Page 3 of Marks of Rebellion

My fear comes true when he steps out of a tent, and his men drag me over to him.

He speaks in English. "Vanessa. I've been waiting for you."

Santiago Gómez is the leader of the Colombian drug cartel and the most ruthless man I've ever laid eyes on. I've accompanied Carlos to too many dinners to count where Santiago was present. Even though I was in the presence of men who were paid to protect Carlos, and thus me, I never let my guard down.

The one time I begged Carlos not to ever make me go to another event with Santiago again, I paid dearly. Carlos tugged my head back so forcefully, he gave me whiplash. In Carlos's mind, I suggested that Santiago was someone more powerful than him, and that wasn't acceptable.

For two months, I had to wear a neck brace, and Carlos told everyone I got hurt in a car accident.

After that, I never mentioned my fear of Santiago again. But every time we had to be in the same room as him, my stomach quivered in fear.

Carlos Garcia is a leader of the people to all of Belize. Behind closed doors, he's a monster. Santiago Gómez is as vile as Carlos.

My current predicament finds me staring into Santiago's dark, cold, evil eyes. I swallow the thick knot in my throat and try to stop my lip from quivering. "Wh-what do you want from me?"

A sinister grin appears, and my stomach flips. "Take her shackles off," he orders his men in Spanish. In English, he says, "You won't be needing those."

Confusion and terror mix, swirling in my veins so fast, I get dizzy and have to work hard to continue standing as his man roughly grabs the bruised spots on my wrists to unlock the cuffs.

Why don't I need these?

What is he going to do to me?

To torment me, he takes his hands and holds my face. "You know a lot, don't you?"

"No." It comes out as a whisper instead of sounding confident.

His eyes turn to slits. The tip of his finger slides down my cheek and neck then through my cleavage.

The ability to hold my tears back is gone.

"But you do. I've eaten dinner with you, no?" He raises his eyebrows and waits for me to acknowledge him.

"Y-yes."

"So, you've also had dinners with Torres?"

My insides quiver in fear. Admitting anything to Santiago puts me in more danger.

"Answer me," he screams and spit flies into my face.

"Yes."

"And Global Leaders? Them, too?"

"Yes."

His face comes closer and his stale breath flares in my nostrils. "You know what side of the fence that pig sits on?"

There's a war going on. I didn't want any part of it. Neither side is good or moral. And I don't want to be caught in the middle. But there's no way around it.

"Yes," I choke out.

His next words create a new nightmare. "You will have dinner with me. Everything you know, you will tell me. But I will not have a dirty woman at my table." He turns to his men and growls in Spanish, "Take her to the river with the supplies."

For the first time since being captured, I'm out of my restraints. But there's nowhere to run. Running would be a mistake anyway. Santiago and his men would kill me in a minute.

I'm led to the river. The man sets a bucket down containing soap, shampoo, conditioner, razors, shaving cream, and a comb.