Saint, p.3
Saint, page 3
With anticipation, I braced myself for the harsh sound of the gun as it connected with the atmosphere. A single shot rang out from the 338 Lapua semi-automatic, confirming my success. The riffle had yet to fail me.
From my distance, I watched as brain matter projected upon contact with the bullet from my weapon. I imagine chunks splattered upon the ground as well. The concluding movement of Javier Reed was undisciplined as his body collided forward into endless sediments of pink sand beneath him. Mission complete.
Supreme and I remained planted for countless seconds, wordlessly observing the scene. Javier was as good as dead, but there was only one way to be certain. Another shot was sent in the direction of the collapsed body in the sand, landing at the side of his dome. For an additional sixty seconds, we watched through our scopes as viscous red fluid spilled from Javier’s head. For the sixty-first second, I rose from where I stood and began hastily packing my rifle.
Once that task was complete, I tossed my bag over my shoulder and climbed down the rocks, with Supreme following closely behind. Javier’s entourage, including his detail, would soon be canvassing the area for evidence of his killer. With stealth remaining our primary objective, we moved with haste while attempting not to slip against the slick onyx surface of the rock.
My feet landed on the ground with a ninja-like thump as I proceeded to move away from the place I utilized for the assassination. The shuffling of an unwanted presence halted me, causing Supreme to shoulder-check me from behind. I’d felt him drawing near but failed to voice my concerns before he made contact with my limbs.
“Pre, wait,” I whispered, sliding the concealed Sig 365 from my holster. With my knowing glare connecting to his oblivious one, he halted his movements to retrieve his Glock. Now equally armed, we crept toward the sound that had emanated from the far left side of the rock. Whatever or whoever it was had assuredly bore witness to our deed.
Scanning the area, I searched for marine life, hoping it was the culprit. Disappointment was heavy as my eyes fell upon the unfortunate soul. Crouched in a crevice, she cradled a tortoise in trembling hands. Tears stained her sepia-brown-hued face as her eyes blossomed at the position of my pistol.
A timeless beauty, I regretted the moment I’d be forced to squeeze and rearrange her thoughts. Despite her hysteria, she wielded an ephemeral glow, causing me to wonder if she was an angel stalking the earth. In my limited understanding of otherworldly beings, she didn’t belong where she now cowered. Lacking the pleasure or hesitation, I agreed it was time to return her to the appropriate realm.
At a range of three-quarters of a meter, she was sure to stain my immaculately grunge attire with red droplets. Trained at the dome, I advanced the sig closer, prepared to send her home.
“Ange! They’re here. Don’t do it. Come on. We have to go,” Supreme half whispered and shouted.
“And what about her?” I asked quizzically, my eyes darting from the woman who’d robbed me of coherent thoughts to glare at my brother.
“Bring her,” he shrugged as he hurried toward the dense cover of trees and bush situated away from the beach.
Unmoving, the woman remained in her crouched position as if she’d lost brain function. She hadn’t uttered a single word. The cocking of my gun and the motioning of my hand was enough to restore life back to her head. Only after placing the tortoise into the nook where she once hid did she move. I appreciated her care for the helpless creature, but I saved my gratitude for another time. Grabbing ahold of her arm, I darted in the same direction Supreme had disappeared to.
My eyes dashed to the place our limbs connected, sensing currents more charged than the ripple of the waves as our skin touched. Depleted of time to scrutinize the phenomena, I continued moving, maintaining my grasp against her.
Under the cover of trees, I tugged her arm firmer to encourage a quicker pace. We treaded through the dense brush, ascending the mountainous region one hurried foot at a time. At fifty yards from our escape, the woman was slowing me down dreadfully. Unable to shutter the sound of her strenuous breaths, whimpering, or stumbling, I slackened my haste. Her bare feet against the forest’s undergrowth were the culprit to our delay.
Sliding my rifle to settle against the floor, I lifted her from her abused feet, tossing her wispy frame across my back. In my free hand, I gathered my rifle bag and resumed moving through the trees. The task was arduous, but years of training my body to endure made it possible.
Twenty-five yards ahead, Supreme disappeared into an off-road Land Rover. The shifting to a fixed surface under my feet informed me we weren’t far away. Slowing my movements along with my load, I lowered the woman onto her feet.
“In front,” I ordered her, once again presenting the slim pistol in her face.
I hated to command her with fear, but I didn’t know the woman or her affiliation with Javier. Our lack of acquaintance had me yet to assess if she would be a threat. Though she cringed, her movements were swift as she planted her frame inside the vehicle.
From the backseat, I kept my gun trained at the base of her neck.
“We don’t want to hurt you, but what were you doing by that rock, love?” Supreme probed as he maneuvered the truck with haste toward the airstrip twenty minutes out from where we’d been.
“I won’t tell anyone anything. Please just let me go.”
His eyes connected with me for a fleeting moment, speaking things I didn’t need vocalized.
“That was the wrong answer, Beauty,” I voiced raspier than intended.
“What’s your name?” Supreme asked, issuing a glance in her direction.
Keeping my pistol trained on her, I sighed at the brazen truth of her fate. Unable to foresee her future, I pulled a silencer from my bag. The army had trained me for this. Locate the threat, subdue the threat, exit the area, mission complete.
But this woman didn’t strike me as a threat. She was –
“Victoria.” She swallowed hard as her attention turned toward Supreme.
“You from here, Victoria?” Again, he hunted for information from the beauty clothed in a threadbare dress.
“No… Just visiting,” she revealed.
“From?” Supreme snipped, audibly frustrated.
“I… I’m from Paramour. South Pointe, Paramour.”
My brother and I exchanged a pained look but said nothing. I simply kept my gun trained on Victoria. My mind was working overtime to find her a solution to the current predicament. One that didn’t include a bullet lodged in her temple.
When we arrived at the airstrip, I scavenged my pockets, reaching to locate the earplugs that would assist me in tuning out the hum of the plane’s engine. Only after placing one plug and then the second did I remove myself from the truck. The beauty was shuffled from the front seat and ushered up the stairs into the jet’s main cabin, where I motioned for her to have a seat.
“Bro, you know I got you if the noises are too much. Pop your Ambien. You don’t have to stay awa–”
“–I’ll be fine,” I interjected.
Supreme was always looking out for my well-being, aware that certain experiences –like plane rides– overwhelmed me tremendously. In this peculiar instance, however, I wouldn’t dare miss a thing. Telling myself it was for our protection, I couldn’t.
Victoria took to staring out the window, inching as close as humanly possible to the cabin wall. I’d gotten a myriad of things wrong, but I knew fear when I witnessed it. The small-framed beauty was terrified, and rightfully so. She’d seen me commit a monstrosity and was trembling out of her pretty skin.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t comfort her.
Comfort wasn’t my strength. Uncannily, I knew how to seek it out for myself, but in others? You may as well have been speaking another language.
Graduating high school at sixteen afforded me the world as my oyster. Opportunities boundless, I was sought out by some of the most prestigious universities. My family always encouraged me to pursue a higher education. Gifted, genius, virtuoso, they called me. From my parents to my siblings, everyone urged me to stay focused on my studies as if not doing so would attract me to the lifestyle they lived. Against my father’s wishes, I joined the army when I was seventeen. I was the golden child.
It came as a shock when I revealed I wouldn’t be heading off to college as they expected. My response to their disappointment was impassive. I’d already made up in my mind what I wanted from life. Positioning my nose in a textbook wasn’t going to obtain it.
I passed the ASVAB with the highest overall score available. It arrested the attention of several high-ranking officers for special ops, but my sights were set on becoming a sniper. In my youth, I assumed it was the most exciting and powerful position I could obtain as an enlisted member.
How wrong I was.
The five-week sniper course taught me how to be one of the deadliest marksmen in the field. It also triggered everything that disturbed me mentally, rankling my sensory processing like an itchy ass crack. The clamorous firing of a gun, immersion in mud, being exposed to various climates… It was all torturous to my senses.
A reverse psychological occurrence of triggers, it was intended to make me stronger and assist in seizing control of my narrative. In many ways, it worked. I could anticipate the piercing sound of a gun before it hammered into the air. The forceful integration of me firing the gun made the sound less triggering. It offered me a sense of discipline I hadn’t mastered under my father’s rule.
Eventually, I grew tired of overstimulating myself. It hadn’t made me less sensitive to sound. It hadn’t made me more receptive to touch. It hadn’t done anything but incite anger. My pursuit was for something less gnawing to my senses. Something soothing. I located that in the mammalian diving reflex.
So, I finished my final years in the army, walking away with a Master’s in marine biology. I loved the ocean. I loved the perfectly imperfect lull of the tide. I loved aquatic life. I loved the peace woven into the beach.
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.
“You’re lying,” I chanced, unwilling to accept such a horrific possibility.
Wordlessly, the camera was shoved into my hands as he maintained eye contact and brushed his tongue over his bottom lip.
“To what end would dishonesty serve me?”
My gaze trained down to the professional camera that was given to me. I scrolled through the camera’s memory card, skirting past a few photos of the pink beach we’d recently departed from. Further into the images were pictures of Javier standing near the cargo hold of the plane I was recently on. The initial photo seemed innocent enough, but then more images revealed that the plane’s lower deck – where the cargo was kept – was being used as a holding space for women.
Dozens of women stood outside the aircraft in a line, many mirroring the same frightened look I once housed for the man sitting beside me. As I continued scrolling, I noticed Javier in other photos near shipping containers. Zoomed-in images of the containers revealed women in those boxes as well. Not just a handful, but they were jam-packed inside the shipping containers, all wearing a somber, frightened, and terrified look. Some of them were extremely young and dressed in next to nothing.
My face dipped into a look of horror mirroring the faces of those innocents. A wave of nausea held me captive once I reached the end of the memory card’s contents. Pushing the camera back into Ange’s hand, I palmed my belly helplessly, seeking to calm the abhorrence. Before I could offload my stomach’s contents onto the floor before me, a small ice bucket was shoved into my lap.
I couldn’t believe I’d almost been intimate with a man who was capable of such repugnant acts. My disgust presented as I threw up what little I had in my stomach. Once my belly was emptied, I rose and paused when I met Saint’s questioning glare.
“I… I need to go to the restroom,” I announced, my voice breaking unauthorized.
Wordlessly, he stood and permitted me to slide past him without delay. In the restroom, I rinsed my mouth thoroughly and washed my face before patting it dry. In the mirror, I gazed back at my reflection.
Sex-trafficker.
How the hell did I miss that?
Internally, I berated myself for ignoring my better judgment. All the signs were there. Javier’s obstinate requests to get me out of the country, his eerie desire to separate me from my family and friends, his frequent promises to look out for me as if I was incapable of doing so for myself…
Of course, anyone could have displayed those behaviors and been harmless, but my gut provided direction well before I was aware of the final destination. Willful ignorance triumphed in favor of being involved with whom I thought was a nice man. The signs had always been present for me to see. Even down to the women in the main cabin. They’d all been in the presence of other men. Their escorts.
