Perception is Truth

By Anne Marie Citro

Perception is Truth
What is the best revenge? Is it to move on with a smile? To show the person that you can put aside your anger and be happy. Or is it a tooth for a tooth or an eye for an eye. There was a time in Dejuan’s life when he believed people were good, family was everything and the future only held unlimited prospects. Discovering the truth had been his undoing. It took five years to recover and now the monster he had become lived for one thing revenge. Who ever said the best revenge is no revenge had never been betrayed by someone close to them.
Ciara couldn’t take the dampness of any season in Ireland. She longed to live in a warmer climate. Actually, she’d give her right arm just to visit a hot climate. But that would never happen because her father had a travel restriction placed on him when he was a young man. Guilt by association meant no one in their family could leave the country. It was so unfair, but a girl could still dream.
The problem is Ciara wakes up to find out sometimes dreams do come true and not necessarily as a result of hard work. However, like everything else in life there is a price to pay. As a nurse Ciara’s payment for waking up in a tropical paradise is to help the man who made it possible or forfeit everyone she loves.
Ciara realizes her actual goal won’t be to nurse Dejuan’s body or mind it will be to nurse his soul. While she reaps a few rewards of her captivity can she show Dejuan which is a stronger emotion revenge or love? He wants both but he’ll have to choose which is more powerful.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anne Marie Citro
• Release date: Sep 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005791629

Anne Marie Citro

Anne Marie Citro grew born and raised in the greater Toronto area of Ontario, Canada. She grew up in a large, loving family. Anne Marie is married to a very patient man. He is the love of her life. They have four very cool sons, and the girls they brought into their family that have become daughters of her heart. She has been blessed enough to finally have a beautiful granddaughter after four sons. She has her own personal gaggle of girlfriends, who enrich her life on a daily basis and make her laugh. Caesar Friday is her favourite day of the week. Caesars with the girls and date night with her hubby. She works with special-needs teenagers, that have taught her how to appreciate life and see it through gentler eyes. Anne Marie was encouraged by her husband to follow her life long dream to write. She loves the characters that take over imagination and haunts her dreams. She loves the arts and she has tried her hand at painting, wood sculpting, chainsaw carving, wood burning, metal and wire sculptures. Yes, her husband is a very patient man! Anne Marie is an avid reader and enjoys about three books per week. But nothing makes her happier then riding on the back of her husband's Harley and throwing her arms out and feeling the wind race by. Anne Marie and her husband take a few weeks every year to travel to spectacular destination around the world. Anne Marie is excited and can't wait to see what the next chapter holds for her life.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Pecas

For the life of her, twenty-four-year-old Ciara couldn’t seem to wake up like normal people. She loved her sleep more than anything else. The truth was that she loved to sleep in the mornings but hated going to bed at night. The minute her alarm went off, she started the bargaining process with herself as she hit the snooze button. Ten more minutes would give her the energy to get up and face the day. The fifth time she automatically extended her hand to stop the buzzing, she sleepily turned to the digital clock, and her eyes sprang open. Damn, damn, damn! Now she was going to be late for work if she didn’t forego something.

She sprang out of bed, rushing to the shower. The floors in her flat were cold. She hated the chill of fall settling in. In fact, Ciara couldn’t take the dampness of any season in Ireland. She longed to live in a warmer climate. Actually, she’d have happily given her right arm just to visit a hot climate. But that would never happen.

For as long as she could remember, her father had had a travel restriction. It had been placed on him when he’d been a young man. Guilty by association meant no one in their family could leave the country. It was so unfair when so many of her friends in university had traveled. But not her or her sister, Sinéad.

The sisters had often talked about applying for an exemption from the travel ban, but their father, Seamus Flynn, wouldn’t hear of it. He didn’t want any attention drawn to him.

The sisters knew he had been detained twice in the eighties, which they assumed had to do with the IRA, seeing as it was during The Troubles in Ireland, hence the travel ban. But, how in this day and age could that possibly extend to them? Fair or not, that was the reality of their situation. Even though things would never change, she still dreamed of emigrating somewhere warm.

Now that she was running late, she didn’t have the time for a long, hot shower, so she waited until it was lukewarm, jumped in, and then flew through bathing. When she got out, she towel-dried her long, mahogany hair and braided it. With her hair tightly tied, she knew it would still be damp when she finished work and undid it. That was the curse of her thick, long, wavy hair.

As Ciara got dressed, she thought again about her cousins’ weddings last month. It had been a grand event, one she would envy for months, if not years, from now.

The cousins who had gotten married here were from Chicago. They had come to Ireland to marry so her immediate family could partake in the festivities. It had been a dream come true and so much fun, but it also brought back the familiar longing to see the world.

***

Ciara smiled to herself as she left work. It had been a good day.

During her last practicum in nursing school, she had been asked to join a pilot program with a cognitive behavioral therapist. She had worked hand in hand with the doctor during therapy sessions and monitored the patients during their hospital stays. It had been a huge success, and when she had graduated, the position had become permanent.

Today, they had made their first breakthrough with a child who had been abused. The feeling of having the child finally acknowledge her and seek comfort was the best thing that had ever happened in her short career. Even if it rained now, nothing could dampen her spirits. And the skies were threatening to open at any second.

Ciara had her umbrella packed in her knapsack, but the way the wind was picking up, she knew it would be useless. You didn’t live in Dublin and walk out of the house without a water-resistant jacket. At least, you tried not to. Ciara, though, had been in rush when she had left for work. She had looked out the window, seen the sun shining, and consequently threw on her closest sweater jacket and left.

It didn’t start to sprinkle. Instead, the heavens opened, dumping driving rain. She had just walked out of the main entrance of the hospital and decided, even though money was extremely tight, she would hire a cab just this once.

Ciara felt drained since she hadn’t had time to get breakfast that morning and, being celiac, she couldn’t just grab a muffin in the cafeteria. At lunch, she’d had a salad. Lord loving Jesus, but she hated salads with premade dressings. They were disgusting. The hospital cafeteria didn’t offer a lot of choices, for people with her condition. She would give her right arm to have a traditional Irish scone loaded with butter, jam, and clotted cream.

Gluten in any form made her violently ill. She hadn’t discovered she had celiac disease until her first year of university. Both she and her mam thought it was nerves, the pressure of school that made her so sick. During Christmas break, her doctor arranged an endoscopy after a blood test indicated high levels of certain antibody proteins. The end result was the diagnosis of celiac disease.

Ciara went to a nutritionist and researched like crazy. You would think, with all the information about how to live a healthy life she had crammed into her brain that she would drag her ass out of bed earlier to have a proper breakfast and make a good lunch. One day, she was going to get her shit together. Tonight, she promised herself, she would start . . . again.

If she took a cab, she could get home, make a decent meal, and ensure she had time to make something to freeze for lunches next week.

Her mind made up, she waved at a cab sitting by the parking lot. It wasn’t often they waited on hospital property. Ciara thought for sure she would have to walk down to the main street to flag one. Perfect timing, someone must have just gotten out.

One great thing about living in Dublin was you never had to wait long for a cab. Uber had tried to break into the market here but wasn’t very successful. Cabs were plentiful, clean, and managed by government regulations.

Ciara got into the cab. ’ey, wow, I can’t believe I gaht so lucky. Can you take me to 201 Burnell Square?

The man smiled in the rearview mirror. I will. I joehst ’ave to stahp at a petrol station. Dah’t wahrry, though; I’ll stahp de meter.

No problem. I’ll play ahn me phone, and I ’ave to text me sester. She opened her phone, seeing only four percent battery. Dammit, she really had to get better organized. Hoping she had enough power left, she started to send a couple of messages.

Ciara: Hey, sis. I’ve decided to take a cab home, so I’m not going to meet you and the girls at the pub. I’m going to have an early night. Make a healthy meal and freeze some stuff for lunches. Tell them I’m sorry.

Sinéad: You’re an eejit! You’re going to miss all the craic. Don’t wake me before noon.

Ciara: Are you daft? Like that would ever happen on the only Saturday I’ve had off in a month. Don’t wake me before nightfall tomorrow! LOL!

If her sister responded, she wouldn’t know since that was when her phone died.

Ciara tried once more to power up the phone, hoping for even one percent battery. Nothing.

Jamming it back in her purse, her mind went back to little Petey, who, for the first time in a week, had reached out for her hand. She hadn’t reacted, just talked softly, but inside, she had done her loud, happy dance. It was the first step in his recovery.

The driver interrupted her thoughts. I ’ave to pull around back to get sahme air in me tires.

Sure, Ciara said as she dug into her knapsack, searching for a snack that she hoped was there. She was starving and was getting desperate enough to eat something lost in her bag for God knew how long.

In the blink of an eye, both back doors were opened. One man reached in to grab her while the other covered her mouth and shoved a needle into her arm. Ciara only had a split-second to squeal with fright before she was overpowered and silenced.

The two men struggled to hold her as the drug rendered her unconscious before they dragged her body into a van. One tied her wrists and her feet together before gagging her. The other one paid the cabbie, issuing one final warning to not say a word or he wouldn’t live to see his four-year-old turn the ripe, old age of five.

***

Ciara shook her fuzzy head. Her mouth was dry, and she had a splitting headache. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember what had happened as she tried to piece together why she felt so horrible.

She tried to lift her hand to stop the pounding in her head. It was then that she realized she couldn’t move.

Panic caused her eyes to spring open. She had to blink twice to try to clear her vision, but it didn’t help. Wherever she was, it was dark. There was an unfamiliar, loud, ongoing noise that she couldn’t decipher. Stranger than that was that she felt pressure in her ears.

As she tried to move around, it didn’t take long to figure out that she was tied up in some sort of wooden crate. She could also now see fragments of dim light through the slats of the wood. It was freezing in the confined space.

At that second, it hit her that she had been kidnapped.

Why would she be abducted? She was a simple woman with a simple life. Then something else hit her.

She was a female.

She had taken a woman’s study course in university that delved into human trafficking. Impossible. Ciara had heard of it but never in a million years thought it would ever touch her life. Women in those situations were usually taken while away on holiday or at pubs, not coming home from work.

She couldn’t control her racing heart. Was she still in Dublin? How would her disappearance affect her family? What about little Petey? If she disappeared, who would form a bond with the poor little boy? Would she live to see her loved ones again? How would she survive?

Tears trickled down her face as she thought about the life she would no longer have.

As a nurse, she had dealt with assault victims. She didn’t want to be one. However, it would be better than if they killed her afterward. She wished she had never woken up.

Ciara liked to live most of her life in a bubble. Work was the only exception. She had learned there were some things better not known. She had convinced herself of that after working a short time in palliative care. If she had a terminal illness, she wouldn’t want to know. She had seen too many patients pass away shortly after learning they had months or years to live.

All thoughts extinguished the minute the crate was jolted with shifting movements and the sound of something squealing. She tried to scream, but the gag prevented any sound.

Her jaw ached. She shifted it as best she could.

Her ears popped then, which was weird, but she no longer felt like she was under water. Was she in a truck in the mountains? Or maybe on a train? She concentrated hard to hear anything going on outside the box.

Twenty minutes later, she heard a door of some sort whoosh open, and voices. If she was scared before, now she was absolutely terrified.

What seemed like ten minutes passed before the crate was shifted, and she could hear some sort of machine as it lifted it up.

Her stomach, although upset with fear, was also grumbling with hunger. How long had she been out? And she was so thirsty. She thought she would die of thirst before they ever got a chance to kill her.

Her crate was loaded onto something and, before long, she felt movement.

She went from freezing to sweating. She was losing precious moisture from her body. It was stifling in what might just turn out to be her coffin if she didn’t eat or drink soon.

The lull of the motion caused her weak body and mind to slip into sleep.

***

The next thing she knew she was being jostled awake. Ciara’s eyes flew open to see two men reaching in to pull her out. In a last-ditch attempt, she fought for her life. It was futile, though, and only made them angry.

She knit her eyebrows when she realized they weren’t speaking English. She thought it was Italian, Portuguese, or Spanish.

When they yanked her out, they tried to stand her up, but her body was so weak that she basically collapsed into a heap on the concrete floor.

Get her on the cot, one of them yelled in heavily accented English.

The two goons picked her up, placing her on a cot.

The man who had yelled at them came up to her. Kneeling down, he said, Ciara, I’m sorry we had to do this to you in order to get you here. I will untie your arms and legs, but I’m going to keep you gagged until we have a chance to talk.

This man knew her name. He referred to her like he personally knew her, but she had never laid eyes on him. She would have remembered.

Her mind switched gears when pins and needles attacked every nerve in her body as he straightened out her limbs. Ciara’s back arched as she screamed into her gag in agonizing pain.

The man started to rub her wrists, talking as he did. I’m sorry. It is regrettable that we couldn’t get you here any other way. The pain should start to recede very soon. He moved from her wrists to her shoulders, then to her ankles and calves, rubbing them to stimulate proper circulation.

Once he felt her relax, he moved back up to her head. "I’m going to sit you up, and we’re going to talk. I’m not going to hurt you, but I’m warning you, Ciara, that you will be heavily guarded at all times. Trying to escape will only end in a severe beating.

I understand you’re a very smart girl. Look around this room. I have five guards. Don’t be foolish. If you cooperate, you won’t be harmed. If you understand, nod your head.

Ciara nodded. She had every intention of trying to escape, but he didn’t need to know that.

The man went to a folding table with four chairs around it. He grabbed one, dragging it in front of her cot. Then he reached out for her, but Ciara instinctively cowered back. He looked annoyed.

I told you I won’t hurt you. I’m just going to lift you up so we can face each other while we talk.

He moved in again, and Ciara tensed when he grabbed her shoulders and shifted her up. He smelled clean, with a hint of spicy cologne. When he pulled back, she noted he had dark hair with streaks of gray. He was probably in his fifties, with olive skin and eyes that were near black.

Carlos looked at the frightened chica. She was the skinniest woman he had ever seen, which made her hazel eyes stand out, front and center. He couldn’t imagine her skin ever held much color but, right now, she looked like a corpse. If it wasn’t for the freckles dotting her skin and her mahogany-colored hair, he would swear she was albino.

He watched as her eyes darted from him to each man standing around the room. He saw the instant she noticed the machine-guns hanging from his soldiers’ shoulders.

She rammed her back against the wall.

Señorita, don’t be frightened. No one will hurt you as long as you follow all the rules.

At that second, Ciara’s stomach grumbled so loud both of them looked at it.

Then Carlos looked over his shoulder, barking out, Pablo, get some food.

He turned back to her. You will have something to eat in a minute. I will take off your gag if you promise to be good. Will you be good?

Ciara nodded.

Carlos reached behind her as she flinched. He untied the cloth, pulling it away.

She croaked out, Water . . . Please, I need water.

Alvaro, give me a bottle of water. When the man didn’t like how slow the soldier was moving, he snapped, Quickly.

The soldier ran up with two bottles of water.

Carlos untwisted the cap as the small waif tried to tug it out of his hands before he had it opened. The little señorita snatched it, spilling some of it before it made it to her mouth. Before he could stop her or slow her down, she gulped the whole bottle down.

Looking satisfied, she wiped her hand across her mouth seconds before everything she had just drunk came hurling back up all over him.

Carlos jumped back from the chair, which flew out and landed a few feet away. "Carajo! Fuck! He turned his head. Get me clean clothes! He pointed toward the door, then turned back to her. Angrier than he meant to, he shouted, Ciara, you must drink slow. It will take a while for the drugs to leave your system. You’re a nurse, for Cristo’s sake; you should know that."

Ciara pulled her knees up in her scrubs and sweater jacket, wrapping her arms around herself and pulling into a tight ball in the corner of the cot, afraid he would strike her.

Carlos felt like a monster. She was so tiny and frightened. He felt like he had just kicked the shit out of a defenseless three-year-old. I’m sorry, señorita, I didn’t mean to yell. Be calm. I told you I won’t hurt you, and I won’t, unless you try to escape.

Was this man out of his mind? He had kidnapped her, starved her from basic necessities, and said he wouldn’t hurt her after he yelled viciously at her, looking like he wanted to kill her.

He untwisted the cap on the other bottle, extending it toward her. Drink it slowly, Ciara. When she didn’t reach for it, he pushed it closer. Take it, he said more firmly.

She reached for the bottle with a shaky hand. The water started spilling everywhere, so Carlos reached out to steady her hand.

Ciara screamed, slamming her eyes closed and turning her head away from the threat of the hit she knew was coming.

Carlos’s shoulders dropped. He took the bottle away from her and waited until she calmed down. When she cracked one eye open to see why the hit hadn’t come, she saw his remorseful face.

"I’m sorry, Pecas—freckles. Let’s start again. My name is Carlos. I mean you no harm. I brought you here because of your ability to work with patients with brain injuries. Nothing else. I promise you. You are no longer in Ireland. Where you are isn’t important. What is, is that you help my nephew recover."

Ciara reared back like he had slapped her. I’m naht a dahctor, she struggled to say.

He smirked at her thick accent. I know, but you are capable, or so I have been told. I don’t want a doctor. I want you. I hear you are compassionate, and he needs some compassion, as well as therapy.

I’ve only been a nurse fahr a year.

This time, he did smile. I know, Pecas. I know everything there is to know about Ciara Emma Flynn. You were in a special project in your last year of school and have been working with a renowned doctor in this field since graduating. You are perfect to help my nephew. He was interrupted by the guard bringing in his clean clothes. He looked down. There was nothing but water in her system, so he was fine for now. She was calmer, and he didn’t want to lose the ground he had just acquired.

Carlos placed the clothes beside the chair he was again sitting on.

Ciara, for the life of her, couldn’t understand his logic. If I can’t ’elp ’im, are you goin’ to kell me? It takes mahnths to break through in a laht o’ cases.

He was already shaking his head. Señorita, I won’t let you leave until he is better. For your sake, I would work harder than you ever have, so you can go home.

He saw sweat dripping down her forehead. Ciara, please take your jacket off. It’s hot in here. Tomorrow, I will have appropriate clothing for you. After you eat, I want you to sleep. Before sunrise, I’ll transfer you to where he is. I really need your help.

Ciara became indignant. If you wanted me ’elp, you should ’ave asked.

He chuckled. Now, Pecas, even if I asked, you couldn’t leave the country, so I did what I had to, to ensure you would accommodate me.

They both turned toward the door when a guard walked in with a tray of food. Ciara could smell it from where she was sitting, and her stomach growled again.

"I will caution you, Ciara, do not inhale the food like you did the water or we’re going to have another mess to clean up. Remember, slowly.

"Now we will leave you to your meal. There is a small washroom. The door is to your left. Sleep. Tomorrow, you begin to work. I will fill you in on my nephew on the way in the morning. Buenas noches—good night."

She watched as he stood and took his clothes.

Carlos turned, watching as the guard moved a small table beside the cot. When the food was placed down, all six men walked out.

She heard when the door was locked and tested to confirm she couldn’t get out. Finally, she released a pent-up breath. This was beyond crazy.

Carlos had to be insane. He had kidnapped her and dragged her to God knew where because he had heard of a stupid little nurse in Dublin who was working with patients in cognitive behavioral therapy.

She didn’t continue with her train of thought as the smell of the food took over.

It was a rice dish with chicken. Or, she hoped it was chicken. Her body shuddered as her imagination ran wild. Her brain must have been slowly starving, because her mind was all over the board. Hopefully, it would settle when she got some food in her body.

The flavors exploded in her mouth. It was like nothing she had ever tasted. She shoveled the first three mouthfuls in, barely chewing before she remembered Carlos’s warning.

She reached for the water, taking a small sip. Ciara wasn’t sure what was better—the water or the food.

She was used to her food being bland because of her celiac. She had an acute case where even the smallest amount of gluten caused her stomach problems. It was weird to find all the products that caused the disease to flare up. The cure for the disease was simply no gluten. Finding out what byproducts and food contained gluten was a whole other problem.

That made her wonder if Carlos knew about her health condition. He had said he knew all about her. Could he possibly have access to her medical files? That was a scary thought. She worked in a hospital and knew the types of firewalls the facility had to protect patients’ confidentiality. Wow, this man had to be rich if he had access. She pondered that as she slowly ate and drank.

Finally, the plate was clean. Ciara thought she could have probably eaten another but knew the minute it hit her stomach that she would be full and probably bloated. She was still thirsty.

She looked around the room. Thankfully, there was a full case of water. She got up on unsteady feet, making her way over to it.

She grabbed four bottles then went back to the cot. She drank one more bottle before going to the washroom. When she came back, she realized she was hot. It must have been because the food nourished her body enough to be functioning properly.

She stripped off her jacket. Phew, she stank. Her scrubs were soaked under the jacket. It was like a sauna in here. The humidity made it difficult to breathe. There were no windows in the room. She wondered if they had turned the heat up to maximum for her.

Suddenly, exhaustion washed over her. It could have been the residue from the drugs or the trauma of being kidnapped, but she had to lay her head down before she fell over.

She no sooner closed her eyes than she was out.

***

Ciara . . . Ciara, wake up.

Like every other morning, waking up was a struggle. Sinéad must have a death wish, waking her up when she had asked her not to.

What ded I ’ell you?

You have to get up. We’re heading to my nephew.

As the dark, masculine voice penetrated the fog in her head, she sprang up to a sitting position in the dim light, terrified. Who are you?

Settle down, Ciara. It’s Carlos. We met last night.

Everything came flooding back. You kednapped me.

Carlos stepped back to give her some space. He would have chuckled if he didn’t see the fear in her eyes. I prefer to think of it as hiring you. I told you yesterday I wouldn’t hurt you.

You do, do ya? Well, I think druggin’ a wahman against ’er will and fahrcibly keeping ’er prisoner is a ’ell of a laht different, she quipped back, still not thinking all that clearly.

She was a feisty little thing.

Pecas. Now Carlos did snicker. "I mean you no harm . . . unless you don’t do the job I brought you here to do. I needed your help, and with the no-fly restriction, this is the only way I could accomplish it.

We have to get going before daylight. We’ll talk in the car. Do you need to use the facilities before we leave?

Ciara heard only no-fly restriction. Did that mean she had left the country? Where am I?

He frowned. Pecas, the details aren’t important. I will say you are nowhere close to Ireland.

It should have scared her, but the only thing it did was piss her off.

She rushed forward, shoving his chest. Dahn’t tell me de details aren’t impahrtant. And what de feck does pecas mean?

Before he could answer, a guard hastened forward, pointing a gun at her.

Ciara screamed, moving backward and falling back onto the bed.

Carlos raised his hand to stay the man. Easy, Alvaro. She couldn’t hurt me. Look at her. It appears the wind could knock her over.

The guard lowered his gun, backing up with a scowl.

Her captor slowly swung around. "Pecas means freckles in Spanish. You are covered in them, so I call you Pecas.

Ciara, I will warn you one more time. Throughout the duration of your stay, you will follow the rules, or I will let my guards teach you how to behave. Do you understand?

She nodded, knowing she wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Without further conversation, she headed to the washroom, afraid if she pissed them off any further, she might lose her chance to use the toilet.

Ten minutes later, she was led to a dark car with tinted windows inside of a garage. She sat in the back beside Carlos.

The minute the vehicle pulled outside, Carlos’s whole demeanor changed as he started to talk. "My nephew’s name is Dejuan. It means God is merciful. He was shot at close range. The bullet hit the side of his skull. The people who wished to kill him believe he is dead, and that is why I have gone to such great lengths to bring you here. Ciara, abide by my rules. It is not just your life on the line. I will do anything to protect Dejuan."

Ciara went into nurse mode. What was ’is diagnosis? When was ’e shaht? Does ’e ’ave any cahgnitive respahnses?

Easy, Pecas. I will answer one at a time. He was shot five years ago. It was touch and go for a long time. The doctors believe he will never speak again, but I don’t believe them. They also think he doesn’t understand, because he won’t respond when they speak. I know he understands, because the minute they talk to me or the therapists, his eyes follow the conversations. He is playing stupid. I know it. I think, either he can’t speak because he has forgotten how, or he is in such a deep depression that he doesn’t want to. That will be your job to figure it out, and to bring him back to life.

It sounded like an insurmountable task that she wasn’t trained for. I’m no expert. You would ’ave been better wit de dahctor.

He turned to her with a coldness that she hadn’t felt from him before. A respected doctor would have caused a huge investigation if he disappeared. A mere nurse, and a young one at that, won’t draw the same attention. Women disappear all the time. They’ll be looking for an ex-boyfriend or a jilted man. Your family has no money or resources to launch an investigation once the policía come up empty-handed. So, don’t question me again, Pecas. Your fate rests in my hands.

She gulped, feeling woozy. Tears she didn’t seem to have since she met him flowed out of her body. Ciara had just realized she might never see her family again.

Carlos saw her eyes fill, the salty moisture falling faster than he could count. Good. Dejuan was his only concern. Pecas needed to know the magnitude of the situation.

They drove the rest of the way without another word.

An hour later, they stopped. The driver got out and opened the door for Carlos.

He got out, then extended his hand to her. Come, let me introduce you to Dejuan.

Ciara didn’t want to take his hand, but she was terrified of offending this suddenly different, colder man.

She saw that the sun was just beginning to rise as he pulled her out, and there were palm trees everywhere amongst the forest. She was in a tropical country.

A shiver ran over her body. The minute she had woken up, the life she had known had ended.

He dragged her through the greenery for a few minutes, with the bodyguard carrying a duffle bag behind them, as well as his gun.

It shocked her when a rundown house appeared. The guard standing outside moved as he opened the door to a darkened house. When he turned on the lights, she saw a man was sitting facing a window.

Dejuan, I want you to meet someone.

The man didn’t turn, so he walked her around in front of him.

He was a lot younger than she had expected. He sat stoic, his hair overgrown down past his shoulders. Completing the look was a gnarly, long beard.

Dejuan, this is Ciara, your new nurse. Ciara, this is Dejuan.

He didn’t move for a minute. Then, in the blink of an eye, he turned, lunging at her with the sound of an angry, wounded animal.

Ciara screamed, banging into Carlos and falling in her attempt to avoid his attack. He managed to follow her to the ground, pinning her down and snarling with a feral sound.

His uncle pulled him off her, reprimanding him. You can’t scare this one off, or Pecas forfeits her life. Her life rests in your hands, as your life rests in hers.

With that, he walked out of the shack.

Chapter 2

Crazy Pulverized Banana

Ciara couldn’t believe Carlos had just walked out and left her with a madman. She felt Dejuan staring at her, which was giving her the creeps. There was no way in hell that man was leaving her in this house with this psycho.

She dashed toward the door, grabbed the handle, and yanked it open. She made it three steps onto the deck before a big guard encircled her waist, lifting her three feet off the ground.

Let me go! Ciara kicked and screamed. Carlos, I want to go ’ome. You can’t keep me ’ere.

Carlos came stomping back through the path. Stop, Pecas! he yelled when he got too close and one of her flailing feet nailed him in the gut. He doubled over, emitting a loud grunt of pain.

The guard shifted her in his hold and slapped her across the face. Ciara saw stars and shrieked in pain from the severe sting. The rest of her body flopped, giving up the fight.

Carlos cupped her chin, tilting it up. "Pecas, you will comply, or José will make you. We have a saying in Spanish: más se consigue lamiendo que mordieno. Literally translated, it means more is achieved by licking than biting."

Narrowing her eyes in defiance, she tried to free herself by yanking her head back, but all it accomplished was more pain.

Carlos reaffirmed his grip on her jaw, forcing her to look at him. If we have to do this the hard way, we will. José, bring her in.

The guard roughly repositioned her and tried to carry her in as she grabbed the doorframe to prevent them from entering the house. José shoved roughly, nearly breaking her arms, and Ciara howled with the bone-jarring jolt to her joints.

Annoyed with her defiance, the guard dumped her on the couch. Then, just as quickly, he whipped out plastic ties, locking her wrists together, and then her ankles.

Carlos patiently waited while she fought anew until she was physically subdued. At any rate, it didn’t stop her mouth.

You scum-suckin’ eejit! You can’t leave me alone wit ’im. ’e’ll kell me!

José backhanded Ciara, sending her tiny body off the couch.

"Basta! Enough!" Carlos yelled.

Nobody saw or heard Dejuan until he shoved the guard out of the way, scooped up the young woman, walked back to his chair, sat, and cradled her protectively in his lap.

Ciara froze.

Carlos was thrilled, using every ounce of willpower to stop from smirking. Any guilt he suffered at Ciara’s rough handling flew out the window, as this was the first time Dejuan had positively and protectively acknowledged anyone around him. The older gentleman had always treated women with the utmost respect and had found it hard to sleep ever since he had hatched this plan. His conscience had been wreaking havoc on him, yet it had clearly been the right decision. He had to test his theory, so he approached the couple.

Lesson one, Pecas: don’t make me hurt you again.

Dejuan’s eyes locked with his uncle’s before he growled from deep in his chest. It was the type of warning that a ferocious animal would give before going for the jugular.

Everyone around him thought he was deaf and dumb. However, Dejuan knew exactly what was going on. He had chosen to reject the world, yet this feisty little imp was obviously here against her will. Yet another life destroyed.

Would the tally of victims ever stop adding up?

Carlos had to bite his cheek to keep the smile off his face. With an intimidating tone, he snapped, I will be back tonight to check on my nephew’s progress, and there had better be progress, Pecas.

He turned to José. "Make sure Fernanda has their meals prepared to my exact specifications and delivered at seven, noon, and six. I also want this chica to get