Ransom (Benson Security 4)

John.

She struggled to open her eyes. The world had toppled. The sky was to the side of her and the trees had gone. Sky? Blue sky? After days of endless green, she couldn’t believe what she saw was truth.

“She needs water,” John said in a harsh, desperate voice. “Somebody give her some fucking water!”

She felt a hand under her arm, and the world righted itself. She blinked several times as someone pressed a bottle of water against her lips. She grasped it with both hands, gulping until it was finished.

“More,” she whispered, and another bottle was placed in her hands.

She felt as though her body had turned into a giant sponge, soaking up each precious drop of water. Her head slowly cleared and her surroundings came into focus.

She was in hell.

The green of the Amazon Jungle’s trees and plants was gone, replaced with an endless sea of red earth and mud. Hundreds of trees had been uprooted and left to rot where they fell. Their leaves were gone and their skeletons lay caked in mud. Mounds of dirt loomed up all around them, like giant anthills. In front of her there were vast, gaping craters filled with brown water. In the middle of one, a large makeshift raft sat abandoned. It had bamboo poles poking out in all directions, holding up pipes and supporting a ripped tarpaulin roof. Alongside it was what looked like a large metal conveyor belt. And around it, in the mud, were several empty pots and basins. At the side of the crater were a few crooked huts, made of strung-together bamboo with straw-covered roofs. The only piece of colour in the whole area was the blue of the tarpaulin.

It was a scene of utter, thoughtless devastation. But the thing that shocked Belinda the most was the lack of noise. There were no insects buzzing around, no birds singing, no monkeys calling to one another. This land was dead. Lifeless. Empty.

“John?” she said in a hoarse whisper. She cleared her throat and shouted, “John!”

“I’m here.” The sound of his voice made her want to cry with relief. “Let me get to her. She’s sick.”

There was a scuffle, and a man with a gun shoved John to his knees beside her. She threw her arms around his neck and held on tight.

“It’s okay, baby. We’ll get out of this.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” A man crouched in front of them, and she recognised him immediately as the kidnappers’ leader. “I have something much more interesting planned for you.”

He grasped Belinda’s chin and turned her face towards him. John shot forward, but a guard clamped a hand on his shoulder and kept him in place. He growled and struggled for freedom, and Belinda noticed that his hands were secured behind his back.

“Who did this to you?” The leader sounded angry that she’d been hurt. In her dazed and confused mind, she wondered if it was because he didn’t want his property damaged, or because he’d wanted a clean slate to mark for himself. “Tell me.” His fingers tightened on her jaw, making her gasp.

“Miguel!” she said.

He released her, and she fell back against John. “Estúpido! Miguel never understood patience.” He trailed a finger down Belinda’s cheek as the guard tightened his hold on John. “Tell me, Señorita Collins, did Miguel get inside that famous body of yours, or did your lap dog stop him first?”

John fought to get at the man. The leader nodded at the guard holding him, and the guard struck John with the butt of his gun. He slammed into the mud in front of them. Belinda gasped and reached for him as the world tilted yet again. Her hands were shaking, and it was hard to focus on anything being said.

“Tell me.” The leader grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her attention to his face. “Did Miguel fuck you?”

Fury coursed through her, giving her clarity. “Do you mean did he rape me? He tried. He was eaten by a caiman for his efforts.”

There was a moment’s silence before the leader threw back his head and laughed. He shouted to his men, and they all laughed too. The leader let go of her hair, and she hurriedly reached out to help John get back onto his knees. That small effort sapped every last reserve of strength she had left, and she slumped against him.

He was breathing hard, fury emanating from him. She placed a hand on his arm, a small comfort in a situation that was woefully out of their control.

As she watched, a man came up to stand beside the leader. He acted as though he was also in charge, rather than one of the men the leader ordered around. Now that she studied him, her slow, aching brain noted the family resemblance. The two men had the same bone structure and the same dark, greasy hair.

“Who are you?” Belinda said before she could censor her words.

With identical flat, malicious gazes, they turned their attention to her.

“Forgive me for not introducing myself,” the leader said with clear amusement. “I am Angel Martinez, and this is my brother Diego. This”—he held up his hands and motioned to the devastation—“is one of our gold mines. And you”—he pointed at them—“are about to become the stars in our first ever live broadcast. I am sure you feel honoured.”

Belinda shivered and slipped down into the mud. The Martinez brothers laughed before shouting orders at their men. They were no longer interested in their captives.

“John,” Belinda said softly, “I don’t feel so good.”

And then the world went dark again.