On the bottom, a dozen bottles of nail polish. In case Rodrigo wanted to freshen up.
And scattered in with them: three travel-size bottles of polish remover.
Acetone.
As good as lighter fluid. Put a flame to the stuff and up it went.
She grabbed a bottle of polish remover, closed the cabinet door.
She sat on the toilet and peed as she considered the bottle. It still had the plastic ring around its cap. Would they notice it was gone? Probably not. There were still two others. And they’d all been mixed in with the polish.
But what now? Obviously she couldn’t carry it out.
“Vamos,” Rodrigo said.
“Just a second, please.”
One place she could hide it and be sure he wouldn’t see. Back in the closet she could take it out—
What if the cap came off?
It wouldn’t, it was sealed—
Fuel. She had to have it.
“I count ten,” Rodrigo said.
She stuffed the bottle inside her. It wasn’t huge but the shape was weird. She bit her lip so she wouldn’t yell, pushed harder.
She stood up from the toilet, smoothed her skirt as the door swung open, leaned over to wash her hands.
“Too long,” Rodrigo said.
“You’re keeping me hydrated.”
Rodrigo grabbed her shoulder as the bottle dug at her from the inside. Add nail polish remover to the long list of people and things that didn’t belong in her vagina.
She stared herself down, Don’t you make a noise, don’t even think about it. Rodrigo was next to her, all tattoos and body odor. He looked at her side-eyed, like he knew something was wrong but couldn’t figure out what.
Take a guess, big guy.
No, guess again.
“You can brush your teeth too.”
Was he messing with her? Or did he just want her breath to be minty fresh the next time he tried to rape her? Sorry, Rodrigo, the space you want is already occupied. She carefully squeezed the toothpaste—Becks would be proud—gave herself a thorough brush. Rodrigo closed the door to the bathroom.
“I shouldn’t say,” he said. “But tomorrow we move you again. I don’t know where.”
She should have been frightened but she wasn’t. Not with the lighter, not with the fuel.
“I want to see you.” Her only play. Could she make him believe? “Alone. Tonight.”
“What for?”
“Can you?”
Before she could reconsider, she put her hands to his face, kissed him. Not a peck this time, the real thing. If you’re gonna kiss him, make it good, make him like it. She hadn’t been this conscious of the mechanics of a kiss since her first kiss. His breath stank of weed but he wasn’t a bad kisser. He didn’t attack with his tongue, didn’t bite her lip or do anything fancy, just opened his mouth and inhaled her. He grunted, the sound of a boy who had closed his eyes and swung and somehow sent the ball over the fence.
Nothing else. Let his imagination do the rest. She pulled back.
“Take me back. Before they notice.”
* * *
Back in the dark she waited until his footsteps faded away. She lay on her back, eased out the bottle. She was tender but she didn’t think she’d done any permanent damage. Anyway, now she had it. For a moment she panicked, what if it was a non-acetone brand? She unscrewed the cap, sniffed the liquid inside. Acetone for sure, every woman knew the smell.
Had Rodrigo believed her? Men were so unbelievably stupid about sex.
She put the acetone on the shelf with the lighter and nail. Though she didn’t think she needed the nail anymore.
Now she had a weapon. Fire. The Daenerys Targaryen of kidnapped American chicks. Of course, it hadn’t ended so great for Daenerys.
She’d have one chance. If she failed he’d surely kill her. Even his fear of Jacques wouldn’t stop him. He’d strangle her, put his hands around her neck and choke her until her eyes bulged out—
No. She couldn’t let fear paralyze her. They thought they’d broken her already. She had to prove them wrong.
Footsteps. The door swung open.
Jacques.
The worst of them. Though they were all the worst.
“Time for mommy and daddy to hear your voice.”
27
Barcelona
Raul Fernandes hadn’t had a chance.
Not that Brian liked the guy; he was a grade A asshole. The idea Kira would have staged her own kidnapping was beyond dumb. Still, Brian couldn’t help but sympathize as he watched Becks tear Fernandes up. He had felt the Wrath of Rebecca himself too many times.
Of course, the fight over the money was stupid. Everyone knew they couldn’t pay it back. But two million euros was two million euros.