Карен Кингсбери - A Distant Shore [calibre]

And they did not include death.

Death would be easy. Eliza had often longed for death—in the sea currents or on land, the method didn’t matter. Death would mean she wouldn’t have to spend her days waiting to be married off. She wouldn’t live another night in the Palace, hearing the muffled cries of the girls down the hall.

But death had eluded her for the past ten years.

At this point Eliza had no choice but to sit in her velvet chair, untainted captive that she was. But she didn’t have to smile. No one asked that of her. That job belonged to the younger girls.

Five minutes before noon, two housemaids entered the room—the way they did every day at this time. They moved among the girls, fixing hair and applying blush to the cheeks of the youngest. The older girls did their own makeup. Better than letting anyone touch them before nightfall, they had told Eliza.

The housemaids were older and indifferent. This was their living. When the customers arrived, they went home. Clocked out like this was some sort of twisted hotel. As if sex slavery was just one more aspect of the tourism industry in Belize. When the clock chimed noon, the women left. Lunch break. No big deal. No efforts to save the imprisoned girls.

Eliza exhaled. If the housemaids felt bad for their part in perpetuating Anders’s trafficking ring, they didn’t show it.

A minute later the doors opened, as predictable as the ocean waves. This part of the horror belonged to her father alone. Showtime, he called it. And every day Eliza had to be here to reassure the girls, to watch over them. To make them feel safe.

When she was little, Eliza had actually looked forward to this hour each day. Seeing the other girls, talking with them. They were like big sisters to her back then. Her father would enter the room and walk down the line of girls. Then he would stop and pat her head. Like she was the most special. His princess.

Eliza studied the girls on the two sofas. That was how they felt, now. They looked up to her and the older teens. Eliza could see it in their eyes. Whatever unspeakable things had been done to them the night before, all seemed well now.

The older girls would keep them safe.

After the beating when she turned fourteen, Alexa had told Eliza that her eyes had been opened to the demon her father was. Now when he smiled, chills ran down Eliza’s spine and it took everything in her not to run.

“There you are, darlings.” Her father waltzed into the room. He dressed in flamboyant costumes and strange suits. Like he’d lost his mind—which of course he had. Today’s ridiculous costume was blue flouncy pants and an old English button-up blouse, high ruffled collar and all. His pointy leather shoes clicked on the tiled floor.

He looked more like a court jester than the prince he believed himself to be.

The younger girls sat straighter on the two sofas. They liked Anders McMillan, same as Eliza had when she was younger. Eliza could see that in their eyes, too. Run, she wanted to scream at them. Before the awakening happened. Come with me! Let’s get out of here. Eliza closed her eyes and tried to breathe again. She couldn’t help the girls now. It was her fault they were here.

First in the room with Anders was the redhead Eliza had seen on the beach a few days ago. He followed Anders down the row of dolled-up teens. “Maybe someone younger tonight.” He looked over his shoulder and winked at Eliza. “Since I can’t have the princess.”

Eliza’s father’s eyes turned dark. He stopped and gave the redheaded man a shove. “That’s my daughter. Don’t look at her!” Another shove and the man stepped back. He was trembling. At the door, two guards moved closer, waiting for Eliza’s father’s command. Instead her father glared at the customer. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes.” The redhead didn’t dare glance at Eliza again. He made his choice from the younger teen girls and one of the guards escorted him out of the room.

One at a time the men filed in and chose their entertainment for the night. The men left, the evening housemaids took the girls back to their rooms and only Eliza and her father remained. She started to leave, but he held up his hand. “Not yet.” He motioned to the guard still at the door. “Now. Bring him in now.”

What was this? So soon? Eliza felt her heart rate quicken. Was her groom here to meet her already? She wanted to jump out the window and run as far and fast from here as she could.

Before Eliza could ask, another man entered the room. He was tall and striking. Dark hair and a clean-shaven face. Not a day over thirty, if Eliza had to guess. This was her groom, Eliza had no doubt. How did such a young guy lose his soul? she wondered. Or were all rich people wretched?

“Eliza.” Her father walked to her. “This is Henry Thomas Ellington, the Fourth.” He motioned for the man to join them. “This is your groom.”

Her father took gentle hold of her arm, like he was a doting, kindhearted parent. “Henry Thomas, this is Eliza Ann Lawrence.”

“Hello.” Henry Thomas held out his hand. He wore a sharp white dress shirt and a pale blue tie. An Italian suit that rivaled anything Eliza had seen at the Palace.

She gritted her teeth, but she didn’t hesitate. “Hello.” This was nonnegotiable. She curtsied and lifted her hand to his. He took it and kissed it. The motion repulsed her. How dare he come here to claim her, like she was a commodity?

“Eliza… I’ll see you tonight.” If Henry Thomas was trying to be charming it fell flat.

“Yes.” Eliza nodded. This was a business deal, nothing more. She held her breath again until Henry Thomas left.

When he was gone, her father paced to the door and back. “You will have two nights with Henry Thomas. Consider it your honeymoon.” He faced her. “After that, Mr. Ellington will sign papers committing to this marriage.” His smile faded. “Be kind to him, Eliza. I’ve been planning this since you were nine years old.” He touched her cheek.

Eliza wanted to scream at him. “I know that.”

“Watch your sarcasm.” He snarled. “I’ve given you everything, Eliza. All your life.”

She looked away. What sort of monster would use his own daughter? For a business deal? Sickening, Eliza thought. And once more she remembered her dream of escaping. When Henry Thomas left her room tonight, she could escape the Palace and run to the police. She would tell them everything she knew, and if Henry Thomas or her father killed her, so be it. Because how could she marry Henry Thomas knowing that it would mean even more drug trafficking, even more girls captured and enslaved?

With almost imperceptible shifts of his eyes, her father surveyed her. “Don’t let me down, Eliza.” He turned and left the room.

Eliza wondered if she would throw up on the cold floor. Her knees shook and her head hurt. What would Henry Thomas expect of her tonight? She thought of her father. He must’ve seen the hatred in her eyes. Nausea consumed her. She would gladly push her father off a cliff and watch him hit the rocks below. But even that wouldn’t be what he deserved. Nothing would.

Not until he wound up in hell.

One of the housemaids entered. “Miss, you need to get down to the beach. Your father wants you to get your sun. Then you need to prepare for tonight.”

Eliza glanced back at the window. She could leave. She could cross to the window, and jump and…

She turned to the housemaid. “I… I don’t want to prepare.”

“Your father insists.”

Eliza squeezed her eyes shut. The girls had told her what would happen later. After her time at the beach. There would be bathing and essential oils, primping and makeup. Her father was right. In all ways that mattered, her honeymoon would begin tonight. A honeymoon for the most macabre wedding—a ceremony set to take place at the end of the week. If she lived up to Henry Thomas’s standard.