Page 3 of Taming Her Bears

The pilot murmured something to the crewman, who opened a water bottle. “Anyone thirsty?”

We all were. Still hungover from the party and the effects of the drugs, we opened our mouths as obediently as baby birds. I hesitated, but the cap had been sealed. The water was clean. I let him pour it into my mouth, and it dribbled down my chin. My throat felt hot and dry. The water was soothing.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” said one of the girls.

The pilot scowled but indicated with a lax hand that someone should untie her feet and take her outside. Her guard left the door open in front of him. I scooted around to see where he was taking her. Their john was a collapsible frame and canvas porta-potty. Her guard stood in front of it until she came out, then hauled her by her elbow back to the cabin and pushed her inside. She stumbled and rolled across the floor, her feet kicking out. The guard laughed and grabbed her ankles while she squirmed helplessly.

“Oh, I’d do ya, hon. I’d do ya, but the boss says no damage.” He drew her knees together and ran his hand up the soft inner thigh. “Sorry I’ve gotta do this. I’d rather see your legs spread wide, but this is how it goes. You’re merchandise, hon. You’re going to fetch a pretty penny.”

He re-wrapped her ankles quickly, tightly enough for her to cry out, then chuckled and slapped her on the bottom. “It’s not that bad. You might as well get used to how things are gonna be.”

I glanced at the pilot who, so far, had intervened with rough play. But he only watched in amusement, clearly not at all concerned with psychological damage. We were cargo. “Anyone else like use potty?” he asked. Despite our discomfort, we declined for as long as possible, not relishing the manhandling we would undoubtedly receive in return.

It was late in the evening when we heard the mutter of diesel engines chewing up the coastal waters, growing louder as the boat came closer. The men grew excited. They blew out the kerosene lamps and stood at the door, weapons ready. When the pilot gave the signal, they all filed out.

In the dark, I saw my chance. I rolled close to Rhoda and nuzzled at her hands. “In my boot, I have a knife. Pull it out. We’ll fight our way out of here.”

“I can’t, Natalia.” She was sobbing. “I’m afraid they’ll kill us.”

“Do you want to be a slave?”

“I want to live!”

I heard a series of gun shots. The girls in the room all screamed. I think I did, too. But I felt more rational as soon as I did and began listening closely. Only one volley of shots. Either someone had been taken by surprise or it had been a signal. If I was going to do something, I needed to do it now.

I couldn’t get Rhoda to help, so I tried loosening the ropes on my own. I hadn’t gotten very far when the men came back in. They were all stamping their feet and patting each other on the back. The pilot relit the lamps and beamed. “Your lucky day. Your ride is here.”

They weren’t in a hurry. They packed up gear and equipment and went over the details of their big heist, partly in English, partly in Russian. “Hey!” I shouted out. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

The crewman looked at me, annoyed. “Can’t it wait? There’s a bathroom onboard the boat.”

“No. I have to go now.”

Disgusted, he threw down the pile of blankets he was holding and untied my feet. “Just hurry up, do you hear? We’ve got to get ahead of a gale.”

He turned me around and searched my hands, then searched my boobs. I held back a grimace of disgust as his hands circled around the nipples, pinching the tips. “Go on then,” he relented, pushing me forward. I went inside the canvas outhouse and pulled the curtain shut.

Squatting on the floor next to the toilet, I pulled out my knife, palming it open. I slid it under my wrists and cut through the ropes. At the back of the toilet, I sliced an L-shaped flap and peeked out. There was nobody in the woods behind the cabin. They were all at the pier, getting ready to move out. I made a long slice, sucked in my breath, and slipped out. I heard a shout and I dropped to the ground, but it wasn’t about me. The captain on deck, or whoever he was, stood at the bow, ordering the men to move more quickly and get the damned girls on board. I slid backwards into the woods, eyes on the camp.

As soon as I was under cover of the trees, I began to run. I didn’t have an escape plan in mind. This was an island and the only way off was by boat, but I felt if I stayed hidden long enough, they would leave, and I could somehow find a way to survive until help came. I found a tall, rugged spruce tree with lower limbs as big around as my leg. I climbed up into the branches, going as close to the top as the tree would bear without bending.

It wasn’t long before I heard them pass by. Only three were searching the brush. The rest were probably guarding the girls. They passed directly under the tree. “We might as well go back. The storm is kicking up. Denisovich wants to get ahead of it.”

“One more pass. If we don’t find her, they’ll take it out of my paycheck.”

“It won’t be that bad. You’ve got, what… six others in the bag? That’s a lot of juicy fruit, my king.”

“One more pass.” They spread out, looped around, and met back under the tree.

They heard the long boat’s whistle. “We’d better go, dude.”

“And the girl?”

“She can’t go anywhere. We’ll burn the place down. Nobody will notice in the rain. We’ll send out a skiff to pick her up when the storm is over. She’ll either be dead by then, or she’ll be dead when we’re through with her.”

Darkhorse

I’d barely rolled my wetsuit around a change of clothing when the bones began cracking and bending along my back and thick folds of muscle and gristle rolled down my frame. A thick, shaggy coat, more insulated than any wetsuit could be, shook itself free as the waves splashed up over me. I began swimming, one powerful paw in front of the other.

---