CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The waiting was the hardest part, Beth thought miserably. If she was going to be raped and murdered she just wished they’d get it over with. The notorious Alcista was in another part of the country, and it was taking him time to get there, apparently. No one bothered her again, though every now a then a different silhouette would appear at the broken door and peer in at her, but she simply stayed where she was, her back ramrod straight against the wall, waiting.

To her amazement she even drifted to sleep for a bit. It was his arrival that woke her, the excited shouts of the men, the general backslapping and obsequious behavior befitting the rock star of terrorists. Most people didn’t even know what he looked like, she realized, but word had it that he wasn’t bad-looking. Maybe she wouldn’t mind it so much.

Yeah, as if violent rape by George Clooney would be any better than violent rape by someone ugly. Rape was rape.

Apparently a great number of toasts had to be drunk before Alcista would decide how to deal with her. She knew he came to the door to look in on her – she could see the swagger in his stride, the vanity in every ounce of his body. He turned away and made a filthy joke at her expense, one she only half-understood in his guttural, idiomatic Spanish, a joke the rest of the men found hysterically funny.

She concentrated on her breathing. She’d been through pain before, she could tolerate that. And no one could shame her without her permission. She would survive if she could, die if she had to.

The noisy conversation began to make a little more sense as she got used to the timbre of Alcista’s voice. He was not pleased with the men, that was one thing.

“You have fucked this up, hermanos,” he said. “I had to finish the American boy and get Matteo to dump the body in the harbor. But what about the Englishman? Where is he? You just let him walk away?”

A babble of excuses, which Alcista cut short. Beth closed her eyes, willing her breathing to stay slow and steady. She couldn’t think about Dylan right now, or she’d start screaming. She could only breathe. Survive.

“Enough!” the man spat. “I have had word he’s headed north, to the capitol, hoping to get a plane out of here. I want three of you to go after him. Don’t come back without him.” There was a short burst of protest, one that halted quickly.

“And the rest of you,” he continued. “We’ve lost three sources of income. Why are you sitting around drinking cerveza when you should be looking for new guests of La Luz?”

“We’ve been awaiting your orders, Alcista,” one man was brave enough to say. “And you promised we could watch you deal with la gringa.”

Alcista made a sound of disgust. “You think you deserve a reward? Get out of here, all of you. I’ll take care of her on my own.”

There was a noisy scramble, the slamming of the door a number of times, and Beth held her breath, wondering if she had been left alone with the monster.

Apparently not. “Why are you still here?” he demanded.

“You told us to stay, Alcista.” It was the squat man; she could tell by his voice, and she wondered how many had stayed behind. How many would be watching. “Besides, we know you prefer an audience.”

Silence, as if the man were considering this. “You can stand by the door if you like,” he said grudgingly.

“Oh, no, jefe,” Squatman said. “There are no lights in that room – you wouldn’t be able to see her properly to enjoy her. And five of us cannot crowd into that narrow doorway.”

“Are you really telling me how to do this, Teo?” The sound of Alcista’s voice brought chills to Beth’s skin.

Apparently Teo was made of sterner stuff, though his voice quavered somewhat when he responded. “You told me you wanted witnesses, and that we might take a turn later if you were pleased and she was still . . .”

Okay, now her nausea was back. She didn’t move. Breathe, she told herself.

Maybe if she tried to run they’d shoot her, get it over quickly.

“Do not tell me what I want. There are times when I want company, times when I want privacy. Just what does this gringa look like.”

“She’s beautiful, jefe. Hair like silver, nice tits, a pretty mouth.”

“And how have you seen her tits, Teo? Did you decide to sample her first?”

Now Teo was sounding terrified. “No, jefe. We just looked, that’s all. To make certain she would be worth your time.”

“If she has hair like silver she is worth my time.” She could hear his voice getting closer, and she gulped in air, afraid she was going to cry. The light was blocked, as Alcista the Rapist stood there, looking at her, a dark shape in the doorway. “You men make yourselves busy,” he said over his shoulder. “I will let you know when you can watch.”

“Yes, jefe. Gracias, jefe.”

He was coming closer, and Beth couldn’t help it, she scrambled back into the corner, trying to get away from him. He loomed over her, and she wanted to curse herself for a coward. She had planned to get through this with dignity, and here she was shivering.

“Take off your clothes, gringa,” he said in a voice that carried to the next room. And then, inexplicably, in a soft voice, he added “please.” In English.

She stared up at the figure in the shadows, her eyes widening with shock. “No,” she said instinctively, her mind reeling.

“Then I’ll tear them off you,” the man announced in loud Spanish. “Don’t make this harder,” he whispered.

She froze. It was MacGowan, she would know that voice anywhere, though he moved differently and looked like a stranger. He had a pair of sunglasses in his hand, his hair was tied back under a bandanna, and his face looked colder, crueler, indefinably different. But it was MacGowan.

She was frozen. She couldn’t say a word, and he moved so fast she hadn’t seen it coming, catching the nun’s habit in his two strong hands and continuing the tear, ripping it down the middle. The fabric was old and frail, and it fell apart beneath his grip, falling down her shoulders, and she sat there in nothing but the tank top and panties she’d worn beneath it.

He squatted down beside her, and she could see his face. His cold, brutal face and his unexpectedly kind eyes. “I’m sorry, senorita,” he said loudly. “But there’s no way out of this.” He added in that whispered English, “no way at all, Sister Beth.”

“You tell her, jefe!” came a voice from the living room, and MacGowan snarled.

“I can’t get rid of them,” he whispered. “I really am sorry.” He reached out and ripped the tank top in half, and she clutched at the torn cloth, holding it over her breasts as she let out a cry of dismay.

More laughter from the other room. “Where is the real Alcista?” she whispered.

“Pillow talk already?” one of the men must have overheard her, if not the words.

MacGowan had already slapped a hand over her mouth, and he leaned forward, breathing in her ear. “He’s dead. I killed him two hours ago. If it were anyone else we could get out of this, but he was notorious. I’m sorry.”

It took her a moment to understand, and then her horror grew. “Try not to think about it,” he added. “It’s a game, a play. You can fight, scream, do anything you want. It’s for show, and when I think they’re convinced I’ll take them out.”

He was still covering her mouth with his hand, but she questioned him with her eyes. “No, sweetheart, I am not going to rape you,” he whispered again, and unbelievably there was a note of laughter in his voice. “You are, however, going to have to get naked.”

He raised his voice. “Either you strip or I will bring my men in to strip you.” He moved his hand, giving her an encouraging nod, and she managed a strangled protest.

It didn’t matter. He tore the rest of tank top off her, then rose, yanking off his shirt and reaching for his zipper. “Take those pretty panties off, gringa,” he said in Alcista’s rough voice, “or I’ll tear them off you.”

To her shock he shucked his worn jeans, and stood there, naked. She averted her gaze quickly, but not quite quickly enough, and she was suddenly furious. It didn’t matter that he was trying to save her life, that this was a play. The damned man was turned on, and that was betrayal enough.

He sank down on the mattress. “Spread you legs, gringa, and get ready for the bull!” he said.

She slapped him. She had no idea where it came from, maybe just the fury that she was so vulnerable and he had an erection. An impressive one. She hated him, hated him so much that it would have been better if it had been the monstrous Alcista. Then it wouldn’t be such a betrayal.

“Ooooh,” one of the men called out. “You won’t get away with that, will she, Teo?”

He was kneeling on the bed, an unreadable expression on his face. “Bitch,” he said in Spanish, and slapped one hand against his palm, hard.

She didn’t have the wits to say anything, and he frowned at her. “Not hard enough, bitch. See if you like this?” He hit his hand again, and this time she shrieked in simulated pain.

He nodded. “That’s the way,” he said in coded approval. He caught her ankles and yanked her down on the bed so that she lay flat, and he pushed her legs apart. Her panties, plain cotton ones made for practicality rather than seduction, were still in place, even though her smallish breasts were exposed. He didn’t seem to notice, but she wasn’t going to look at him again, not when he was naked.

He picked up a piece of the discarded habit and ripped it noisily. “When I grunt loudly you shriek,” he said with barely a breath of a sound.

That wouldn’t be hard, she thought, keeping her eyes closed as he moved between her legs. A moment later he was lying on top of her, emitting a loud, groaning noise, and she belatedly remembered to squeak.

“Is she tight, jefe? I bet she’s tight.”

“Shut up!” he called out in Spanish. And then she felt a vicious pinch on her arm and she let out a really good cry. “You like that, don’t you, bitch?” he called out, making another guttural moan.

She opened her eyes, looking up at him. She could feel him against her, between her legs, iron-hard, and for some reason she felt her fury ebb. It was MacGowan, who had saved her time and again, and he was saving her once more.

He put his head down again, against her ear. “I’m going to move, and make a lot of noise. You need to play your part or we’re not getting out of this. Don’t be a baby – your virtue will still be intact.”

He didn’t even seem to notice that his hard chest was against her breasts. She hadn’t realized he had a light dusting of hair, and it pushed against her nipples in unspeakable, unmistakable arousal.

“If you’re being so damned noble why do you have an erection?” she said in an icy whisper.

She saw his grin in the shadows. “Three years, babe.” And he began to move.

She shrieked obediently. She hated this, hated the parody of rape, and yet she clutched his arms, wanting to assure herself he was there. Her fingers moved up his biceps as he thrust against her with loud, ferocious grunts, like a pig in heat, and she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to giggle or weep. She caught his shoulders in her hands and held on, the force of him shaking her, and she realized with sudden shock that she wanted him inside her. Despite everything, this hideous parody was bringing an atavistic longing, and she lifted her knees, cradling his hips.

He turned his head to look at her, and for a moment they stared at each other. “Bitch,” he called out in Spanish. And then he kissed her.

Her response was instant. She arched up against him as a shiver of desire started deep within her, and she kissed him back, touching him with her tongue, mating with him, wanting him, wanting him so badly, his safety, his strength, his fierce power that had become sexual, and she wanted to throw herself into it, to melt and die . . .

“Shit,” he whispered. And then louder. “Shit, shit, shit,” in Spanish, and she felt the wet heat of him on her stomach, as he sank his head on her shoulder, shaking.

For a long time he didn’t move. To her surprise she realized she was cradling him, her arms around him, her hands stroking his smooth back, a soothing aftermath. She had done this for her other lovers, but to her overwhelming shame these twisted minutes, when he hadn’t even been inside her, were still more sexually charged than any intercourse she’d ever endured.

A shadow filled the door. “My turn, jefe?”

“Get the fuck out of here.” His voice was rough, and the man moved away without argument. MacGowan looked down at her, a rueful expression on his face. “You can scream at me later,” he said, rolling off her, taking the torn piece of cloth and wiping her stomach. She knew a moment’s shock at the indecent use of a nun’s habit, and then realized he was looking at her breasts.

“Stay here,” he said, unnecessarily as he pulled on his jeans. He reached down and picked up the gun. It was large and black in the shadows, oddly elongated, and she’d seen enough TV to know it had a silencer. It was now, she thought. Whether they were going to live or die.

She should have ripped her panties off herself.