Page 2 of Breeding Season
“You welcome, Miss,” he said as he handed me back five.
“No change,” I insisted before opening the cab door and hopping out.
“Tanks. Dat is very kind. Now, you mind the dark and find your way to Lowe’s Green Turtle Cay Ferry. Nigel will take care of de rest.”
As be drove away, it dawned on me that I didn’t even ask his name. After I paid for a ticket at the small terminal, I was directed onto the boat. True to the driver’s word, Nigel greeted everyone as they got in.
“You made it right on time. This is the last ferry til morning, and we’re about to head out!” His accent wasn’t as strong, but he was smiling kindly. I stepped down from the dock, got my first look inside, and found a seat as Nigel announced we were departing. Fifteen minutes later, the boat docked at Green Turtle Club in New Plymouth.I made it.
***
After a quick cool shower and two hours in bed, my stomach felt like it was imploding. At two hundred and forty pounds, I can eat, and despite the taxi man’s warning, my hunger won. I peeked outside; the sun was still high in the sky. I made up mymind to check out the hotel grounds, get something delicious, and be back in bed before nightfall.
I slipped into a red dress that hugged my curves, put on comfortable black sandals, and pinned up my hair in a loose bun. There were two dining options, and I opted for the Dollar Bar as I followed the grounds map to a building out by the water.
Live reggae music, specifically Bob Marley’s “No Woman, No Cry,” pulled me in. I was immediately struck with a bout of homesickness, remembering my mom dancing in the living room while cleaning on a Sunday. I let out a shuddering breath and stepped inside.
While the bar sat right on the edge of the dock, its back perimeter was lined with thick, dark jungle foliage, swallowing the last of the light. I rushed in.
The Bar’s name, the Dollar Bar, made sense instantly: money lined the walls and ceiling. The air was heavy, not just with salt and humidity, but with a deep, musky scent I couldn’t place, like wet earth and raw meat.
A woman with thick, dark curls and warm amber eyes spotted me as I approached the counter. She wore a bright red floral apron over a simple white shirt, and her eyes crinkled with genuine pleasure. She strode over immediately.
“Well, hello, sweetheart! I am Vesna. What can I get you?”
“I’ll have whatever you would recommend. I’m starving,” I said as I took a seat and leaned on the bar.
“Anything you can’t have?” she asked. I shook my head. “Perfect. Leo! Order of fried grouper sandwich and a rum punch!” She yelled to the back, and someone confirmed the order. She made some more drinks before sliding my order in front of me. Laughter followed her as she checked on customers.
The fish was everything it needed to be, soft on the outside, and the rum punches went down smoother than they should have. By the time I finished the sandwich, the sun hadcompletely set. I’d had one too many rum punches, and the last one, offered by a friendly tourist, tasted sickly sweet. I couldn’t remember why I had to stay indoors. In my memory, the driver’s voice echoed weakly: ‘Mind the dark,’ drowned out by the music and alcohol.
The music slowed, twisting into a grotesque, slurred sound. The blood in my veins felt suddenly cold and thick. I pushed off my seat and slapped down some cash as my vision blurred. Panic clawed its way up my throat as the floor tilted violently. I needed to get back to my room. The dancers became dark, swirling shapes as I exited the bar. Shadows solidified into something heavy and predatory, like reaching fingers from the underbrush.
I didn’t feel right. The ground swayed under my feet, and I knew I needed to stay away from the water, but I couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. My hands fumbled down my body to my bag, searching for the map.I lost it.
A rough hand clamped over my mouth, and my scream was muffled as I was dragged into the shadows. The air was choked with a raw, primal smell—wet earth, salt, and the metallic tang of blood. I slammed my full weight backward, fighting to throw off the attacker, but the form didn’t budge. It was unnaturally hot against the cool night air, like hitting a wall of living stone. I couldn’t scratch him; my hands met a dense, coarse coat that refused to yield. I was hauled, boneless, into the jungle as the crushing weight of blackness took me away. The last thing I heard before I passed out was the furious roar of a beast.
Monster
Pele
Painful throbbing welcomed me back to the land of the living. My lashes fluttered, vision swimming in and out of focus, but one thing was for sure: I was lying on my side, face pressed into mud slick with saliva.
Whimpers and sobs drifted through the dark. Everything snapped back into place. I’d been drinking. Drugged. Then—hands? A struggle. Nothing after that. As my vision cleared, I was inches from someone’s white, dirty, dry-crusted ass cheeks.
Lovely.
The world tilted violently as I forced myself upright. The redhead in front of me trembled, mascara streaking down her cheeks. Her stained white dress was bunched around her waist, baring her for all to see.
I’d help her out, but my hands were chained behind me. They connected us; all of us.
A line of women. Shackled. Like livestock.
My mouth wateredas bile crept up my throat. There was no telling how long I’d been out, or when—if—I’d eat again. Either way, I couldn’t afford to throw up.
The floor beneath me was rough concrete, scraping the back of my thighs. A sour tang of waste mixed with sweat and metal permeated the air. I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze upward.
We were in a holding pen, a place for animals. Thick wooden slats rose higher than my head, sealing us in.
