Chapter 222
Aria's POV
I froze as my phone's screen illuminated the dusty space beneath the bed, Devon's name flashing brightly. The blue glow might as well have been a spotlight. A hand reached under the bed, inches from my face.
"There she is!" a gruff voice shouted in accented English.
I grabbed the phone and answered it as rough hands seized my ankles, dragging me out. "Emily said you left the apartment. Where are you?" Devon's voice was calm yet tense.
"I'm in Miami looking for Scarl—" My words cut short as two muscular Latino men hauled me to my feet. One twisted my arm behind my back, sending white-hot pain through my wounded shoulder. I felt warm blood soaking through my shirt again.
"Contact Ryan! He knows what I'm looking for!" I managed to shout before the phone was ripped from my hand.
"Who is this? Where is she?" Devon's voice demanded from the speaker, loud enough for me to hear before the man ended the call with a violent tap.
"Shut up," the taller man growled, wrapping duct tape around my wrists. "Miss Harper, you should have minded your own business."
The shorter, stockier man searched my purse, removing my wallet and phone. "She's the one, Ricardo. La rubia will pay well."
My mind raced despite the throbbing in my shoulder. La rubia—the blonde. Scarlett.
They marched me down the back stairs of the motel and shoved me into a black SUV with tinted windows. As we pulled onto the highway, I studied their reflections in the rearview mirror. The driver—Ricardo—had a tattoo of a scorpion on his neck. The passenger wore a gold chain with a crucifix.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked, working to keep my voice steady.
Ricardo glanced at me in the mirror. "Just a little trip to Key West, señorita."
"If this is about money, I can give you fifty thousand right now," I offered, testing the waters.
The men exchanged amused looks. "This isn't about money," Crucifix said. "You've upset someone who doesn't like being upset."
They switched to rapid Spanish, but I caught enough from my college courses: "Central America," "special buyer," "pretty face."
My blood went cold as I understood their meaning. Human trafficking. They weren't just taking me to meet Scarlett—I was merchandise.
"Listen," I said, leaning forward, "whatever Scarlett is paying you, I'll double it."
Ricardo's eyes met mine in the mirror again. "This isn't about money, señorita. You've messed with the wrong person. Your sister has friends in places you can't imagine."
"Step-sister," I corrected automatically, my mind already working on escape options.
The SUV sped south on the Overseas Highway, the ocean stretching endlessly on both sides. My shoulder throbbed with each bump in the road, the fever making my head swim. If I could get to my phone, which Crucifix had tossed into the center console...
As if reading my thoughts, Ricardo said, "Don't try anything stupid. We don't need you in perfect condition, just alive."
Hours later, as twilight settled over the Keys, we turned onto a dirt road flanked by overgrown mangroves. The SUV bumped along until we reached a white stucco house set back from the water, isolated from neighboring properties by dense vegetation.
Ricardo pulled me roughly from the car. My legs, stiff from the long drive, nearly buckled beneath me. The ocean breeze carried the scent of salt and something rotten.
"Home sweet home," Crucifix laughed, pushing me toward the house. "For tonight, anyway."
They shoved me into a small room with boarded-up windows and a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. A thin mattress lay on the floor, and the air reeked of cheap liquor and mildew. The door locked with an ominous click.
I surveyed my prison, noting the nailed-shut windows and the bathroom with no window at all. This place had been prepared for captives. My brain flashed back to the Crystal Lounge bartender's words about Scarlett frequenting Key West. This wasn't improvisation—it was a trap.
Hours passed. I tried to keep track of time, but fever and pain made it difficult. When the door finally opened, I was sitting on the edge of the mattress, having worked my hands free from the duct tape by rubbing it against a rough patch on the wall.
Scarlett glided in wearing a pristine white sundress, her blonde hair falling in perfect waves. She looked like she'd stepped out of a beach resort advertisement rather than a human trafficking operation.
"Aria," she said, her voice dripping with false concern. "I never thought you'd be brave enough to follow me all the way to Key West."
Without warning, she slapped me hard across the face. The force snapped my head to the side, and I tasted blood.
"Do you know what you and Elizabeth turned me into?" she hissed, her mask of innocence falling away. "A beautiful facade with nothing inside. All the appearances of belonging, but never truly part of anything."
She reached into her designer purse and pulled out a photograph—my mother with a young Scarlett. With deliberate slowness, she tore it to pieces.
"The Hamptons beach house should have been mine. Elizabeth promised me—" She stopped herself, eyes narrowing. "It doesn't matter now. Once you disappear into a 'special establishment' in Central America, everything Harper will belong to me and Mother."
Her smile returned, chilling and empty. "The beauty of it? No one will ever find you. Not your father, not your precious Devon Kane."
I held her gaze, refusing to show fear despite the terror clawing at my insides. "They'll know it was you, Scarlett."
She laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "Who would suspect sweet, innocent Scarlett? Besides, you have a history of impulsive behavior. Everyone will assume you just ran away from your responsibilities."
As she turned to leave, she paused at the door. "You'll be leaving at dawn. I'd say goodbye to this life, Aria Harper."
The door closed behind her, the lock sliding into place with finality. I sank onto the mattress, my head spinning from fever and fear. Devon's words echoed in my mind: "Contact Ryan." If anyone could piece together what I'd been looking for, it would be Ryan.