, the suffocating self-pity had to end. She would find a way out.

When they left Belize ten nights ago, there’d been more than thirty girls crammed into the back of the truck. Sonia could hardly breathe through the stench of fear, vomit, and urine. Some cried. Some screamed. Some fought back.

Those who fought were beaten or raped. One girl had been shot and left to die by the side of the blistering-hot dirt road. Sonia wanted to believe that it was all a nightmare and she’d soon awaken in a hut, one of hundreds she’d slept in over the years, alone and lonely, but safe.

You were never safe. It was an illusion .

What happened to the other girls from the village? Where had they been taken? Why had Sonia been separated from them and locked in this filthy underground room with Izzy?

From what she’d learned eavesdropping, Sonia had been sold to a powerful man who wanted a virgin bride. Her captors snickered when they said “bride,” and Sonia didn’t know what would happen after the man claimed her. Would he rape her? Kill her? Would he keep her prisoner? Would he share her with other disgusting perverts?

Sonia had to get out-before she was turned over to the man who wanted to buy her as if she were property. She hoped Izzy would go with her, but every time she illustrated her escape plan using hand signals and some words Izzy understood, Izzy shook her head and pointed to her threadbare mattress, as if this were something she was resigned to.

“Esclav,” she’d repeat, which made no sense to Sonia. The closest word it might mean was “slave.” The unspoken fear of slavery was as real as anything in her life; perhaps that was why she couldn’t accept it, couldn’t acknowledge that she’d been sold into slavery by her own father.

The door at the top of the basement stairs rattled as a key turned in the lock. Izzy jumped at the sound, and Sonia’s heart pounded. She crammed her skinny body tightly into the corner, glancing right and left like trapped prey, knowing there was no weapon, nothing to save her. She had searched the barren room many times in the last twelve hours.

A hulking man lumbered down the rickety wood stairs, clutching the solitary railing that seemed too thin and too old to hold his ample weight. His name was Carlton and he’d been there when Sonia had first been taken away. He’d watched with a half-grin as her father had shot the village elder when he tried to stop the caravan from taking their daughters.

It’s your fault, Sonia. Curiosity killed the cat, sweetheart, and you’ve been too damn feline for too long .

She forced her father’s last words to her deep into the back of her mind. If she thought too much about him she wouldn’t be able to find the strength to fight back. And she wasn’t going to die, not like this, not as a slave.

Carlton swaggered across the dirt floor, his head brushing against the naked lightbulb hanging from the ceiling of the twelve-foot-square room. The dingy yellow glow against the windowless walls cast darker shadows in the corners, where spiders ate their silk-covered meals. There was no way out except for the door at the top of the stairs.

He turned to where Sonia cowered. She tried to hold her chin up but her body trembled and her eyes darted away from the man dressed in black. He was younger than her father, overweight, and balding. He reeked of cigarettes and beer, and the butt of a handgun protruded from the waistband of his pants.

Carlton spoke in unbroken English. “You’re the one I want.”

Sonia’s burning gaze turned to his, startled. Was this an order? A demand to meet her fate? His dark eyes stared at her chest, his scowl revealing crooked yellow teeth. She glanced away, embarrassed and angry and more terrified than when she saw her father kill.

He reached over and pinched her nipple. She shrieked, then bit her tongue, her fear swallowing her bravery. She shrank against the cold cinder-block wall and silently prayed, not believing it would do any good. Not after what she’d seen. He grinned at her, jerked down the arm of her loose-fitting blouse, and slapped her shoulder. Pain flared from where his fingers had burned her skin, marking her as his property. She refused to cry out, instead biting her tongue again, this time so hard she tasted blood.

“This makes you chattel.” He pressed his thumb into her healing flesh until her tears spilled over and she barked out an agonized sob.

He laughed cruelly. “You think you’re something special, Sonia Martin. You’re just a woman. Don’t forget it. You’re pretty now, you’ll bring in good money, but your beauty is short-lived, and if you’re trouble, you’ll be dead.”

She spat blood-tinged saliva in his face and immediately knew she’d made a mistake. His lips curled and he backhanded her so hard her head hit the wall and her vision blurred. His fat diamond ring cut her cheek. He kicked her in the stomach and would have beaten her to death if a voice from the top of the stairs hadn’t stopped him.

“She’s not yours.” He sounded American. Had they traveled far enough to reach America? Possibly, but she didn’t think it would help. She was a stranger here, a foreigner. Illegal.

“She fuck-”

“I don’t care if she bit your dick off, you are not to touch her again or I will kill you. You’d better hope she heals quick, or the boss will take it out of your share of the profits. Take the whore and be quick, the others want a turn before the trucks arrive with the rest of the merchandise.”

The door slammed shut and Sonia scrambled to the far side, away from this horrible stranger who glared at her as if he would enjoy squeezing the life from her body.

“Puta,” he whispered. “You’re trouble, no one listens. Don’t even think about disrespecting me again, or I’ll beat the shit out of-” he stopped himself and turned his anger on Izzy. Sonia suddenly understood. The man upstairs wouldn’t let him touch Sonia, but the other girl was fair game.

He barked out a crude order in Spanish. Sonia didn’t believe she’d heard right until Izzy, tears streaming down her pretty brown face, began to unbutton her simple cotton dress.

“Watch, bitch. You’ll be doing the same thing as soon as your owner gets tired of your attitude. You’re only a virgin once. Once that’s gone, you’re just a whore.”

He slapped Izzy, and Sonia jerked as if she’d been hit. Izzy sobbed and took her dress off faster. She was naked underneath, her thin body scarred. Sonia’s fists clenched. Her head ached; her cheek dripped blood onto her torn, dirty dress. She hated feeling so helpless, but she didn’t know what to do.