Gustave's phone rings. He answers in French, "Louis. Are you in the states? We just arrived."
My gut flips. So many lies over the years.
"Yes, we have the girl. Except we are not turning her over. Malin is claiming her as his."
Gustave moves the phone away from his ear, and Louis's muffled voice fills the air.
Emilia shudders, and I pull her tighter, kissing her head.
"She's drugged up right now. Malin will buy her to pay his dues to the Global Leaders."
My heart beats harder, and Emilia puts her palm over it.
Gustave stares at me. "No, she is not going to the whorehouse. Bernadette will get her ready. She will be presented on the twenty-first, and she will submit."
I can't wait to put the bullet in Louis's head.
"What is the President willing to pay?"
My gut flips.
"Ah. I see. We will pay five hundred thousand dollars above his offer and wire it in the next hour." Gustave grunts. "Yes, I know no woman has gone that high before. But Malin wants her."
The President will never touch her, either. I will put a bullet in his head as well.
"Yes, one hour. It will be in your account. Now, what time are we meeting today?"
He sets a meeting with him and hangs up.
"It's a done deal?"
Gustave nods. "You've officially just paid one billion dollars."
Emilia looks up at me. "What? Do you even have that kind of money?"
I nod. "Yes. It is a small piece of our fortune. Don't worry about it."
"A billion dollars," she mutters.
I lean into her ear. "I got you cheap. I would empty my bank account for you, and you'd still be worth more."
She smiles. It's full of her innocence and happiness. It strikes me odd with everything we are going through that she still can appear happy.
Maybe that's why I love her so much. She sees the light in the darkness.
The car pulls up to the embassy, and I carry her through it and into the apartment. I take her to the bedroom suite Bernadette tells me is hers.
"Time to leave," Bernadette says as soon as I set her on the bed.
"No. Not yet," I say.
Emilia kneels on the bed so she's face-to-face with me and kisses me. It's hot and needy and all the things I love about every kiss she's ever given me.
When she pulls back, I've got a hard-on and am about to tell Bernadette to get lost when Emilia says, "You need to leave."
"This is ridiculous. I don't see—"
"You don't see because you're in the middle of it. It almost got Gustave killed. I almost got taken to the whorehouse then auctioned off," Bernadette says.
I clench my jaw and stare at ma belle's blue eyes.
"You promised me," she says. "You need to go."
It's the worst feeling I've ever had. My heart rips over and over, bleeding, as I tear myself away from her.
"I'll be back," Bernadette says, walks out the door with me, and the click of the lock rings in my ears.
I spin. "What are you doing?"
"There will be no mistakes. Go with Gustave. Do what he needs you to do. Two weeks will go quicker than you think."
"I don't—"
"You promised her. This is necessary. Now go." Bernadette straightens her shoulders and crosses her arms, challenging me.
Gustave comes up behind me. "Come with me, Malin. The clock is ticking."
19
Emilia
Hours pass. I rotate between sitting on the bed, pacing between the rooms, and staring out the window. The tall buildings and bustling city sounds feel like I could be in my apartment in Belize. But that's where the similarity ends.
Masculine dark-wood furniture fills the bedroom. A heavy desk sits in the corner. On each edge and the bottom of each leg are two-inch curved metal eyelets. Thin pewter rods stretch from the ceiling to the floor behind the bed. Graphite pillows match the comforter. Black beams run across the ceiling, perpendicular to that wall. The same eyelets are on each board, spaced out several feet apart. Textured wallpaper mimics the color of the night sky. Black velvet curtains hang from ceiling to floor. One picture of a man's eyes adorns the room, taking up almost the entire width of the wall and half the length. It's as if he's watching me. And they aren't kind eyes. Evil, sin, and greed radiate from the painting. I shudder when I first see it. I've seen those eyes before. Santiago had them. His men, too. So did Zaka. But there is nowhere for me to hide.