Page 9 of Saint

Exiting that world, my gaze anchored to the beauty before me. I couldn’t exactly give Victoria the beach. Not while we were 30,000 feet up in the air. Dedicated to the task of locating her comfort, my mental faculties worked overtime to find it.

Victoria

Javier was dead.

The man who’d begged me to accompany him to Indonesia was gone. Robbed of his life. The fact antagonized my memories, drowning me in a bizarre shock state. We were just on the beach, marveling over the surreal rose-colored sands of Komodo Island. I’d wandered off to find myself in the presence of turtles hatching when I saw his body hit the sand near the fire we’d made.

Shock kept me rooted in place before my brain function resumed. The first command my frazzled dome issued was to tilt my gaze upward to the large rock beside me. My fearful eyes roamed, but I didn’t see anyone. And then, nearly a minute later, another shot rang out, causing me to gasp at the realization that I had indeed heard the violent eruption from proximity to where I stood.

Tucking into a small cavernous opening in the rock, I dared not breathe. Crammed with fear, I waited, hoping that the culprit for Javier’s demise would soon be gone. My hopes were retired when I stepped on something obscure. The bristling of that noise was loud enough for anyone to hear. When I looked around, I noticed it was a turtle.

It wasn’t fully grown, but it wasn’t tiny either. I tried to lift it and redirect its path elsewhere, but when I looked up, I was standing face-to-face with the glowering gunman. The pistol was trained at my head as he silently motioned for me to stand and move in his direction.

And now I was on a plane with him and his… associate.

The aircraft was cold, prompting my skin to litter with goosebumps. My linen halter dress could hardly serve as attire. My bare feet bore evidence of cuts and bruises. I was in the company of men who were capable of doing me harm, coasting through the air to God only knew where.

Fear was an understatement. I was outright terrified.

“Will you let me go?” I asked, forcing him to turn away from the persistent clacking of his laptop. Annoyed by my disturbance, he focused his attention on me.

“You’ve seen too much. It leaves much to consider.”

Without offering another word, he returned to his laptop, keying away at the screen as if something more pressing required his immediate attention.

“Does that mean you’re going to kill me?” I asked, my voice cracking despite my attempts to keep it even.

“And mess up our plane? Come on, Beauty. You look smarter than that.”

“Why?” Helpless with nothing left to lose, I pursued the question. “Why did you kill Javi? He didn’t deserve that,” I barreled out, instantly regretting it.

A laugh was produced by the man, whom I’d come to learn was called Ange. “Didn’t deserve?” He chuckled again.

In a fluid movement, his gun was trained on me as he commanded fear to return to my blossoming rounds. “What the fuck do you know about what Javier deserved? Were you in on it, too?”

My heart slammed against my chest as my life flashed before my eyes. In a blink, I, too, could be just like Javi. Making a mental note to be mindful of my loose tongue, I raised my hands slowly, signaling surrender. Desperate to salvage my life, the words raced from my lips.

“In on what? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Javi was someone I’d been casually dating. I never knew him to be in on anything illicit,” I pleaded, my eyes darting between him and the other man who showed little interest in our interaction. His attention was consumed by something on his phone.

Panting, my unsteady breaths paired with sweaty palms and wide eyes beseeching mercy. My heart was running a marathon. Never in a million years would I have forecasted the present moment as being my life. Tears manifested from my eyes despite my desire to convey strength. For several seconds I dissociated, unable to accept this as my reality.

I was the founder of a blossoming fashion brand. I had a host of friends and family who loved me. I didn’t have enemies. And yet, this was my unfortunate reality. As I bit back a sob, the gun was lowered as Ange reached for a bag nearby.

“Someone you were dating? Your boyfriend?” His brow arched as he smirked. “You don’t look like you’re mourning him at all.”

He had a point. I was speechless when I first witnessed Javier’s demise, but self-preservation prevented me from being too shocked or sad about it. I had to figure out how to keep myself alive. Now, in the presence of Javier’s killers, I’d say and do anything to ensure my well-being.

He removed a camera from the bag he’d sequestered and powered it on. Reading my confusion, he said, “Javi doesn’t have women he dates or girlfriends, Beauty. He traffics them.”

My face crumpled in disbelief as I parsed over those words.

Traffics women?

No. Not Javi.

Not sweet, overly endearing, fun-loving, thrill-seeking Javier.

Not the man who’d begged me to visit Indonesia with him only to be killed by… this man.

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