“You told us to stay, Alcista.” It was the squat man; she could tell by his voice, and she wondered how many had stayed behind. How many would be watching. “Besides, we know you prefer an audience.”
Silence, as if the man were considering this. “You can stand by the door if you like,” he said grudgingly.
“Oh, no, jefe,” Squatman said. “There are no lights in that room – you wouldn’t be able to see her properly to enjoy her. And five of us cannot crowd into that narrow doorway.”
“Are you really telling me how to do this, Teo?” The sound of Alcista’s voice brought chills to Beth’s skin.
Apparently Teo was made of sterner stuff, though his voice quavered somewhat when he responded. “You told me you wanted witnesses, and that we might take a turn later if you were pleased and she was still . . .”
Okay, now her nausea was back. She didn’t move. Breathe, she told herself.
Maybe if she tried to run they’d shoot her, get it over quickly.
“Do not tell me what I want. There are times when I want company, times when I want privacy. Just what does this gringa look like.”
“She’s beautiful, jefe. Hair like silver, nice tits, a pretty mouth.”
“And how have you seen her tits, Teo? Did you decide to sample her first?”
Now Teo was sounding terrified. “No, jefe. We just looked, that’s all. To make certain she would be worth your time.”
“If she has hair like silver she is worth my time.” She could hear his voice getting closer, and she gulped in air, afraid she was going to cry. The light was blocked, as Alcista t
he Rapist stood there, looking at her, a dark shape in the doorway. “You men make yourselves busy,” he said over his shoulder. “I will let you know when you can watch.”
“Yes, jefe. Gracias, jefe.”
He was coming closer, and Beth couldn’t help it, she scrambled back into the corner, trying to get away from him. He loomed over her, and she wanted to curse herself for a coward. She had planned to get through this with dignity, and here she was shivering.
“Take off your clothes, gringa,” he said in a voice that carried to the next room. And then, inexplicably, in a soft voice, he added “please.” In English.
She stared up at the figure in the shadows, her eyes widening with shock. “No,” she said instinctively, her mind reeling.
“Then I’ll tear them off you,” the man announced in loud Spanish. “Don’t make this harder,” he whispered.
She froze. It was MacGowan, she would know that voice anywhere, though he moved differently and looked like a stranger. He had a pair of sunglasses in his hand, his hair was tied back under a bandanna, and his face looked colder, crueler, indefinably different. But it was MacGowan.
She was frozen. She couldn’t say a word, and he moved so fast she hadn’t seen it coming, catching the nun’s habit in his two strong hands and continuing the tear, ripping it down the middle. The fabric was old and frail, and it fell apart beneath his grip, falling down her shoulders, and she sat there in nothing but the tank top and panties she’d worn beneath it.
He squatted down beside her, and she could see his face. His cold, brutal face and his unexpectedly kind eyes. “I’m sorry, senorita,” he said loudly. “But there’s no way out of this.” He added in that whispered English, “no way at all, Sister Beth.”
“You tell her, jefe!” came a voice from the living room, and MacGowan snarled.
“I can’t get rid of them,” he whispered. “I really am sorry.” He reached out and ripped the tank top in half, and she clutched at the torn cloth, holding it over her breasts as she let out a cry of dismay.
More laughter from the other room. “Where is the real Alcista?” she whispered.
“Pillow talk already?” one of the men must have overheard her, if not the words.
MacGowan had already slapped a hand over her mouth, and he leaned forward, breathing in her ear. “He’s dead. I killed him two hours ago. If it were anyone else we could get out of this, but he was notorious. I’m sorry.”
It took her a moment to understand, and then her horror grew. “Try not to think about it,” he added. “It’s a game, a play. You can fight, scream, do anything you want. It’s for show, and when I think they’re convinced I’ll take them out.”
He was still covering her mouth with his hand, but she questioned him with her eyes. “No, sweetheart, I am not going to rape you,” he whispered again, and unbelievably there was a note of laughter in his voice. “You are, however, going to have to get naked.”
He raised his voice. “Either you strip or I will bring my men in to strip you.” He moved his hand, giving her an encouraging nod, and she managed a strangled protest.
It didn’t matter. He tore the rest of tank top off her, then rose, yanking off his shirt and reaching for his zipper. “Take those pretty panties off, gringa,” he said in Alcista’s rough voice, “or I’ll tear them off you.”