St. Vicente

I swear by the Almighty God that the evidence I shall give will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Oh, wait. Wrong statement.

This novella is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

And if it isn't... well, fuck it and enjoy the story.

Blurb:

When Princess Tressa Augustine is kidnapped from her home, she is positive that her father would rescue her almost immediately. Her father is all that's good, and her captors are the Rebels. However, as the days pass and her captors reveal the truth about her family history, the line between the good and the bad becomes undefined. Against her better judgment, she begins to wonder if the things she's heard about her father may be true. And if so, are her captors truly fighting to salvage the island of St. Vicente?

*

She could already see the scene as it unfolded.

The dark-skinned woman with killer curves swimming to the edge of the lake, luxuriating in the icy water before rising to her feet. The rivulets would fall around her like they were worshipping her body, sliding down the tender mounds of her breasts to brave the steep drop of her tummy. She would have no apprehension of being naked outdoors. In fact, she'd deliberately stand on the grassy bank, savoring the feeling of warm air caressing her cool body, before reaching for the towel to dry herself off.

Tressa could see it all -- the ridiculous length of the woman's raven hair, the slant of her eyes, and every intricate detail of her skin. She was so familiar with the woman's body because, after all, she'd been working with that woman for a little over three months now.

Smiling, and curling her legs under the lounge chair comfortably, she scrolled through the pages she'd written that day. It was all building up really nicely to the climax, and that thought gave her a warm feeling. She was still toying with the idea of killing the heroine at the end, but she didn't know if her fans would take to that kind of ending, so that idea was on hold. But other than that, the book was coming on pretty fuckin' awesome.

She saved her work and shut her Mac down. Then, clasping the thin laptop to her chest, she leaned back in her seat and breathed in the fragrant, Irish mountain air. She was sitting on the extended balcony of the house she'd rented for the year. The little two-room cottage had an excellent view of lake -- or lough, as they called it -- and it was because of the view that she'd had to ask her daddy to increase her allowance just a slight bit for the year. It hadn't taken much to convince him; she'd always been his favorite. But she still hated that she had to ask her father for yearly allowances. As the only daughter of the nation, she wasn't allowed to work. Her sole duty was to oversee the welfare of her country, and she would not be paid for that job. Her daddy's allowance was the only thing that supported her financially.

She knew she shouldn't complain. There were so many people in the world who would kill to be in her position. But she wasn't happy.

All she wanted to do in her life was to write. Writing made her happy. But it also made her forget her responsibilities. Her people needed her, and that fact tended to slip through her conscience when a story started to form in her mind.

She remembered fighting with her father for that very same reason, telling him that she wasn't suited to be the head of the Ministry of Citizen Welfare, but he hadn't listened to her. He had insisted that an Augustine could do well when given any position in the monarchy. He had faith in her, he'd said. And over time, she'd grown resigned to the fact that someday, she'd be sitting behind a large, mahogany desk and doing something she hated.

Her only condolence was the next nine months she had in Ireland. She was so proud of the bargain she'd made with her daddy: give her a year off to get the words out of her system and she'd work for Casa Grande for the rest of her life. She'd already used three months out of that year, and she didn't regret a moment of it. They were the most fruitful months she'd ever hoped to have.

The sun went down, and the air got colder. Tressa shivered a little and packed up her things to bring in. She knew that Bernard, one of her bodyguards, would also be packing up his equipment. Part of her deal with her father was that she would bring Bernard, and his partner Gianni along with her. The rebels were still active and daddy had not wanted to take chances with her.

She shut the door to the balcony and lit a fire in the manual fireplace in the living room. Then she switched the small stereo on and turned the knob until she found one of Beyonce's slower numbers. Then, humming, she padded to the kitchen to make dinner.

As though on a timer, her tummy growled, and she wished she could indulge herself with pizza or something equally cheesy. But one look at her reflection in the kitchen window reminded her that she needed to lose the extra fifteen pounds she was hoarding around. Rubbing a hand over her curved belly, she reached for some vegetables and chicken. Soup would have to do.

An hour later, she lay curled on the sofa, as contented as only someone with a belly full of soup could be. The fire was burning low, and the grey sweater she wore over her white spaghetti top was becoming ridiculously comfortable. She'd intended to write some more before she fell asleep, but...

*

She awoke with a gasp, heart pounding so fast that it was hard to breathe. She pushed her dark bangs out of her eyes and stood up abruptly. Her throat was dry and somehow or another, she knew that something was not right.

The little cuckoo clock on the wall told her that it was almost midnight. Nothing in the house had moved, nor were there any odd noises. She had no idea why she felt so panicked when she awoke. Bad dream, perhaps? She didn't really know. Besides, Gianni would be out there somewhere, watching the house like a hawk watching its babies, so she shouldn't be worried about her safety.

Gulping, she put a hand over her heart and sat back down on the sofa with a plop. What a freak occurrence. Her heart rate was going back to normal, but very slowly.

After several deep breaths and a shower, Tressa slipped into a black tank top and a pair of checkered white shorts. The hot water had made her feel relaxed again, and she thought she'd be able to get another few hours of writing done before hitting the sack.

She was just plodding down the stairs for her laptop when someone knocked on the door. Her footsteps stilled instantly. Who would be knocking on her door in the middle of the night? The cottage was completely isolated. In fact, the nearest town was a half hour drive away. She also didn't have any neighbors save for Bernard and Gianni.

Remembering them, she descended the rest of the stairs quietly and reached for the cordless phone. She could hear a shuffle of footsteps on the other side of the door, as though the person was impatient. Her fingers flew over numbers and she waited for either Bernard or Gianni to pick up. They usually picked up after a couple of rings, if not immediately. When the call was cut, she finally realized that something was very wrong.

She still held the phone to her ear, hoping that it was a mistake and that she would hear Gianni's guttural voice on the other line. Frantic, she dialed their number again, her breathing erratic.

She dropped the phone when she heard her name being called from the other side of the door. The phone came apart and the battery flew under the sofa. She clasped her hands over her mouth in an attempt to stifle her harsh breaths.

She just stood there, looking at the door with her hands over her mouth for god knows how long. There was a perfect mix of fear, anxiety and panic in her body that didn't allow her to move. She simply stood still and waited for Gianni to use the spare key and come through the door at any moment.

But she knew it wouldn't. She knew it when she felt icy fingers on her neck, and heard the smooth voice in her ear.

"Princess Tressa, it's nice to finally meet you."

And then, as true ladies do, she passed out.

*

Lucio entered the house just as Adrian was laying the little princess on the sofa. The men filed into the house behind him and began setting up the equipment for the hours ahead. Lucio looked at his older brother and smiled. Finally, they were getting somewhere after years of planning. The little victory felt good.

"Bodyguards?" Adrian asked, his voice clipped, as was the usual.

"In the van. Paulo and Julian are seeing to them. How the bastard king trusted those two to guard his only daughter is completely beyond me."

Adrian said nothing.

"There is no one else in the house, sir," Bull reported from the stairs. Adrian gave him a curt nod. He'd been watching the house for seventeen hours, and knew no one else had entered it, but he just had to make sure that there was not one person he had overlooked. There was no room for fuck-ups in this case. His father and grandfather had dreamed of this. Now it was in his hands -- and Lucio's - to see that St Vicente was back in Vicente control.

"I want a full report on the situation in Casa Grande. Ten minutes," he told Lucio. Shrugging, the younger brother slipped a palmtop out of his jacket and got to work.

Adrian gestured for Bull to keep an eye on the girl before heading up the stairs himself to look for anything that might hinder the plans. Though young, it was possible that she kept weapons in the house for self-defense. If he didn't find them now, she might be able to get to it later and put a dent in his plans.

He scoured the house from floorboard to bedsheets, but found nothing that hinted that it could be used as a weapon. He did, however, find several spare boxes of tampons, her passport, two hundred American dollars, and a bejeweled black vibrator that made him smile slightly. It was almost unimaginable that the little princess knew about the pleasures of the flesh; she looked so virginal.

"Adrian," Lucio called from the doorway of the bedroom. He was typing on his palmtop as he talked.

"Casa Grande doesn't suspect as of... is that a vibrator?"

The little smile on Adrian's lips got wider at the shock on his brother's face. He tossed the velvety toy onto the bed and moved closer to Lucio so he could look into the palmtop.

"What were you saying?"

"Uh, yes." Lucio cleared his throat and gave himself a mental shake. "No one in Casa Grande has any idea that we have the girl."

"Fantastic."

"The king just had his dinner and is adjourning to his private rooms."

A flick of Lucio's fingers revealed a hidden camera in the hall of the king's private rooms.

Adrian brushed past Lucio with a curt nod.

"We're contacting him in half an hour. Let's see if that helps with his indigestion."

Lucio flipped his palmtop closed and followed his brother down the stairs with a sigh. It was going to be one hell of a night.

*

Her head was throbbing. Tressa noticed only that discomfort as she awoke. She couldn't remember why her head hurt, and the pounding became worse when she tried to recall what had happened. A quiet moan snuck past her lips as she turned around on the sofa, trying to find another comfortable spot.

Then, past the pounding of the blood in her ears, she heard a very familiar sound. The tick-tick-tick of fingers on keys. Someone was typing. In her house. When she lived alone.

She sat up as abruptly as she'd awoken only a couple of hours before. Only this time, her fears were real. Around her worked a group of men dressed in all-black. They weren't wearing her father's seal. Her eyes roved each man for the small, gold arches, but no one had it stitched to his clothing. That could only mean...

Her hear rate accelerated and she clasped her fingers over her mouth to stifle the scream, just as she'd done earlier. She'd always known that being attacked by the rebels was a possibility, but she'd never ever thought it would actually happen.

Oh god. She had to escape. Very, very quickly.

"Don't even think about it."

She turned abruptly to find a man seated on the sofa chair next to hers. His eyes were as cold as frosted glass, and they were shredding her courage. She didn't want to turn into a blubbering mass of female flesh in front of these traitors. She was the princess of St Vicente. She had to be strong.

But damnit. His eyes were making her extremely nervous!

She scooted away from him.

"What do you want from me?" The words, repeated in many movies, in many ways, sounded unnaturally confident, coming from her.

"Oh, I think you know what we want, princess."

She knew his words were meant to scare her, and she couldn't help the cramping of her gut.

"Do you want money? My father will give you money. Just don't hurt me."

He didn't say a word in return, merely reached for the piece of technology that beeped in the pocket of his suit.

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked when he ignored her.

She watched as something on his tiny laptop made him frown. It made her anxious. And when she was anxious, she couldn't stop talking.

"Are you going to kill me? I promise you daddy will pay you a lot of money if you return me. Please don't -."

"Shut the fuck up, woman!"

She nearly recoiled at those words, but she had to know what was going on. Before she could say something else, there was a voice from the kitchen. It sounded more threatening than the man in front of her.

"Bring her in here, Lucio."

She didn't know what to expect when she entered the kitchen. Her hands were trembling and she clasped them together so that it wouldn't show. The man in the kitchen sat with his back to her. His hair was short and diamond studs shone on each earlobe. He was fiddling with something on the table.

"Sit."

She couldn't resist that voice. She doubted anyone really could. It just reeked of authority -- almost like her father's.

"Lucio, stay."

Lucio stayed. He stood behind Mr. Boss, typing away on his little computer.

"Look at me."

Tressa peered at him from beneath her eyelids. She didn't know why exactly, but she was afraid of this man above all the rest. Maybe it was because he was obviously their leader, or perhaps it was because there was 'danger' written on every inch of his skin. She didn't know which, but it frightened the shit out of her.

"Look me in the eye, princess."

She hated it when people called her that. It made her sound like a pampered little brat -- something she was sure she wasn't. She especially hated the word on his lips, just because he was the one saying it. It wasn't doubtful that he had planned this whole thing.

Her eyes rose to his and she held it for a few seconds, before letting it drop. He laughed.

"Cowardice. So typical of an Augustine."

Almost as if on cue, her eyes sprang back to his in hatred. How dare he insult her family? He was the bastard who'd kidnapped her instead of confronting her father, and he was calling her family cowardly?

"That's better," he said, when her eyes met his with a fair amount of anger. "Mind if I smoke?"

He'd been playing with the box of cigarettes in his hands, and he didn't even pause to wait for her reply before he slid a stick out.

"Actually, I do mind. I'm asthmatic."

He had already clasped the stick of cigarette between his lips. At her words, he paused, then slowly lowered the chemical cylinder.

"Fair enough," he said, putting the cigarettes away. "Wouldn't want to kill you sooner than we have to."

Lucio gave a snort of laughter. Tressa couldn't believe that they were talking about killing her as though it was a joke!

"What do you want from me?" Her tone was reasonable, diplomatic. But he could see the fear and desperation behind her eyes. She was afraid of him, afraid of all of them. And that was what he wanted. He needed that fear.

Adrian leaned back in his chair. "I want nothing but cooperation from you. Don't make this more difficult. Understand?"

She stared at him as thought he was crazy for suggesting she cooperate. "You've just kidnapped me and held me hostage in my own home. You want me to cooperate?"

He didn't even blink. "Yes."

She made a dash for the glass door that led to the balcony. She'd be able to run into the forest that way. They wouldn't be able to find her there.

But all she heard was laughter from the men as she struggled to open the locked door.

"Don't keep trying, princess. It looks stupid."

Humiliated, she turned on him, looking like an oversized but vengeful nymph.

"What do you want from me? I keep asking you, and you don't tell me! You want money? Or do you have some terrorist friend in jail and want to trade me for him? What? What do you want?"

"Hmm. We never thought of that second idea, eh, Adrian?"

"No, because we've got better use for her. Sit down, princess. I'll explain the rules of the game."

She sat on the edge of the chair, ready to bolt.

Adrian rolled up the right sleeve of his sweater. He pointed to a puncture wound near his wrist. "This is from first time your father tried to kill me. I was reaching for a tube of gum when one of his assassins shot at me. I was five."

He tilted his head to show her the almost-invisible scar behind his right ear. "I was walking down a road in Sydney when another assassin shot me with a silencer. It grazed the side of my head and hit a brick building. No one knew why I started bleeding like a pig at slaughter. Only I saw the bullet. I was seventeen."

He pulled the shirt up to his neck and she saw the wound even before he pointed at it. It was on the right side of his chest, very near his heart. "Last year."

She shook her head. "Daddy isn't like that. He doesn't like violence. He always told me that diplomacy is the best way to settle differences."

"Well, not in my case." He leaned forward to rest his arms on the table. "I'm a liability to his fragile regime."

"My father's regime is not fragile. Please stop insulting him. Who the hell are you?"

Lucio tsked. "A princess who cusses. Very interesting. Oh, and Adrian. Number three."

"Fantastic."

Before she even had time to blink, Adrian leaned down and slipped a gun from his boots. She made a startled sound as he spun it once and set it in between them.

"Let's play a game, sweetheart. Ever heard of Russian Roulette?"

He could've sworn her cheeks turned pale, even though it was impossible to tell from the dark tone of her skin. She looked like she was going to pass out or throw up. Maybe both. Good. That's what he wanted.

"You see, I gave your father five rules to follow when I called him. I warned him that if he ever broke any, I would know, and I would punish you for that. He's already broken three of them."

The threat hung in the air. Tressa found it hard to believe anything this man said. Why would he lie to her about her father wanting him dead? Her father was the most non-violent person she knew. And why would daddy break the goddamn rules when it would put her life in danger? He wouldn't do such a thing. This man had to be lying.

"The first one was that he was not to tell anyone that his daughter was being held hostage. He broke that rule in the first three minutes." As he spoke, Adrian opened the bullet chamber and emptied all but one of the bullets. Then he shut it again. "The second rule was that he was not to alert his private police force. He broke that one as well."

He stood up slowly and came over to her with the gun in his hand. One of the bullets rolled from the table to the floor. She jumped at the harsh, clinking sound. He came toward her and she tried to back away.