Page 93 of Savage Obsession

“No one would blame you…”

“Then suddenly, he was. Dead. A pile-up on the freeway. I don’t know the details, don’t care.” She pauses, takes a deep breath. “There was a new leader. Adam. Adam Ricci. He took over the MC club and everything that went with it. Including me. He was a bit like Adan, a powerful man, a leader. Violent and could be cruel. But never with me. There was no more being locked in the shed, no more beatings. He treated me like I was his girlfriend, his wife, even. There were no other women. We were a couple.”

“You were still a prisoner. You’d been trafficked.”

“It didn’t seem like that, not at the time. I suppose I was just so relieved to be with a man who was kind to me.”

“So what happened with him? With Ricci?” Kris asks her, his tone gentler now.

“There was always someone wanting to take his place. MCs are like that. Plots, challenges. It was just a matter of time… He was murdered, ambushed in the clubhouse, and someone else was in charge suddenly. Marco Fabatino, and if anything, he was worse than Salvatore. He was just vicious. Mindless, cruel. But mercifully for me, he preferred boys. I was auctioned again. And again. Eventually I ended up being shipped back to Europe, this time in a container on a cargo ship. There was about a dozen of us that time. First it was Portugal, I think, then Spain. I was bought by Mateo Domingo, and he brought me here, to Tenerife. I suppose you know the rest.”

There’s silence. We all have a lot to digest.

Rosa weeps silently, hugging her blanket.

I wrap my arms around her and let her sob it out. “It’s okay now. We’ll help you. You’re safe, you can go home.” I look to Kris, to Baz. “Can’t she?”

Any answer he might have given is forestalled by the pilot announcing we are starting our descent. I turn my gaze to the outside. The deep azure of the Atlantic Ocean glistens against the rocky shoreline, flanked by vast expanses of inky beach, the famous ‘black sand’ of the Canary Islands. In the middle distance, a flotilla of luxury yachts bobs at anchor in the marina. I’ve been here a few times before, when Kris and Janey invited us to eat with them on their yacht, and I recognise Firebird gleaming in all her opulent splendour.

“Is that…?”

“Yes,” Baz conforms. “I thought Lily would be safer here.”

The tiny figure, wearing shorts and a skimpy top, a wide-brimmed sunhat on her head, shields her eyes and waves up at us.

“She’ll be looking forward to seeing you again,” Baz continues. “She’s been frantic.”

I’d have been the same, worse, probably. Lily is joined on the deck by Janey, dressed in a brightly coloured sarong. The pair watch us circle then drop towards the concrete helipad at the end of the marina.

The guards exit first and hop into a car waiting at the kerb to be whisked off to Christ knows where. Kris is next to alight, then Baz, then me. Rosa is the last to alight, helped by both men as she wobbles at the top of the steps.

“We’ll find you somewhere comfortable to lie down while Baz here checks out your story,” Kris tells her. “If it checks out…”

He’s interrupted by Janey charging down the polished decking towards us with a squeal of pure joy. “Kris, you’re back. I’ve been so worried…” She flings herself into his arms, and he lifts her, laughing, when he swings her around. “I thought… I thought… I don’t know what I thought,” she pants, her arms entwined around his neck.

He lowers her to the ground and kisses her. “I always come back, don’t I?”

“I know, but…” She turns to me. “I’m so glad you’re safe. How are you? Are you hurt?”

“No, I begin. “I’m fi?—”

Her attention shifts to the blanketed figure huddled beside me. “What the…?” She blanches, her eyes wide like saucers. “It… it can’t be.”

“Janey?” Kris is as baffled as the rest of us. “Do you know her?”

“It… it’s Rosie. It is, isn’t it?” She reaches for Rosa’s slender hand. “It’s been a couple of years, but…”

“Her name’s Rosa,” I begin.

Rosa shakes her head. “No, I’m Rosie. Or I was.”

“But you said… What about this?” I pull out the folded slip of paper with the mobile phone number jotted on it. “Is this really your father?”

Rosa—no, Rosie—nods. “It is, I swear.”

“What’s his name?” Baz demands, taking the note from me.

Janey answers before Rosie has chance to speak. “It’s Darke. Nathan Darke.”

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