Finding Forgiveness

He took a white cloth from the pocket of his suit and began dabbing the wound. I winced at the pressure.

“There’s glass in there,” he said taking a closer look. “Stay still.”

I watched as he pulled a long shard of glass from my flesh, cast it aside and dabbed the wound again this time causing much less pain.

He then stood up, walked to the table and grabbed the open bottle of tequila.

“This may sting a little,” he warned me before splashing some of the strong alcohol onto my arm.

“Motherfucker,” I hissed as a searing pain shot through my arm. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“Tequila serves as a brilliant disinfectant,” he replied looking at the bottle. “45% alcohol. Nothing can survive that.”

“Including my flesh. Did you have no other option?” I asked.

“Just be glad I am even bothering to treat your wound at all,” he said crouching down in front of me again. “Apart from this, are you okay?”

“I’m starving, longing to get out of these ropes and a few minutes ago, a man, who had just had four shots of tequila, shot a tiny glass off my head,” I replied.

I looked down at the red marks around my ankles where the rough fibre had been rubbing.

“Us Mexicans have high tolerances and good aims, Blanca,” he replied taking the rope off my ankles. “And good food,” he added.

“Where are we going?” I asked as he took my arm and began leading me out.

“To get something to eat,” he said as we reached the door. “Consider it a date,” he added kissing my cheek.

Just before we left the warehouse, he pulled me closer to him and covered my eyes with his hand.

“What-?”

“Top secret location, Blanca. I can’t have you knowing where I pile my stock… or where I keep my prisoners,” he interjected before we exited into the fresh air and warm sun rays.

Before long, I heard a car door open and the voice of a man I didn’t recognise talking to Andrea in Spanish.

“She is not my bitch, Pedro. Not yet anyway. I just think her pretty face might be useful to me someday so I plan to keep her alive for now,” Andrea said to him in English.

“You said that last time, Sir,” the other man replied as I felt Andrea lift me into the car.

“The last one wasn’t nearly as beautiful and she slept with one of my exporters. She had to go.”

“In my experience, if you want a job done properly, don’t give it to a woman. She’ll find a way to fuck it up,” the unknown man replied as the Andrea got in the car too and close the door behind him.

“You shouldn’t hold such old-fashioned views, Pedro,” Andrea laughed as we began to drive. “A woman can be very useful.”

Andrea then removed his hands finally from my eyes. We were in the back of pristine, black SUV with Pedro, a middle-aged man wearing a suit similar to Andrea’s, driving. Through the heavily tinted windows, I could only see desert and cactus. No warehouse, no people, no anything.

“Women are good for three things,” Pedro began. “Entertaining a man, cooking for a man and raising his children.”

“You forgot cleaning,” I mumbled sarcastically.

In the rearview mirror, I saw Pedro raise an eyebrow and exchanged a look with Andrea before Andrea pulled me over his lap and pinned my arms behind my back. He held them tightly at an awkward angle and I couldn’t help but whimper with the pain.

“Don’t speak out of turn, Blanca,” he growled in my ear before sitting me back up leaving me dishevelled and shaken.

“You can rough her up more than that, boss,” Pedro said with a laugh.

I looked up at Andrea, who was staring straight forward with zero emotion and thought better of making a second comment.

“She can consider that a warning,” he replied deeply. “The next time won’t be so gentle.”

The rest of the car journey was silent. We eventually entered some kind of town where Pedro stopped the car and Andrea practically dragged me out.

“You can speak now,” he announced as he took my arm and began walking through the streets filled with people doing their afternoon shopping.

“That hurt,” I said.

He smiled in amusement before placing his hand on my waist and slowly slipping it a little further down to my hip.

“Perhaps I’ll make it up to you tonight,” he said.

I turned to him and forced myself to give him a flirty smile before I pushed his hand off me, “Perhaps,” I said with a shrug. “Perhaps not.”Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

Luca’s words rang in my head more than ever: make them think they have a chance and they won’t force it.

We passed a whole load of restaurants and cafes before Andrea finally stopped at one. The strong smell of food was driving me mad with hunger and I was prepared to eat anything. The place was fairly small and dark but smelt probably the best in the entire street. There were two rickety fans on the ceiling and lots of laughter and noise coming from inside.

A friendly looking man spotted us enter from behind the bar and approached us with a beaming smile.

“Andrea!” he exclaimed before launching into Spanish to which Andrea responded to with as we walked further into the restaurant. Me and my blonde hair and blue eyes seemed to turn a lot of heads but so did Andrea. Maybe because he was well known or maybe because he was the only one not dressed for the sweltering heat outside.

“And who is this?” the man asked eventually.

My focus snapped back at the sound of something in English to see the man looking at me.

“Her name is Eleonora,” Andrea began placing a hand on my shoulder.

Oh, so he does know my ‘name’. So far to him, I had just been Blanca which I assumed to be a term for a white woman.

“American Italian. Not a word of Spanish,” he added.

“Nice to meet you, Senorita,” he said nodding to me. “I will get you today’s menus, Andrea. Please sit.”

Andrea guided me to a table for two in the corner of the fairly busy restaurant shortly before the man returned with two menus. As soon as he was gone Andrea took the menu from my hand and placed it underneath his own.

“Hey!” I protested.

“I will choose for us both, Blanca,” he replied without looking up.

“Why?”

“Uno, because it is written in Spanish and dos, simply because you are my prisoner and I said so,” he said.

“I want you to let me go,” I announced. “I can’t live under someone else’s rule.”

“It is that or don’t live at all,” he said.

“Why do you need me?” I asked. “I am of no use to you and I haven’t done anything wrong.”