Page 51 of Dublin's Danger Dancer

Liam sinks into a chair beside me, smelling freshly showered in a black t-shirt and black linen trousers. “What happened last night?” he growls into my ear.

The zing of his freshly brushed teeth makes my sex clench. And I hate the effect he has on me despite my grey matter strongly protesting.

“You passed out before anything happened.” I whisper in his ear. “Don’t you remember?” I ask, as he sneezes. He shakes his head. He sneezes again and rubs his swollen red eyes.

“I think you should see a doc when you get back,” says Freddie liberally buttering a piece of white toast. “Your eyes are beginning to remind me of a zombie.”

“Thanks,” says Liam, annoyed.

Liam leans in and whispers in my ear. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you drugged me. Because my last memory is being rock hard waiting for your mouth to encircle me. And then. Puff. I pass out.” He coughs again. Wiping his mouth he says “it must be these antihistamines I’ve been taking. I’m sorry.”

He signals with his cup. The waiter brings him an espresso. After the black liquid is drunk, he stares at me with a question on his lips. But he doesn’t ask.

“We are going to dock in Morocco in ten minutes,’’ says the admiral, appearing on the white steps from the top deck.

“We thought Ciara and Tanya would do some shopping in Tangier with Admir and Anastasia. It’s not safe for women there, especially not women as beautiful as you two.”

“Ciara stays with me.” Liam says flatly as my chance to make a call disappears.

I shoot Liam a look.

“I want to show you something in Tangier,” he says.

“Well, she’ll need to come with us to the meeting,” says Freddie.

“She’ll wait outside in the car,” says Liam.

“There’s Tangier.” Says the admiral, pointing to the bustling port, where we can already make out huge mounds of colourful spices are being set out in wicker baskets lining the walkway passengers disembark. Camels are being pulled by their masters, tutting their teeth as they go, and colourful carpets are being arranged on huge wooden frames. My stomach lurches with the anchor.

“Come, we need to dress. You can’t wear a bikini in Morocco,” says Liam leading me back to our cabin.

Liam, Freddie, the Admiral and I get into an armoured black SUV as Tanya, Anastasia and Admir hop in the back of a local taxi on the way to the souls. I look on, envious of their freedom.

“What is it you want to show me?” I ask Liam. We are seated in the back row of the SUV. Freddie and the admiral are in the middle.

“It’s a surprise, but I’m sure you’ll love it,” he says, kissing me on the cheek before sneezing and blowing his nose.

You two remind me of that song, “I fell In Love With A Stripper” Freddie laughs. The admiral tries to suppress a laughter, but it emerges as a snort.

“Tanya will be thrilled to know you’ve fallen so hard for her, Freddie.” I laugh.

“And so will my aunt and cousins,” Liam says, his mouth curling sinisterly. He rubs my denim coated knee. I’m wearing a denim jumpsuit with a stiff collar and a buttoned front.

After a twenty-minute drive in air-conditioned silence, we arrive outside a small gate to a house set far back. I tried to map out the turns we’d taken to get here but there were so many I had no idea where we were.

The house is surrounded by white tiles decorated intermittently with camels and vases. I look out at the small brick building, wondering if this is the centre of a major drug smuggling hub as two women in full burkas doddle past the car. They paid no interest in the car or us, despite both looking highly irregular against the dirt roads and hanging electricity cables. This meant they were used to seeing such vehicles here.

“We’re only going to be inside for a maximum of twenty minutes. Don’t get out of the car.” Liam says, pressing his lips to mine.

The three men get out of the car, leaving me with the driver, who clearly didn’t speak a word of English.

Once they’re inside the small wooden door, I make my break for a phone.

“I’ll just have a look around,” I say. He nods to me as I open the passenger door.

We must be on the outskirts of Tangier. I can barely smell the sea, it hangs very faintly on the breeze. I take a step around the corner. Rubble grazes my ankle. As I bend to the side to stroke my side, something is pressed over my head and everything goes dark. The material is scratchy, like a potato sack, and smells arid.

I’m being dragged by my arms by two people. I hear gates open on rusty hinges.

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